The barren landscape stretched out before them, a jagged expanse of cliffs and rock-strewn paths that seemed almost deliberately designed to repel invaders. The black site was nestled in the heart of this natural fortress, a compound of cold, gray buildings fortified with floodlights, guard towers, and razor-wire fences. The Four Horsemen moved under the cover of darkness, their approach silent, their presence a phantom in the night.
War led the team, his movements precise and deliberate as he guided them to the ridge overlooking the compound. He crouched low, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain. “Floodlights. Watchtowers. Drones. Same setup as the Harbinger’s intel.”
Behind him, Famine knelt, pulling out his drone and sending it up into the night. The device was nearly invisible against the starless sky, its silent hum blending with the desert wind. A live feed appeared on his tablet, giving them a bird’s-eye view of the compound.
“Sniper nest to the northeast,” Famine murmured. “Two guards at the main entrance. Rotating patrols along the west and south perimeters. Drone operator’s stationed near the barracks.”
Conquest shifted slightly, his rifle slung across his chest. “What’s the basement look like?”
Famine zoomed in on a small stairwell near the center of the compound. “That’s our way in. Lightly guarded, but it’s underground. Marcus is in the basement. That’s where we’ll find him.”
War nodded. “Conquest, take the sniper. Famine, disable the drones. I want us inside before they realize we’re here.”
Conquest smirked faintly. “On it.”
Conquest moved like a shadow, his steps silent as he approached the sniper’s nest. He climbed the tower with practiced ease, pausing as the sniper shifted in his seat. Conquest waited, his timing perfect, before slipping behind the man and locking his arm around his throat. The sniper struggled briefly, but Conquest ended it quickly, his blade slicing cleanly across the man’s neck. He caught the body before it hit the floor, lowering it gently.
“Sniper’s down,” Conquest whispered into his comm.
Famine, meanwhile, was in position near the barracks. He had planted a small EMP device beneath the drone operator’s workstation. With a flick of a switch, the device discharged, sending a ripple of energy through the control systems. The drones above the compound flickered, then went dark.
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“Drones offline,” Famine reported.
War and Famine moved toward the east side of the compound, slipping through the gap in the patrols. They reached the stairwell, taking out the two guards with swift, silenced shots. Conquest joined them moments later, his rifle at the ready.
“We’re in,” War said. “Basement’s next.”
The air grew colder as they descended the narrow staircase into the basement. The hum of machinery and the distant sound of muffled voices guided them toward the holding cells. War led the way, his weapon raised, his steps careful but urgent.
At the end of the dim corridor, they found the door to the cells. Famine approached the control panel beside it, his fingers deftly working to bypass the security. “Two minutes,” he murmured.
The others took position, their weapons trained on the hallway behind them. The seconds stretched painfully, the tension thick as Famine worked.
Finally, the door hissed open.
Inside, the air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat. Rows of cells lined the walls, their metal bars rusting in the dim light. In the farthest cell, slumped against the wall, was Marcus.
War’s breath hitched at the sight. Marcus’s shirt was torn, his face bloodied, and his hands hung loosely at his sides. As they stepped closer, the faint gleam of crimson on his fingers became apparent. A guard was sprawled on the floor nearby, his throat torn open, blood pooling beneath him.
“Jesus,” Famine muttered. “Even tied down, you have to have your fun, don’t you?”
Marcus’s head lifted slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto them. Despite his battered appearance, the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. “Took you long enough.”
War stepped into the cell, cutting the restraints that bound Marcus to the wall. “Can you walk?”
“Of course,” Marcus said hoarsely, his voice laced with dry humor. “I’ve had worse.”
Famine handed Marcus a pistol, the weapon fitting seamlessly into his hand despite his injuries. “We’re not done here,” Famine said. “Al-Ra’ib?”
Marcus flexed his fingers, the weight of the weapon familiar and reassuring. “He ran. I can show you where.”
Conquest’s lips curved into a grim smile. “Good. We’re not leaving until we have him.”
The Four Horsemen moved as one, their bond as strong as it had been in the days when they had been unstoppable. War led them out of the cellblock, his sharp commands guiding their every step. Conquest covered their rear, his rifle trained on every shadow. Famine moved beside Marcus, steadying him as they made their way through the compound.
They emerged into the upper levels of the facility, the sound of distant alarms growing louder. The guards had discovered the breach, and chaos was spreading. Floodlights swept the perimeter, and shouts echoed in the distance.
War turned to Marcus, his voice steady. “You’re sure he went this way?”
Marcus nodded, his expression grim. “He’s scared. He’ll run to the safe room. That’s where we’ll find him.”
Conquest checked his weapon, his movements precise. “If he thinks he’s safe, he’s in for a rude awakening.”
Famine’s smirk was cold. “Let’s remind him why you don’t mess with Death.”
The Four Horsemen advanced into the chaos, their purpose clear. Al-Ra’ib had thought he could control Marcus, break him, and use him. Now, he was the one being hunted.
And the Horsemen didn’t stop until their prey was found.