Lighthouse Hotel.
Underground parking lot.
From dusk to deep into the night.
After waiting five long hours,
a dozen bounty hunters crouched in the shadows,
waiting for the High Table's enforcement squads.
At first, their nerves were taut,
hearts pounding with greed and excitement.
The lure of "big money" made their eyes burn with madness.
But as time dragged on—
mosquito bites,
the damp cold,
and the scattered corpses from earlier battles…
the stench of blood thick in the air…
their frenzy slowly faded.
Regret crept into their hearts.
Just as they were about to give up—
Footsteps.
From the parking lot's vehicle entrance.
The hunters tensed, spirits snapping awake.
They looked up.
Thirty High Table enforcers in combat gear appeared.
"The fight's about to start!"
The thought exploded in their minds.
Excitement surged back, erasing their doubts.
They held their breath,
gripped their guns,
eyes tracking the five squads as they advanced.
They dreamed of what would happen next:
the enforcers clashing with the hotel's assassins…
chaos erupting…
then they could sneak in a few lucky shots,
earning millions effortlessly.
But that dream shattered quickly.
The five squads advanced cautiously,
reaching the bloodiest battlegrounds of the earlier fights…
and still, not a single Lighthouse assassin appeared.
"Fuck! Don't tell me they chickened out…"
one hot-tempered hunter muttered from the shadows.
Before anyone could reply—
Ding!
The elevator chimed.
At the same time,
heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell.
Thoom… thoom… thoom…
All eyes—
bounty hunters and enforcers alike—
snapped toward the sound.
Muscles tensed,
fingers ready on triggers,
rifles and shotguns aimed,
ready to unleash hell.
And then—
a Gatling gun appeared around the corner,
its six barrels idly spinning.
Behind it—
a fully armored figure,
head to toe,
a walking fortress.
Shock rippled through the hunters and enforcers.
A shiver crawled up their spines.
But fear was fleeting.
The next instant, it turned into eternal despair.
One.
Two.
Three.
Ten heavy-armored giants emerged,
each wielding a roaring Gatling—
the Rogue Warriors.
The hunters' hair stood on end,
their bodies trembling.
Those who had waited five miserable hours
instantly regretted every second.
Without hesitation, they bolted from their hiding places,
sprinting for the exit.
The enforcers reacted too,
firing desperately as they retreated.
But how could legs outrun bullets?
The moment they opened fire—
the Rogue Warriors locked onto their positions.
Brrrrrrt!
The barrels spun to full speed,
spitting crimson fire.
Bullets twisted like serpents across the garage,
punching through concrete walls,
sawing cars clean in half.
As for the thirty enforcers—
their bodies were torn apart instantly.
Upper halves slammed onto the floor,
spitting blood,
while their lower halves staggered a few steps
before collapsing… or being shredded again.
The bounty hunters fared worse.
The instant bullets touched them—
they exploded into chunks of flesh,
splattering across walls, car hoods, and windshields.
The garage became a living hell.
Thoom… thoom…
The heavy footsteps drew closer.
The Rogue Warriors advanced,
mowing down everything.
A few survivors,
lucky to have only lost a limb,
dragged their broken bodies toward the exit.
Thoom.
The warriors stopped beside them.
The survivors turned,
eyes wide with despair—
staring into six black barrels aimed at their skulls.
The barrels spun.
Then silence.
The Rogue Warriors swept the area one last time,
ensuring no one survived.
Satisfied, they turned back,
their heavy boots echoing through the stairwell.
Top Floor.
Alex Cross stood before the monitors,
watching silently,
checking his wristwatch.
Ding.
The elevator opened.
The ten Rogue Warriors stood before him again.
Only five minutes had passed.
Unexpected—
yet reasonable.
He didn't waste time.
Turning, he beckoned.
Susie and several assassins hurried over,
circling the warriors,
studying them from head to toe,
desperately recording every detail.
If he could,
Alex Cross wanted the most complete data possible
before they vanished.
Stripping their armor?
Impossible.
That alone would take more than half an hour.
Time ticked away.
At last—
the ten minutes ended.
Crimson light flashed.
The warriors vanished into thin air.
Alex Cross lowered his gaze.
In his palm, the [Emergency Squad Badge] now displayed a countdown:
[Cooldown Time: 23:59:59]
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