Chapter 21 - Infiltration of Site Obsidian
The air inside the lower corridors of Site Obsidian was suffocatingly warm, thick with the stench of diesel fuel, damp concrete, and decades of neglect.
Every step echoed against the narrow walls, forcing Vance and me to move with deliberate, agonizing caution. Vance took the lead, his suppressed submachine gun raised, clearing every blind corner with lethal precision, while I guarded the rear, my eyes darting between the security cameras mounted along the ceiling.
" Daniel's bypass code knocked out the internal motion sensors on this sector," Vance murmured through our short-range earpieces. "But the guards on Sub-Level 4 belong to Hunt’s private inner circle. They won't rely on automated feeds. They patrol on foot."
As we descended the iron spiral staircase toward the lowest tier, the sound of heavy boots echoed from the catwalk above.
Two guards in black tactical gear, armed with assault rifles, walked out from the central security nexus, conversing in low, bored tones.
"Shift change isn't for another three hours," one guard complained, lighting a cigarette. "Why the hell did Director Hunt order an alert drill in the middle of a typhoon?"
"Word from Washington," the other replied, checking his sidearm. "Some girl in Pennsylvania blew up Mercer’s entire operation. Hunt thinks she’s heading here."
"A girl from a small town in the woods?" The first guard laughed dismissively. "What's she gonna do, swim across the Atlantic?"
Before the guard could finish his sentence, Vance lunged from the shadows. In one fluid motion, he disarmed the first guard, driving him against the concrete wall and applying a carotid choke that dropped the man unconscious in seconds.
The second guard panicked, raising his weapon toward Vance, but I moved faster.
All the rage, all the pain of fifteen years of isolation, betrayal, and manufactured shame focused into a single, brutal movement. I closed the distance, grabbed the barrel of his rifle, forced it upward as a muffled shot shattered the ceiling light, and drove my combat boot squarely into his knee joint.
The joint snapped with a sickening crunch. As the guard gasped in agony, I struck him across the temple with the heavy butt of my sidearm, knocking him cold before he could hit the emergency alarm button on his chest.
Vance looked at me in the dim light, a faint, grim smile touching his lips. "Sarah's daughter, without a doubt."
We dragged the unconscious guards into an empty storage locker, securing the door with their own zip-ties. Taking their electronic master keycards, we reached the heavy blast door marked *SECTOR 4: SPECIAL DETENTION*.
The sign on the steel door sent a chill through my bones:
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*RESTRICTED ACCESS. ASSET DESIGNATION: NIGHTINGALE. TERMINATION PROTOCOL AUTHORIZED.*
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