Chapter 8 The Countdown Begins

The rain hammered the metal like a machine gun.

Twelve black Scavenger armored vehicles tore into No. 7 abandoned dock, tires screaming as they skidded across flooded concrete. One after another, they snapped into formation, sealing the exit with reinforced collision beams. No retreat. No escape.

Searchlights ignited.

Cold white beams sliced through the rain, cutting the dock into sharp geometric fragments of light and shadow.

The bulletproof doors opened.

Alexander stepped out first.

Water exploded under his shoes. In his right hand, a Desert Eagle carved from pure steel. His left hand closed around Vivienne’s fingers—firm, controlled—and pulled her into his side.

hey moved forward together.

Through rust. Through water. Through silence.

Only the rain followed them.

Then the loudspeaker above flickered red.

A distorted voice, layered through encryption filters, cracked through the storm.

“Welcome to your nightmare.”

Flashlights snapped upward.

Dozens of guards advanced with tactical rifles raised.

And then they saw it.

A body.

Hanging upside down in the center of the dock, suspended by three industrial chains driven through bone—collarbones and scapulae shattered by force. Five meters above ground.

No skin.

Only raw red muscle, white fascia, and faint involuntary twitching still pulsing through damaged nerves.

Blood dropped from its feet in slow rhythm.

Plink.

Plink.

Onto rusted steel below.

Vivienne stopped.

Her breath caught hard in her chest.

The assistant moved first, raising a military terminal. A blue scan grid swept the face structure.

“Bone match confirmed.”

“Identity: Arthur.”

A silence followed that was heavier than the rain.

Vivienne’s stomach twisted.

Arthur.

The uncle who supposedly escaped with stolen funds.

A scapegoat.

A disposable name.

And now—

a display piece.

The loudspeaker crackled again.

This time, the voice dropped its disguise.

A man’s laughter came through—low, controlled, and intimate.

“Vivienne.”

“You moved back forty-five centimeters.”

“I saw it.”

Her spine stiffened instantly.

The voice continued, almost amused.

“Still the same. Blood makes you sick.”

“You never changed.”

Her pupils tightened.

He was watching.

Somewhere in this dock, behind cameras, behind steel, behind firewalls—he was here.

“Surprise,” the voice said softly.

“The game starts now.”

“Get down!”

Alexander’s hand snapped to her head, forcing her down behind cover.

At the same moment—

white light erupted beneath the dock.

Fourteen structural pillars flared.

Then detonated.

C4 charges ripped the world open.

A fireball surged upward, tearing the dock roof apart like paper. Steel twisted into the sky. Rain vaporized instantly into white steam. A wall of fire sealed the center of the battlefield.

And the real attack began.

From the second-level platform—

metal shattered.

Twelve armored figures dropped.

Heavy exoskeleton armor.

Black composite plating.

Each impact crushed water into shockwaves.

They landed.

No hesitation.

No regrouping.

They raised M2 heavy machine guns.

And opened fire.

The dock became a storm of steel.

Bullets shredded air, water, and metal. The armored convoy returned fire, but it was instantly drowned in suppressive fire.

“Raise shields!” the assistant shouted.

Three guards slammed down polycarbonate shields.

The first impact shattered the viewing layer.

The second cracked structural integrity.

By the third second—

arms broke under recoil force.

Bodies flew backward into mud and water.

The fireline tightened.

Closing.

No gaps.

No escape angles.

Vivienne was shoved behind a massive industrial boiler.

The world turned into sound.

Nothing but gunfire.

She shut her eyes—hard.

And then—

a memory surfaced.

A quiet room.

Her brother’s voice.

“When you think you’ve found the exit…”

“…that’s when you’ve already stepped into my trap.”

Her eyes opened.

Clear.

Focused.

She grabbed Alexander’s wrist.

“Three o’clock.”

“There are only two guns there.”

“It’s a bait zone.”

Her voice cut through the chaos.

“That’s the blind spot.”

Her finger shifted.

“Real path is eleven o’clock.”

“Highest fire density—no secondary kill setup.”

A pause.

Then action.

She ripped off her black shawl and threw it right.

The fabric spun into the air like a decoy signal.

Instantly—

every weapon system tracked it.

Fire shifted.

Half a second of disruption.

That was enough.

Alexander moved.

No warning.

No hesitation.

Two shots.

Front line helmets shattered mid-air.

But the bodies did not fall.

Pain suppression.

Neurological override drugs.

They kept firing even with broken skulls.

“Neurological block system!” Vivienne shouted. “Cut central control!”

She kicked off her heels.

Barefoot now.

She launched forward through gunfire like a strike vector.

A needle flashed from her earring.

Blue toxin.

One precise stab into the neck gap of a moving armored unit.

The body froze.

Then collapsed.

Alexander was already moving.

Empty gun dropped.

Bayonet drawn.

Black blade cut through rain.

He entered the formation.

Not fighting it—

breaking it.

One cut.

One fracture.

One collapse.

Steel, blood, and rain mixed into silence fragments.

One by one, the armored units fell into water.

Finally—

only rain remained.

Alexander stood in the flooded dock, breathing steady.

He wiped the blade on his tie.

Above them, the loudspeaker went silent.

Then—

glass shattered somewhere deep in the system.

The assistant stepped forward carefully.

He found a detonator inside one of the bodies.

Attached photo.

Vivienne.

As a child.

Standing beside her brother.

Smiling.

On the back, written in dried blood:

“Dear sister.”

“This is just the beginning.”

“The real show will happen in our bed.”

The screen blinked.

A number.

Then—

Thirty kilometers away.

Pierce Manor.

And whatever was waiting there… had already started counting down.