The compound was in chaos. Floodlights swept the rocky terrain as alarms blared across the facility. Guards scrambled to organize a defense, their shouts mixing with the crackle of radios. But their disarray was palpable; this wasn’t an attack they had prepared for. It wasn’t an attack at all—it was a hunt.
The Four Horsemen moved through the corridors like a storm, leaving bodies and broken defenses in their wake. War led the charge, his sharp hand signals dictating their every move. Conquest covered the rear, his rifle snapping out precise, silenced shots that dropped guards before they could raise the alarm. Famine, ever the pragmatist, scoured every room they passed, pocketing weapons and planting small charges that could be used for later chaos.
And Marcus, despite his battered state, was relentless. He followed closely, his steps steady, his eyes scanning for their quarry. The Phantom had made the mistake of trying to break him. Now, Marcus was determined to show him the price of failure.
---
Amir Qadir—Al-Ra’ib—stumbled through a narrow hallway, his breath ragged. Sweat poured down his face, and his hands trembled as he gripped a pistol he hadn’t fired in years. His confidence, his legendary composure, had crumbled into raw, unadulterated fear.
He had thought he could control Marcus, that he could use the man’s fury and skill to further his own plans. Instead, Marcus had turned his carefully constructed world into a nightmare.
Amir glanced over his shoulder, the sound of distant gunfire spurring him onward. His guards were falling one by one, their brief bursts of radio chatter growing more frantic before being silenced entirely. He cursed under his breath. He had underestimated Marcus—not just his resilience, but the loyalty of the men who had come for him.
The Four Horsemen, Amir thought, his stomach tightening. He had heard rumors, whispered legends of a team that moved like a single, lethal organism, leaving devastation in their wake. And now, they were here. For him.
He reached a steel door at the end of the corridor, fumbling with his keycard. The mechanism beeped, and the door slid open, revealing a reinforced safe room. Amir stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of locks engaging was faint comfort against the knowledge that Death was coming for him.
---
The Horsemen cleared the upper levels, their movements methodical and unrelenting. War stopped at the base of a stairwell, his hand raised in a silent signal for the others to halt. He crouched, checking the map on Famine’s tablet.
“Safe room’s here,” War whispered, pointing to a section of the blueprint. “Two floors down, near the operations center. He’ll be locked in tight.”
“Not for long,” Famine murmured, slipping a small satchel charge from his pack.
Conquest scanned the hallway ahead, his rifle sweeping for threats. “What’s the play?”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
War glanced at Marcus, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the one he’s running from. He knows we’re coming, but you? You’ll make him panic.”
Marcus flexed his fingers around the stolen pistol, his knuckles raw and bloodied. Despite the exhaustion etched into his face, his voice was calm. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”
War nodded, and the team moved down the stairwell, their steps ghostlike on the metal steps. They encountered resistance on the second floor—four guards stationed outside a control room. War signaled, and the team split.
Conquest took the lead, dropping two guards with precise shots before they could react. Famine darted to the side, his silenced pistol taking out a third. The final guard turned to fire but froze as Marcus stepped into view.
The man’s hesitation lasted a second too long. Marcus raised his pistol and fired, the shot striking the guard cleanly in the chest. The man collapsed, his weapon clattering to the floor.
“Clear,” Conquest said, his voice steady.
War moved to a terminal inside the control room, pulling up a schematic of the lower levels. “He’s in the safe room. Reinforced walls, single entry point.”
Famine smirked. “Single entry point doesn’t mean much with the right tools.”
They moved quickly toward the safe room, the compound growing quieter as the guards above were either dead or too scared to respond. The alarms still blared, but the sense of urgency had shifted—from defending the compound to trying to survive its invaders.
They reached the corridor leading to the safe room, a single guard stationed outside. The man raised his rifle, but Marcus was faster. He fired a single shot, the bullet striking the guard in the throat. The man crumpled without a sound.
War stepped forward, examining the steel door. “This is it.”
Famine crouched beside him, unpacking his satchel charge. He worked quickly, securing the explosive to the door’s locking mechanism. “Two minutes.”
Conquest covered their rear, his rifle trained on the hallway behind them. “Make it one.”
Marcus stood beside the door, his body tense. His voice was low but resolute. “He’s mine.”
War placed a hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze. “We’ll get him alive. We need answers.”
Marcus’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Alive doesn’t mean unbroken.”
Famine stood, stepping back from the door. “Ready. This’ll blow the lock, but the room’s still a fortress. Be ready for anything.”
War nodded. “Marcus, you lead. Famine, you’re second. Conquest, cover the hallway. I’ll follow Marcus in.”
The charge detonated with a muffled boom, the force shaking the corridor as smoke and sparks filled the air. The steel door groaned, its locking mechanism shattered. War kicked it open, and Marcus stepped inside without hesitation.
The safe room was stark and utilitarian, its walls lined with monitors displaying feeds from the now-useless security cameras. Amir Qadir stood near the back, his pistol shaking in his hands as he pointed it at Marcus.
“You think you’ve won?” Amir spat, his voice cracking. “You’re nothing but a pawn! Harrington—he’ll destroy you!”
Marcus didn’t flinch. He stepped closer, his pistol trained on Amir’s chest. “You’ve got one chance, Amir. Tell me who you’re working for, or I’ll make you wish Harrington got to you first.”
Amir’s composure cracked entirely. He dropped the pistol, his hands trembling as he raised them in surrender. “You don’t understand. This isn’t just me. It’s bigger than you—bigger than any of us.”
War entered the room, his weapon leveled at Amir. “Then start talking.”
Amir’s eyes darted between the Horsemen, his fear palpable. “I’ll tell you everything. But you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Harrington… he’s just the beginning.”
Marcus stepped closer, his gaze icy. “Then let’s start with him.”
The Four Horsemen stood together, their presence suffocating as they loomed over Amir. The Phantom had thought himself untouchable, a shadow that couldn’t be reached. But now, under the cold glare of Death and his riders, he realized just how wrong he had been.
The hunt was far from over. It was just beginning.