Chapter 94: Assault
"You morons! What are you staring at?! Shoot those damned flies out of the sky!" Dean's furious roar came from inside his office, snapping his bodyguards out of their daze. They finally reached for their guns, ready to shoot down the buzzing drones overhead.
Too late.
"Let me teach you something, scumbags," Ron's deep, magnetic voice boomed again through the speakers.
"Art is…" With a press of a button, Ron detonated the charges.
BOOM!
Fire erupted from the six mini drones, engulfing the entire corridor in flames. The blast was so deafening, Arthur's ears rang from the shockwave.
"Hahaha!" Ron laughed heartily, slapping Arthur on the back. "See that? Your sneaky little tactics are way too outdated. This—this is the most efficient infiltration method. Taking notes?"
"If everyone's dead," Ron added with a grin, "no one's left to question whether your infiltration succeeded or not."
"Because dead men tell no tales? That's your brilliant logic?" Arthur, a veteran in stealth and assassination, was appalled. "What if they have more people? Let's say they're holed up in a warehouse packed to the brim, with every entrance covered by overlapping fields of SMG fire—at least five guns per door."
Before Arthur could dive into his lecture on covert ops, Ron offered a solution.
"In that case, I'd recommend long-range bombardment. I've got a 107mm rocket launcher—twelve-barrel model. If that's not enough, I'll buy two more. Level the whole damn warehouse. Bury them all."
Ron wasn't just confident—he was unshakably smug. Arthur, left speechless, begrudgingly admitted to himself: That... might actually work?
"Cover the emergency exit—I think I heard footsteps. You watch this side, I'm heading up," Ron said, patting the weapon set on the tripod in front of Arthur before jumping out from cover. "Don't waste your welcome gift. You'll fall in love with it."
At the base of the stairwell stood a metal beast, mounted on a tripod and aimed at the exit—a M249 squad automatic weapon. The gun itself weighed just under 10kg, lighter than the 200-round belt-loaded box magazine attached below it. Ron was certain—no one could pass through its wall of lead.
---
Meanwhile, down the blasted hallway, Dean's bodyguards were regrouping. Most had been in separate offices during the drone strike, narrowly escaping death.
Of course, Ron had never expected the drones to finish the job.
"FXXK!" a tall, burly Black bodyguard slammed all the elevator buttons in frustration. "All the elevators are dead! What now?!"
"It's Arthur, has to be. Take the emergency stairs!" Dean barked, then hesitated. Knowing Arthur's reputation, he froze. "Wait… that bastard's probably waiting in the stairwell. Jim! Take your team and kill that son of a bitch!"
"Yes, boss!"
---
The hallway echoed with the rush of footsteps, but just before they reached the door, they halted. A mirror shard fashioned into a makeshift periscope peeked around the corner.
"Looks like the rats have some brains after all," Ron muttered, pulling two grenades from his vest.
He pulled the pins and lobbed them—not at the door, but at the opposite wall. They bounced and landed precisely beside the team of bodyguards huddled near the corridor's edge.
BOOM! BOOM!
The first grenade exploded, sending scorching shrapnel and embedded steel balls fanning outward, instantly shredding the nearby guards. The second, a flashbang, erupted in a blinding burst of white light and a deafening shockwave. The remaining bodyguards were momentarily blinded and disoriented—some collapsed, vomiting from the sensory overload.
Arthur didn't wait for orders. Grabbing the M249, he charged through the exit.
RATATATATATA!
The machine gun spat fire and thunder like a buzz saw. In the tight hallway, aiming wasn't even necessary—he turned the corridor into a charnel house of blood and dismembered limbs.
Twelve seconds later, the gun clicked empty. The 200-round belt had run dry. The M249 chimed with a metallic ding as it overheated, and Arthur ditched the weapon, diving back behind cover.
No sooner had he moved than dozens of gun barrels poked out from corners further down the hallway, unleashing a blizzard of bullets that riddled the spot he'd just vacated.
P90s!
Their large 50-round magazines allowed for continuous fire, enough to pin Arthur and Ron in place. With covering fire, Dean's men could breach their defenses.
"This is your 'brilliant plan'?! I already ditched the machine gun! Now what?!" Arthur shouted at Ron, who casually strolled down the stairs with a box, whistling.
In response, Ron lobbed a gas grenade into the hallway. Uncertain of the payload, the bodyguards immediately ducked behind their makeshift cover.
"You like racing games?" Ron grinned, popping the box open. He pulled out two remote-controlled racing cars and placed them on the floor. Then, he handed Arthur a controller—complete with a screen displaying live feed from the car's onboard camera.
Ron's smile widened like a devil's.
"Let's have some fun."
"Each car carries a one-kilogram bomb packed with fifty steel ball bearings," Ron explained casually. "Press the red button to detonate. Wanna give it a shot?"
"YES!" Arthur grinned and eagerly grabbed the controller.
In the corridor, after suffering two devastating attacks from Ron, fewer than twenty bodyguards remained combat-capable. All of them were tense, guns trained on the smoke-filled passage, ready to shoot anything that so much as twitched.
But what came from the smoke wasn't the sound of footsteps.
It was the sinister whirring of tiny motors—racing closer, accompanied by the occasional clatter and thud, like the devil's own laughter.
Then, two RC cars—a sleek black one and a white one—burst through the haze.
"What the hell?! Take those things out, now!"
Having already learned the hard way from the drone attack, the guards didn't dare underestimate anything again. They quickly shifted their aim and opened fire on the cars.
They managed to destroy one.
But the other zipped through the chaos with nimble swerves, dodging the bullets and darting behind the barricade where several guards were still hiding.
BOOM!
Ron calmly pressed the red button. The explosion obliterated everything behind the barricade, shredding the bodyguards into a mess of blood and meat.
Before the survivors could even mourn their comrades, Ron and Arthur emerged from the smoke—both wearing gas masks.
Ron's revolver was already cocked and ready to fire, the cylinder open with a glint of steel.
"High noon."