Page 47 of Victorious: Part 3
“Pres, we’ve got a bigger issue,” Hoodoo interrupts. “They’ve ruptured a water main. This whole level’s flooding. Looks likethey’d rather sacrifice these women than let their secret get out.”
“Fuck! How long do we have to get these women out?” Hurricane demands.
“Twenty, maybe less. And we’ve got over thirty women to extract, while fightin’ the Cartel and fuckin’ bird assassins,” Hoodoo states.
A scream tears down the hallway, high-pitched and raw, slicing through the mixture of sounds like a warning bell. Bayou doesn’t hesitate. He bolts, boots pounding across the flooded floor.
I lock eyes with Hurricane.
His jaw is clenched, but he gives the barest nod.
We don’t have time to overthink this.
Every second lost is another life we can’t save.
I take off after Bayou, heart hammering, gun raised, not knowing what the hell we’re about to walk into.
We round the corner and dive headfirst into chaos.
The air in the chamber is thick with the chemical stink of processed drugs and blood. Tables have been overturned, crates shattered. In the center of it all, Grit is locked in a brutal brawl with one of the bird assassins. She’s small but lethal, her movements precise and fluid, like she’s dancing with death itself.
Her blade slices through the air in tight, elegant arcs, each swing aimed to maim or kill. Grit dodges the first strike, barely blocks the second with the butt of his Glock, but she’s relentless. She goes low, tries to slash his thigh. He grunts, catches her wrist mid-swing, and slams his forehead into hers with a bone-crunching crack.
She stumbles, dazed, but not down. Blood spills from her temple, and she bares her teeth in something between a snarl and a smile. Then she lunges again, knife flashing toward his gut.
“Grit!” I roar, but he’s already moving.
Before the blade can land, a blur crashes into her side as Hoodoo body slams her.
They go down hard, smashing into a steel table stacked with plastic-wrapped bricks of powder. The impact sends supplies flying, the table screeching across the wet floor. Hoodoo wrestles for control, fists swinging as the bird shrieks, her knife clattering on the concrete.
She scrambles for it, but Hoodoo grabs a metal tray off the floor and swings it like a hammer. It hits her square in the side of the head.
The sound is sickening—a hollow, wet crack.
She drops, twitching, blood oozing into the water and spreading out like a blossoming flower.
She’s not dead.
But shewon’tbe getting up anytime soon.
Grit stumbles, panting, sweat pouring down his face. “She was playing with me,” he mutters. “Like I was nothing. What the fuck?”
Before I can respond, Raid barrels into the room, his left arm soaked in red. He’s holding his shoulder, blood dripping through his fingers. “One’s down,” he growls. “One took off, fast. And the third? She’snotdone. She’s stalking the evac route. Probably planning to sabotage the ladder out.”
A low rumble slithers up through the soles of my boots, subtle at first, then grows into something primal and violent. The floor quakes beneath us. A deep, guttural growl swells into a thunderous explosion that detonates through the underground.
The blast isn’t just loud, it feels alive.
A shockwave slams through the corridor, throwing us off balance as the concrete walls tremble with a sickening groan. Cracks zigzag through the ceiling.
And then, it bursts like a severed artery, spraying a wild,uncontrollable surge from the heavens, a sudden monster in the dark.
Overhead, the pipes rupture, splitting open with a metallic scream as they tear apart. Water spews out in blinding jets, slamming into the floor with relentless force. In seconds, we’re drenched, the corridor transforming into a cold, howling wind tunnel of chaos.
I hurl myself against the wall for support as the ground bucks violently beneath me. Lights flicker, then burst overhead in a strobe of sparks and shattered glass. Plaster and steel rain down in a storm of debris. A section of ductwork slams into the floor, inches from where Hoodoo just stood. A jagged pipe spears the concrete with a clang, steam hissing from its ruptured edge.
“The fuck was that?” Grit shouts, his voice half-drowned by the loudness of sounds, eyes wild as he scans the flooding hallway.
