Gunfire reverberated, and explosions rocked the building. Tremors could be felt beneath their feet.
A series of resounding booms vibrated through the foundation, causing everyone to peer up from the screens in front of them, with confusion on their faces.
Garrett's bracelet buzzed, and he hastily answered the call.
Mr. Daniels, the driver, communicated with Garrett through the chaos of the ongoing gunfight outside.
"Captain, the center is under siege!" he hollered, his voice laden with fear. "They've ambushed the guards outside. I'm doing what I can, but my bullets can barely graze them. They seem to have some sort of shielding. We've managed to take down a few, but three of them made it inside. I think you might be their primary target, sir."
"Stay safe, Corporal Daniels," Garrett replied, his voice steady as steel. "We don’t know that for sure. We'll try to handle the intruders."
He looked towards the entrance and saw that the soldiers at the entrance were already alert. They readied their rifles, cautiously advancing with their sights trained on the doorway.
In an instant, an explosion at the front entrance ripped a large opening in the building, launching the soldiers into the air, their fates unknown.
The employees and staff, gripped by fear, dashed for cover behind desks and structural columns.
Without delay, three silhouettes draped in black masks and full body armor, armed with gun, stormed into the building.
The attackers moved with a menacing grace, their armor gleaming under the harsh lights of the room. The strange symbols etched into their gear hinted at a mysterious organization, and their visors were tinted, reflecting everything in sight. It was clear that they were a formidable and highly trained force, determined to achieve their sinister objective, whatever that may be.
Garrett, Timothy's bodyguard, and the security staff sprang into action, herding the children to safety, before brandishing their firearms and opening fire.
Christopher, his sister, and Timothy huddled together behind the front counter, desperately attempting to avoid the crossfire. He peered over the counter to watch the gunfight, as his sister stayed down, trying to calm the distraught Timothy.
He watched as a blue glow enveloped the assailant’s bodies, deflecting the incoming gunfire.
The bullets, now aimless, ricocheted off the shimmering blue shields and tore into the walls behind the assailants, sending plumes of drywall and concrete dust billowing through the air. It covered the air in a gritty haze.
The scene unfolding before Christopher's eyes painted a striking image of the attackers' invincibility. Their seemingly unstoppable nature sent a shiver down his spine.
Suddenly, one assailant's blue shield seemed to falter, and a bullet's impact against his armor sent him kneeling. It appeared the attackers were well-protected against bullets, even without their strange shields.
"Shitty prototypes!" the man grumbled, clutching his head. He groaned, likely suffering a light concussion from the force of a bullet hitting his armored helmet.
His two accomplices, still enveloped by the functioning blue shields, managed to retaliate quickly. They aimed their sleek and futuristic rifles at the defenders and fired.
Their dark assault rifles appeared custom-made for their nefarious purposes. The weapon seemed tailored to bypass their shielding, allowing them to fire upon others without being hindered by their protective barriers.
They landed accurate shots at the defenders. The defenders fell, collapsing to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. A pool of blood began to spread beneath their bodies.
Just like that, the lives of the security staff and Timothy’s bodyguard were gone.
Christopher could only continue to watch as gunfire aimed in his father's direction, also hit its target. His father spun him around once as he fell to the floor. A dark, crimson red began to seep into his father's pristine white military attire.
"Dad!" he cried, peeking over the counter. Kristine, alarmed by her brother’s shout, glanced over to assess the situation.
She was just in time to see their father, Garrett who was shot in the stomach, fall to the ground. Their father, sprawled on his back, was clutching his bleeding gunshot wound as a menacing muzzle loomed mere feet from his head.
The attacker whose shield had faltered was back on his feet and now aimed his rifle at the gasping Garrett, whose chest heaved with labored breaths. The twins felt their hearts race as they watched the man point a rifle at their father's head. It seemed as though their days of joy and happiness in this new world might come to a screeching halt.
Christopher pushed Kristine's shoulder back down, hiding her underneath the counter as he fought to clear his tear-filled eyes.
Another of the attackers stepped forward, blocking the path of his fellow intruder and preventing him from firing another shot at Garrett and finishing him off. His name was Antonio Rocha and he had a serious grudge against Richard Brink and anyone related to him.
"We're not here for this," Antonio intervened. He appeared to be the leader of this group. He chastised his comrade, his voice firm. "We're not here to take innocent lives."
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His comrade, with ulterior motives, looked at the bleeding Garrett and reluctantly lowered his weapon. It seemed likely the general would succumb to blood loss anyway, so he watched as the vitality and color gradually drained from the dying man’s face.
Antonio strode over to the reception counter, while his two accomplices kept an eye out for any unexpected heroes. Though they still had backup outside, they couldn't be too careful.
He approached the receptionist cowering beneath the reception counter. She whimpered as the man menacingly waved his rifle in her direction.
"Where is Richard Brink?" he demanded.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," the receptionist stammered, her eyes darting around the room in bewilderment. "Richard Brink isn't here."
"Isn’t his son scheduled for an appointment today?" he pressed further.
"Y-yes, Timothy Brink is here today," the receptionist reluctantly confirmed, betraying the child. "But his father didn't accompany him."
**
Huddled beneath the front desk, Kristine and Christopher exchanged concerned glances with a wide-eyed Timothy Brink, who had overheard the conversation.
"Richard Brink, is he your dad?" Kristine inquired, her voice gentle.
"Yeah, he's my dad, but he's a good guy. They call him 'The Healer' 'cause he's the best healer ever. Loads of people are super grateful for his help," Timothy explained, his words tumbling out in a rush. He defended his father, worried that his new friends might blame him for their father being shot.
Suddenly, the trio heard approaching footsteps. Antonio Rocha came into view, his tinted visor reflecting the three frightened faces. Beneath his helmet, Antonio's smile went unnoticed as he pointed his rifle at the children.
Reluctantly, the three emerged from beneath the table, hands raised in surrender.
Christopher's eyes blazed with fury, staring at the man partly responsible for his father being shot. Kristine attempted to shield Timothy, placing herself in front of him as they stood up, but Antonio waved her away with the barrel of his gun.
"You must be Timothy. Where's your father?" Antonio asked, his rifle aimed at Timothy's face. "I know he's here, hiding like the coward he is."
Timothy's eyes widened in terror as he looked down the open barrel. He shook his head. "My dad's not here," he stammered. "He didn't even care enough to come with me today."
Antonio's anger flared at Timothy's words. How could Richard not care about his own son? No matter. Timothy's death would still cause Richard Brink pain. He was familiar with that pain. He was a father too until Richard Brink took his daughter away from him.
He seized Timothy by the neck, choking him, his grip tightening with every second.
Christopher and Kristine were ready to use their Mesmerizing Gaze on the man who kept his rifle trained on them as he began to strangle the young boy. They refused to stand and watch an innocent child die.
However, they knew they needed would handle his two remaining accomplices. They weren't certain if their bone armor would be strong enough to withstand rifle rounds.
Desperation clawed at their minds so they turned to the “Devil and Angel” system for a solution. They started the "Devil Lottery," and burned some of their Hatred points, praying for a combat skill that might turn the tide in their favor.
The familiar interface flickered in their vision, and they watched with bated breath as the lottery was coming to completion. They ball their hands into a fist, hoping for a miracle that could save Timothy.
The lottery roll ended, revealing the skills they had been rewarded.
Devil Lottery
You have used 1000 Hatred Points
x1 Toughness (Nails) Trait Book: Increase the toughness of fingernails and toenails
x1 Toughness (Teeth) Trait Book: Increase the toughness of teeth
x1 Lung Capacity Trait Book: Increase stamina and breath-holding time
x1 Firearms (Rifles) Skill Book: Increases proficiency with semi-auto and automatic rifles.
x1 Whip Skill Book: Increases proficiency with whips
x1 Nunchaku Skill Book: Increases proficiency with nunchucks
x1 Capoeira Skill Book: Increases proficiency in Capoeira
x1 Judo Skill Book: Increases proficiency in Judo
x1 Escrima Skill Book: Increases proficiency in Escrima
x1 Silat Skill Book: Increases proficiency in Silat
"Firearms (Rifles) Skill Book." It was just the reward they needed. They burned the rest of their Hatred Points to purchase copies of this new skill.
Love Points: 73421
Hatred Points: 141
A rush of adrenaline coursed through their veins as newfound knowledge filled their minds. The knowledge and memories of training in the gun range flashed by in their head, equipping them with the ability to fight back. Now armed with their newly acquired skill, Christopher and Kristine exchanged a determined glance as they began to prepare for their counter-attack.
However, their preparations proved futile when Timothy, in his struggle, latched onto Antonio's Kevlar-covered arm and unleashed his Psion power.
Antonio's grip on Timothy's neck slackened, dropping the boy. Then he crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his rifle clattering to the floor.
Christopher and Kristine stared in disbelief, but they knew they had to act right away. Timothy's unexpected use of his ability had changed their plans.
Kristine lunged for the fallen rifle, knowing it was capable of bypassing the mysterious shields protecting the intruders. Meanwhile, Christopher's skin began to fill with a white substance that hardened into bone, preparing him for the inevitable confrontation. The twins were aware that the remaining intruders would soon notice their leader's defeat and open fire on them.
It was now or never.