The atmosphere inside the factory was electric with tension. On one side, Frank Woods, Alex Mason, and Avery J. Johnson stood poised, their weapons at the ready. Opposite them, a gang of Raiders, their leader's deranged laughter echoing off the steel walls, waited for the command to strike. The air was thick with anticipation—both sides on a hair trigger, ready to explode into violence at a moment's notice.

Woods gritted his teeth, his patience long since worn thin. "I've had enough of this shit," he growled, leveling his weapon at the Raider leader. "I swear, I'll shoot that bastard through Noriega if I have to."

His finger tightened on the trigger, but before he could act, Johnson stepped in, his voice steady but commanding. "Woods, stand down," Johnson ordered. "You have your orders. This man is just trying to get into your head."

Mason, eyes flicking between the Raiders and his team, tapped his earpiece. "Hudson, these guys don't look like the negotiating type. Any chance for backup?"

Jason Hudson's voice crackled through the earpiece, distant and strained. "Backup won't arrive anytime soon. You're going to have to stall until they get there."

Mason cursed under his breath. Stalling wasn't an option—not with the wild, twitchy look in the Raiders' eyes. Their fingers itched to pull the trigger, and Mason knew it wouldn't be long before they acted.

"Negative, Hudson," Mason replied firmly. "Stalling isn't an option. These guys are too unpredictable. They've got more firepower than we can handle, and we can't hold them off for long."

Hudson's response came quickly, his tone now more urgent. "Understood, Mason. I'll do my best to speed up the process. Hang tight."

The uneasy silence stretched out, and Woods shifted, his glare fixed on the Raider leader. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity. Mason and Johnson exchanged a glance—they both knew the situation was growing more dangerous by the second.

Johnson turned to Agent Jonesy, who stood nearby, anxiously fiddling with his gear. "Jonesy," Johnson said, his voice serious, "contact Captain Keyes. Let him know we've persuaded Mason and Woods to join us, but we need backup ASAP."

Jonesy nodded, quickly pulling out a device and trying to establish a connection to Captain Keyes across the universes. After a moment, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Captain Keyes! This is Agent Jonesy. Can you hear me?" His voice became more urgent as the line remained silent. "This ain't good..."

He continued to work on the device, trying different frequencies, but there was no response. The tension in the room mounted, and every second of radio silence only served to heighten the impending sense of doom.

Across the room, Crazy Jack, the Raider leader, let out a bored sigh. His eyes narrowed as he turned to one of his right-hand men, a grim smile stretching across his scarred face.

"I'm actually getting bored as shit," Crazy Jack said lazily. He whistled, gesturing to his right-hand man. "Find them. Kill them. And make sure you bring me their heads."

The right-hand man nodded, gathering a group of Raiders to follow him into the building. Woods, ever vigilant, caught sight of the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Son of a bitch," Woods muttered under his breath. He leaned closer to Mason and whispered urgently, "They're heading inside the building."

Mason stole a glance at the window, his expression grim. "Shit. We're gonna have to hold them off. Once we do, we get Noriega and get out of here."

Johnson's military instincts kicked in immediately, his mind already formulating a plan. "We need to push them back. That means more area control. Jonesy is working on getting us backup. Let's hold them off as long as we can."

Woods' eyes lit up with a fierce grin. "About damn time we got some action. Let's show these assholes what real soldiers can do."

Mason nodded in agreement, his expression focused as he checked his weapon. "Stay sharp. Make every shot count."

Johnson took a deep breath, his gaze steady and resolute. "Let's move. We hold this ground no matter what."

They sprang into action with military precision, quickly taking cover behind crates and the remains of broken machinery scattered around the factory floor. Woods armed himself with his silenced AK-47, Mason with his silenced M16, and Johnson readied his BR55 Battle Rifle. The tension thickened as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed closer.

Woods, crouched behind a crate, glanced at Mason. "Mason, we're going loud."

Mason nodded. "Copy that. Let's give 'em hell."

With a practiced motion, they disabled the silencers on their weapons, ready to unleash their full firepower. The first wave of Raiders burst into the room, their makeshift weapons raised, a wild hunger for violence in their eyes.

"There they are! Get 'em!" one Raider screamed, firing recklessly.

Another Raider laughed maniacally, brandishing a pipe rifle. "We're gonna tear you apart!"

Woods and Mason exchanged a quick look before opening fire. The roar of gunfire filled the air as Woods' AK-47 barked out round after round, each bullet finding its mark with deadly precision. Two Raiders dropped before they even had a chance to react, their bodies hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

"Engage!" Woods shouted over the din, his voice brimming with adrenaline-fueled aggression.

Mason followed suit, his M16 spitting fire as he took down another Raider, sending him sprawling to the floor. Johnson, ever the tactical leader, called out commands as he provided cover fire, his Battle Rifle delivering deadly bursts with pinpoint accuracy.

Despite the chaos, Woods, Mason, and Johnson worked as a seamless unit, their years of military experience evident in every movement. They moved from cover to cover, dispatching the Raiders with ruthless efficiency, their expressions grim and focused.

But the Raiders kept coming, and the battle was far from over. As more Raiders flooded into the factory, it was clear that the trio was vastly outnumbered. The odds were against them, but they held their ground, determined to survive this onslaught.

"We hold this ground," Johnson repeated through gritted teeth, firing off another burst, "no matter what."

The fight had only just begun.

Gunfire echoed through the factory as Alex Mason, Avery J. Johnson, and Frank Woods fought their way through a horde of Raiders. Mason advanced swiftly, his M16 barking out sharp bursts of gunfire as he moved from cover to cover.

"Cover me!" Mason shouted, ducking behind a pillar. He popped up quickly, taking out another Raider with a well-placed burst.

Johnson, standing in the middle of the fray, issued orders with unwavering focus. "Suppressive fire!" His BR55 Battle Rifle roared in controlled bursts, the powerful rounds tearing through the flimsy cover the Raiders huddled behind. They were pinned down, forced into desperation.

One of the Raiders, voice trembling with fear, shouted, "Shit, they're too strong!"

Another, angrier and more determined, barked back, "Keep pushing! We got 'em outnumbered!"

Woods, meanwhile, maneuvered to a higher vantage point. His experience in urban combat allowed him to flank the Raiders with ease. He fired a grenade from his M203 launcher, sending a powerful explosion ripping through their defenses, debris and bodies flying in all directions.

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"Boom, baby!" Woods grinned, relishing the chaos he'd unleashed.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Mason switched his M16 to full-auto, his breath coming in heavy bursts. "Status! How we doing?" he called out.

Johnson gave a quick nod. "Doing good."

Woods, his voice filled with adrenaline, chimed in. "Still alive, brother!"

Mason's senses were heightened as he scanned the area. "Good, eyes up. I still hear them."

From outside, another Raider's voice rang out, filled with rage. "Damn it! They took out our boys! Get in there and kill 'em all!"

Another Raider, taunting from the shadows, shouted, "You can't hide forever, bastards!"

The trio prepared for the next wave, their weapons hot and their resolve unshaken. They knew this was only the beginning, but they'd fight to the last bullet.

Johnson remained calm and in control. "We need to maintain control of this area. Mason, take the left flank. Woods, cover the right. I'll hold the center."

Mason nodded. "Copy. Moving!" He sprinted to the left, finding cover behind a stack of crates, his M16 aimed at the entrance.

Woods secured the right flank, crouched behind a large piece of machinery. His AK-47 was ready, the shadows of approaching Raiders barely visible.

"Right flank secure," Woods called out. "I see movement!"

Johnson held his ground in the center, his eyes focused. "Hold your fire until they're in range. We need to maximize our effectiveness."

The Raiders charged into the building, their makeshift weapons raised. But they were met with a deadly hail of bullets. The trio opened fire, precise and unrelenting.

One of the Raiders screamed, "They're everywhere!" while another fired wildly into the room. "Keep pushing! We got the numbers!"

Mason, calm under pressure, picked off two Raiders with precision. "Two targets down," he said, keeping his breathing steady. "Keep them pinned!"

Woods switched to single-shot mode, taking out Raiders with surgical precision. He loaded another grenade into his launcher and fired, the explosion sending shockwaves through the room and disorienting the attackers.

"You want some more? Come and get it!" Woods taunted, laughing as he unleashed chaos.

Johnson maintained a steady stream of suppressive fire, picking off Raiders one by one. His movements were efficient and practiced—one well-aimed headshot followed by a quick reload, never missing a beat.

"We need to keep the pressure on," Johnson commanded, his voice steady despite the intensity of the battle. "Don't let them regroup!"

The Raiders faltered under the trio's relentless fire. Their attacks grew wild and desperate as their numbers thinned.

"Fall back! Fall back!" one of them cried out in desperation.

But another Raider, furious, refused to retreat. "No retreat! Fight to the last man!"

The trio pressed their advantage, pushing the Raiders back with a relentless onslaught of firepower. The factory filled with the sounds of battle—gunfire, explosions, and the cries of the dying. The floor was littered with bodies, and the air hung thick with smoke and the stench of burning metal. Yet through it all, Mason, Woods, and Johnson held their ground, their resolve unbroken, ready for whatever came next.

Alex Mason gritted his teeth, eyes focused ahead. "Almost there. Keep it up!" he urged.

Beside him, Frank Woods quickly adjusted his aim, spotting a Raider attempting to flank them. With practiced precision, he took the shot, dropping the Raider in an instant.

Woods grinned as the enemy crumpled to the ground. "Nice try, asshole."

From behind the group, Avery J. Johnson led the charge with the authority of a seasoned commander. "Advance! Push them out of the building!" he barked, coordinating their movements with expert precision.

The trio's military expertise was clear as they drove back the first wave of Raiders, their movements synchronized and their shooting precise. The Raiders fell back under their relentless assault, but the fight was far from over.

Meanwhile, Agent Jonesy remained further back, fumbling desperately with his malfunctioning earpiece. His voice trembled as he muttered to himself, "Come on, work... please work..." Panic crept into his voice as he struggled to make the device functional, the urgency of the situation weighing heavily on him.

Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed from behind, growing louder. Jonesy's heart sank.

"Oh no..." he whispered under his breath, quickly snatching up the earpiece once more. But before he could attempt to make contact, gunfire erupted around him. A group of Raiders had flanked the building and spotted him.

"I found someone! Over here!" one of the Raiders shouted.

Jonesy ducked behind a stack of crates as bullets whizzed past, his heart pounding in his chest. Gripping his Tactical Assault Rifle, a familiar weapon from his home world of Fortnite, he braced himself for what was to come.

"Alright, Jonesy," he muttered to himself, taking deep, shaky breaths. "You got this..."

With a quick, fluid motion, Jonesy leaned out from behind the crates, firing a burst from his rifle. The distinct crack of the weapon echoed across the battlefield as one of the Raiders crumpled, hit squarely by Jonesy's shot.

"He's got a damn gun! Take him out!" another Raider yelled as they opened fire on Jonesy's position.

Jonesy ducked back behind cover, his quick reflexes saving him from the barrage of bullets. He dove behind another piece of debris, trying to create some distance between himself and the advancing Raiders. For a brief moment, he was safe—but the danger was far from over.

With his free hand, Jonesy fumbled with the earpiece again, desperately trying to make contact with Captain Keyes.

"Captain Keyes, come in! We need backup, now!" he pleaded into the earpiece, his voice filled with urgency.

Only static answered him. Jonesy's heart raced as he heard the Raiders closing in, their voices growing louder. He gritted his teeth, frustration and fear mingling as he tried again.

"Come on, answer!" he hissed.

Steeling himself, Jonesy popped up from cover once more, firing another burst at the approaching Raiders. His aim was sharp, and another Raider fell to the ground. But there were too many of them, and the situation was becoming more desperate by the second.

"It's just one guy! Rush him!" one of the Raiders shouted, rallying the others to charge at Jonesy's position.

Jonesy's mind raced. He could see them advancing on him, their weapons raised, determined to end the fight. But Jonesy wasn't about to give up. His grip tightened on the rifle, and he shifted into a tactical stance, recalling everything he had learned from his countless battles in Fortnite.

"Not today..." he muttered grimly, his determination solidifying.

As the Raiders closed in, Jonesy stood his ground, ready to make his last stand. The battlefield roared with the sound of gunfire, but Jonesy was focused, determined to hold them back for as long as he could.

Crazy Jack sat down on a rusty metal chair, whistling a tuneless melody as the air around him hung heavy with tension. He noticed that the gunfire had stopped and stood up abruptly, his eyes wide with a manic gleam. His grin stretched unnaturally across his face as he saw his remaining men retreating. It was a grin that barely seemed human.

"What the hell happened, boys?" Jack called out, his voice dripping with deranged excitement. "Why are you running like scared little rabbits?"

One of the Raiders stumbled forward, panting and covered in dirt and blood. His entire body trembled with fear as he tried to catch his breath.

"They're too strong, boss," The Raider wheezed, his voice shaking. "Coordinated. We had to retreat."

Jack's face twisted into a hideous mask of amusement, and he erupted into hysterical laughter. The sound echoed eerily through the night. Without warning, he pulled out a 10mm pistol and shot the Raider who had spoken.

"No, wait—!" The Raider screamed, but it was too late. He collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

The other Raiders froze in shock, their faces pale and their eyes wide with fear.

"Cowards!" Jack snarled, his voice rising to a fever pitch. "You think running's gonna save you? We're Raiders! We don't run from a fight!"

He began pacing erratically, swinging his pistol around carelessly as his laughter intensified. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets as he continued his manic tirade.

"We're the scourge of the wasteland!" Jack howled, his voice shrill with madness. "We take what we want! And you—" he pointed the pistol at another Raider, "—you think you're gonna run away and hide? You think you're safe from me?"

A random Raider, looking confused, interrupted hesitantly, his voice innocent despite the chaos surrounding them.

"Actually, boss," the Raider said cautiously, "I always thought the Institute was the scourge of the wasteland—"

Jack's grin vanished in an instant, replaced by a look of sheer annoyance. Without a second thought, he fired a shot into the Raider's head. The poor fool dropped instantly.

"Anyone else got an opinion?" Jack growled, his eyes scanning the terrified faces of the remaining Raiders.

They all flinched, shaking their heads furiously, too scared to speak.

Jack's laughter returned, though now it was quieter, almost soothing. His grin widened again, and he raised his pistol toward the sky.

"That's what I thought!" Jack shouted, his voice taking on a triumphant edge. "So here's what we're gonna do: We're gonna march in there, and we're gonna tear them apart limb by limb! And if any of you even think about running—" he lowered the pistol, pointing it directly at them, "—I'll shoot you myself!"

The Raiders cowered as Jack's wild gaze swept over them. Then, four of them stepped forward, their power armor clanking ominously in the moonlight.

"Understood, boss," one of them said, his voice muffled by the helmet. "We'll take 'em out."

Jack's twisted grin softened into something disturbingly close to affection as he nodded approvingly.

"Good," Jack said, his tone calm, almost loving. "Make sure you bring me their heads. I want trophies."

He grabbed Noriega by the collar and shoved him roughly forward, causing the man to stumble.

"And you..." Jack hissed, leaning close to Noriega, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper, "don't even think about trying to escape. You're coming with us. You'll get to see the show up close."

Noriega nodded weakly, his eyes darting around in search of an exit that didn't exist. Jack straightened up and turned back to his men, raising his arms wide in a grand gesture.

"Move out, you dogs!" Jack bellowed, his voice cracking with madness. "Show them what true insanity looks like!"

The remaining Raiders, galvanized by Jack's unhinged fervor and the presence of their power-armored comrades, steeled themselves for the assault. Fear and madness burned in their eyes as they prepared for the bloodbath ahead. They charged back toward the factory, their footsteps echoing in the night, driven by the promise of violence—and the certainty that failure meant death.