The air outside the mansion had gone still.
Flies buzzed over the remains scattered across the courtyard, their droning hum audible through the faint crackle of fire.
Torn bodies lay twisted across the ground, blood pooling beneath them, dark and thick under the faint moonlight.
Empty casings glittered in the dirt, thousands of them, catching faint red glints from the flames chewing at the husks of ruined Defenders.
The Escalades that had circled the estate now sat idle—black shapes against the orange glow. A few still smoked from their barrels.
Minions stood positioned in calculated symmetry around them, rifles propped on the hoods, others manning mounted machine guns. Some scanned the treeline, heads turning in unison, while others reloaded methodically, the sound of shifting magazines and clicks breaking the quiet.
For the first time that night, there was no shouting, no engines, no gunfire.
Just the slow murmur of death settling in.
