Emmett didn't feel entirely comfortable with Bunker covering his back. Still, Ethan had asked for his vote of confidence, and he was willing to give him just one chance. If he saw anything off, he'd drop him without a second thought.
Now, posted near the emergency exit, he understood that, in this moment, Bunker was a necessary evil.
—Shh.
Bunker suddenly whistled, catching his attention. Through the glass of the emergency door, Emmett could make out some figures moving in the distance. Among them, the light briefly revealed the face of a Kinaho native.
At that moment, fierce howls echoed from above.
The two exchanged looks, aware that Chayton had already given the order. It was clear he was planning to attack from both flanks.
Rushed footsteps came from behind them, and Siobhan joined the sprint. She didn't have time to position herself when the wooden door burst open with a kick: several members of the Red Bone Gang stormed in, armed with rifles and war cries.
Bunker was the first to react: he raised his arm and pulled the trigger of the Remington he was holding. The weapon roared with a dry thunder, spitting out a cone of fire that briefly lit the darkness.
—Bang!
The shot tore through the chest of the Red Bone Gang member leading the charge. The impact shook him like a rag doll before he collapsed backwards, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
But the rest of the gang didn't stop. They let out muffled cries and fired back immediately, their AK-47s vomiting bursts that ricocheted off the concrete walls. The echo of gunfire filled the space with a deafening hum.
Emmett ducked behind an overturned table and fired through a gap between crates, feeling the stock vibrate against his shoulder. Siobhan, beside him, clenched her teeth as she pulled the trigger of her semi-automatic pistol. Each muzzle flash lit her tense, sweat-covered face.
Bullets whistled like angry hornets, splintering the wood of the crates and kicking up clouds of dust and debris. A couple of rounds struck a hanging lamp, sending sparks falling like embers over the fighters.
Bunker stepped forward, pumped the shotgun with a firm motion, and fired again, forcing one of the attackers to dive behind an old barrel. The firepower from their group was fierce, but the Red Bone Gang didn't back down.
Two of their men, unfamiliar with the terrain, rushed too far into the warehouse and paid the price: one was shot in the neck and dropped to his knees, the other barely had time to turn before a burst sent him staggering into a shelf, knocking down rusty tools.
The two survivors reacted quickly. They slid behind a half-rotted wooden crate, barely peeking their AKs over the top, and began firing blindly. Hot casings flew from the chambers, clinking as they hit the floor.
Each shot was thunder in the gloom, a lightning flash of gunpowder that kept everyone ducked down and tense, counting each second to decide whether to pop up or stay alive just a little longer.
In the narrow corridor, that kind of shooting proved surprisingly effective.
Bullets kept whizzing everywhere, forcing Emmett to stay crouched, not daring to lift his head. He was pinned under direct fire from the natives. Bunker, jaw clenched, gripped the shotgun tightly and rolled sideways, shifting position. The move gave him a small angle from the flank, just enough space to aim and fire back.
The shotgun barked and the shot blew apart part of the wooden crate, hitting the side and leg of the biker hiding behind it. The impact spun him violently before he collapsed to the floor with a choked groan.
—Ah!
His partner, seeing his friend fall lifeless, let out a roar of rage and jumped up, lifting his AK-47 to fire blindly. But he barely had time to aim before he was struck by an unrelenting burst—six accurate shots pierced his chest in rapid succession.
—Bang, bang, bang!
Siobhan pulled the trigger without hesitation, and the bullets slammed into the man's torso like hammer blows of lead. The attacker took a couple of unsteady steps, trembled like a puppet with cut strings, and collapsed without a sound.
Another man was stationed across the way, firing blindly and shouting something unintelligible. Emmett, seizing a moment's pause, rose just enough to carefully aim at the arm holding the AK—but he was soon struck by a bullet.
—Ah! —Emmett cried out as a round grazed his shoulder, throwing him off balance and sending him crashing backward with a hard thud.
—Ka-ka!
The hollow sound of empty magazines echoed from the other side—the attacker had run out of ammo. Seeing the opening, Siobhan pushed forward, ran a few meters, and ducked behind a half-broken container.
The man, confused, shook his head as he tried to reload. Siobhan didn't give him the chance: she raised her pistol, fired twice in quick succession, and raised two red mist clouds as the bullets tore through his chest.
Siobhan quickly pulled back and hid behind the wooden crate, aiming her weapon firmly toward the already open rear door, shouting anxiously:
—Emmett, what's your status?
—I'm good —Emmett replied, coughing twice in pain, with a sharp ache in his chest.
Bunker kept covering Siobhan until she made it back.
He looked at her with a spark of admiration in his eyes, then lowered the shotgun and lunged forward. In a single motion, Bunker grabbed Emmett by the bulletproof vest and started dragging him to the rear, away from the line of fire.
Emmett waved his hands nervously, drenched in sweat, and muttered between gasps:
—Okay, I'm good… I'm good…
But Bunker didn't listen. He kept dragging him without letting go until he was safe, behind a stack of crates, out of the deadly crossfire.
Emmett's vest had been pierced at chest level; the bullet had lodged in the Kevlar plate, stopped by the armored insert.
—Catch your breath first.
Once Bunker confirmed he was okay, he stood up quickly and ran back to the front.
Siobhan saw Bunker return at a sprint, recognized the shotgun, and asked anxiously:
—How's Emmett?
—He's fine, the bullet was stopped by the vest.
Bunker's expression was steady, but the sweat on his face betrayed his nerves.
He wasn't wearing real protective gear—just a thin black vest that offered no defense. With the firepower they were up against, he was doomed if a single bullet hit him. But he wanted to prove himself, even if it cost him his life.
Luckily, after everyone who came through the back door had fallen, no one else dared to advance. After the shootout, no one tried again; not everyone had the guts to run into certain death.
Siobhan turned and shouted:
—Alisson, get up there and take a look.
—Got it.
Alisson's voice echoed as her footsteps hurried away. Shortly after, she returned in a rush, her pace heavier and faster. But she wasn't alone.
—Emmett, what happened to you?
Hearing Brock's voice, Siobhan breathed a sigh of relief. The fact that someone could come down from above meant the situation was under control.
Emmett was leaning against a wooden crate. When he saw Brock approaching, he waved a hand:
—I'm fine, the vest stopped the shot. Just hurts like hell.
Siobhan didn't turn around and asked anxiously:
—How are things upstairs?
—Ethan and Hood have everything under control. Kai Proctor, his lawyer, and a civilian are dead.
That simple sentence stunned everyone at the scene, and Alisson, next to him, opened her mouth wide. She couldn't help but ask:
—How did he die?
Brock turned slowly, revealing the scratches across his face. The bleeding had stopped, but it still looked terrible—half of his face was smeared with dried and fresh blood.
—Chayton used the M60 machine gun to tear through the protective mesh. A stray bullet hit him.
Alisson stepped back, terrified. Bunker and Siobhan exchanged a look, still in shock. They already thought it was bad enough being shot at with assault rifles, but they never imagined the enemy would use that kind of firepower.
—And how did they survive that?
Alisson didn't care about the news of Proctor's death at that moment. What mattered was staying alive.
—Well, all I can say is I'm glad those two lunatics up there are on our side.
Emmett took Brock's hand and got to his feet.
—Let's not waste any more time. Ethan and Hood have a plan. —Brock adjusted his belt—. Siobhan and Emmett, you're coming with me to defend the main entrance. Bunker, you'll cover their backs.
Emmett was momentarily confused.
—What's the plan?
—Ethan and Hood are going out the back door to ambush Chayton and his men. With luck, they'll force them to retreat —said Brock, while Alisson cleaned his face with a handkerchief; his face stung, but he didn't complain.
Alisson shouted, shocked.
—Those two are insane! That's suicide! They've got machine guns!
—Relax. The machine gun's already been destroyed… and more importantly, the protective mesh won't hold much longer —Brock answered with a half-smile—. We need to take the initiative and strike, or sooner or later they'll overwhelm us.
No one said a word. In that moment, there was no room for doubt, and with the sheriff having made a decision, there was nothing to do but follow it.
Siobhan nodded at Bunker, adjusted the AR-15 on her back, and headed toward the main entrance. Emmett rubbed his chest, pried the bullet out of his vest with a half-smile, and hurried to catch up with Brock.
After watching them leave, Alisson quickly grabbed her pistol and moved to one side of the corridor. Now it was just her, Bunker, and three civilians down there, and she couldn't help feeling a little nervous.
Bunker looked at her and spoke in a calm voice:
—Take a deep breath, relax your shoulders, and don't get too tense—you'll hurt yourself shooting like that.
Alisson forced herself to take several deep breaths and made herself relax.
—Lift your vest and let me see it.
—Huh? What do you mean? —Bunker looked at her, confused.
Alisson said blankly:
—I want to see it. —she said again, more sure of herself.
Bunker saw her gaze and quickly understood what she meant—she wanted to see the swastika on his chest—so he lifted his shirt along with the bulletproof vest.
—Alright, ma'am.
Seeing that the swastika tattoo—about the size of a palm—was almost gone, reduced to malformed scars, Alisson nodded seriously.
—Now you've earned a little bit of my trust.
On the upper floor, Ethan was preparing calmly. He loaded his Glock with a dry click, then checked the Beretta, making sure there wasn't a single malfunction in the chamber. He slid two extra magazines into his duty belt, leaving the pouches open, unsecured, ready for a quick reload.
The vest fit snugly. As he tightened the straps, he exhaled slowly through his nose. With a pistol in each hand—the Glock in his right, the Beretta in his left—he crossed his arms over his chest, as if mentally bracing himself for what was coming.
His gaze was a mix of fury and determination. There was no turning back. Not this time. Outside, the roar of gunfire was closing in like a storm.
—I can't help thinking you're wasting your talent in a place like this. The best you can hope for here is to become sheriff when Brock retires —Hood said with a grin, seeing the killer look in his eyes.
—What do you mean? —Ethan replied, placing a lit cigarette in his mouth and narrowing his eyes.
—Special Agent Phillips was very keen on recruiting you back then. Why not go to the FBI? I think you'd do really well there. —Hood listened to the hushed footsteps outside and raised his eyebrows—
—Well, I'm still thinking about it, you know. I like the freedom this place gives me, but it wouldn't be bad to try the big leagues someday. We'll see.
After taking a drag from the cigarette, Ethan pursed his lips and dropped the butt.
Now that Proctor was dead, he could earn millions a year from the casino profits. So why should he let anyone control him? Besides, he wasn't so sure he'd pass a background check, and the last thing he wanted was for people to start digging into his past.
Hood was a free man too, so he naturally understood what he meant. Soon, footsteps were heard, and Brock led Emmett and Siobhan back into the hallway.
Emmett and Siobhan were stunned to see the corridor even more wrecked than before, with huge bullet holes everywhere.
When they saw Proctor lying in a pool of blood, they froze.
They hadn't expected someone who had been standing against them for so long to die like that, but they didn't dwell on it and quickly looked away. There was no point wasting time on a dead man.
Siobhan pressed her lips together, trying to hide the worry burning in her chest. Her eyes searched Ethan's, looking for the reassurance she needed to stay calm.
—Are you sure you want to do this?
—We can't stay here and wait. You know that —he replied firmly—. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm going to end that bastard.
Siobhan wanted to correct him, to say a cop shouldn't talk like that, but instead, she gave a small smile. All she wanted was for him to come back alive.
Gently, Ethan brushed a strand of hair off Siobhan's face and tucked it behind her ear. That simple, tender gesture gave her a moment of relief, as if the danger vanished for just a second.
—Just… come back safe, okay? —she said, her voice cracking, clinging to that last bit of hope.
He gave her a warm, confident smile, his eyes holding a silent promise.
—I promise —he said—. And don't take any unnecessary risks. I'll handle it all.
A heavy silence filled the space between them, filled with unspoken words, a deep understanding only they shared in the chaos. Siobhan took a deep breath, letting that certainty hold her up, while Ethan readied himself for what was to come, determined to protect them both, no matter the cost.
—Ethan, it's time to move —said Hood, sliding the full magazine into the AR-15—. Bunker and the DA are alone down there. We need to move.
Siobhan gave a firm nod and leaned on the spot where Ethan had just been. Brock and Emmett moved ahead.
As she passed Brock, she handed something to Hood.
—Take this. We won't be needing it here.
Hood took the grenade without a word, gave Brock a pat on the shoulder, and headed down with Ethan.
Outside the station, Chayton clenched his fists in fury at the sight of the destroyed M60 machine gun. Who would have thought the department people actually had grenades and would blow up the only machine gun they had?
Just then, a man came running from around the corner.
He was clutching his legs, struggling.
—Chayton, there are officers guarding the back door. At least three or four of them, and the interior hallway is way too narrow. If our men go in there, they'll all be killed.
—Forget it. Just watch that side. It's their only way out —Chayton motioned with his hand—. Don't let anyone escape.
—Got it, boss —the man nodded quickly.
After he left, Chayton looked at the doorframe above the station, his eyes lit up, and he gave rapid orders.
A moment later, a pickup truck began backing into place.
Two members of the Red Bone Gang rushed forward with crowbars in hand. With a loud crack, the tools struck the base of the roll-up door. Gathering all their strength, they pushed hard, trying to force it open.
The door slowly gave way, opening just a narrow slit that let in a faint beam of outside light.
Chayton advanced quickly, holding a heavy iron hook attached to a thick cable, as wide as a thumb. With a firm movement, he lifted the hook and drove it in hard, piercing the steel frame that held the shutter with ease.
The metallic crunch echoed through the tense silence, and Brock, not fully understanding what they were planning, closed his eyes for a second and offered a silent prayer, clinging to hope in the face of imminent danger.
—Bang!
Chayton hammered with force, and the hook locked in place.
—Pull it.
He ordered everyone to step back, and the electric winch mounted on the back of the truck began to tighten.
As the loose cable tensed and the shutter door creaked harshly, Chayton, thrilled, took the AK his men handed him and watched as the opening slowly widened.
The harsh sound startled Brock and the others, who quickly shifted their feet and aimed their weapons forward.
Ethan and Hood ran to the basement, and upon reaching the edge of the hallway, they saw several bodies lying at the end.
Hearing the footsteps, Bunker quickly turned around.
—Sheriff.
Hood nodded.
—What's going on?
—After the last time they stormed in, they haven't dared come back. Maybe they're waiting for us to come out so they can ambush us. —Bunker saw the deadly look in their eyes and tightened his grip on his weapon—. I'm going out with you.
Ethan, surprised, looked at Bunker, who had no protection.
—No. You've done enough. Stay and protect the civilians.
Bunker gripped the shotgun tightly and said firmly:
—Let me go with you, Sheriff. At least someone should have your back.
—Alright.
Seeing this, Alisson stood up, anxious.
—What about me?
—Protect yourself and the civilians. I don't think they're coming for you—we're going to draw all their attention. Just hide until it's over.
Under Ethan's watchful eye, the three quickly formed a combat formation and started advancing with steady steps. Bunker, also a trained officer, blended seamlessly into the group, coordinating his movements without losing focus.
Bunker's heart pounded in his chest and he held his breath.
If there were still some natives watching from outside, a close-range shootout could break out at any second. Bunker gritted his teeth, ready to take the initiative, but Ethan immediately raised his hand and placed it firmly on Bunker's chest to stop him from rushing forward.
He noticed Hood was holding a grenade.
—Ah.
Behind them, Alisson watched nervously, unsure why they had stopped at the entrance.
Hood looked at Ethan, who gave a single nod, then pointed both pistols at the door.
With a swift and decisive motion, Hood hooked his finger on the pin and yanked it out. He swung his arm and hurled the grenade, which hit the nearby wall with a dry, metallic thud. Their hearts skipped a beat at the sound. The grenade bounced hard, spun through the air, and flew to the other side of the staircase that led to the station's emergency exit.
Seconds later, the explosion shook the place.
—Ah!
Several screams came from outside, followed by the harsh crack of impacts.
Debris flew through the air as the sharp whistle of shrapnel cut through the air. Through the thick smoke and dust, Ethan emerged like a determined shadow, rushing out the emergency exit at full speed.
At the top of the stairs, the five guards were already down. Some still moved weakly, writhing in pain from the explosion wounds—but not for long.
—Bang, bang, bang!
The two pistols roared without pause, spitting fire with each shot. Bullets sliced the air violently, and Ethan didn't miss—each target received two to the chest, one to the head.
There was no room for doubt, no margin for mercy. Those who dared lay siege to the station knew what they were in for. Here, everyone paid the price... no exceptions.
Bunker ran up after them, finger tight on the trigger, ready to face hell. But when he reached the landing and saw the bodies lying there, lifeless, death still fresh on their faces, he slowly lowered the barrel of his weapon.
He looked at Ethan, stunned, saying nothing. He didn't have to. The scene said it all: precision, coldness, and violence executed without hesitation.
Hood, on the other hand, didn't flinch. He was used to this kind of call. If he wasn't, he never would've agreed to charge out front with Ethan.
—Cover me —growled Ethan.
He knelt down, dropped the Beretta to the ground, quickly swapped its magazine, slammed in a new one into the Glock, and did the same with the other pistol.
There were still a few rounds left in both guns, but he didn't know if he'd get another chance to reload. Better to be ready.
Ethan grabbed the Glock and stood.
Just then, not far away, a violent burst of gunfire rang out.
—Go! Go! Go! —shouted Hood repeatedly as he charged toward the main entrance.
In the station's lobby, sweat streamed down Siobhan's forehead, but she made no effort to wipe it. She was focused, tense, every sense on high alert. The metallic screech of the shutter grew sharper, more desperate—the electric winch couldn't keep up.
Outside, under Chayton's orders, a truck roared loudly, its tires screeching as it pushed forward, ready to rip the door out entirely. The tension was thick. The siege wasn't over. It was just beginning.
With brutal force, the shutter jolted violently and suddenly jumped over a meter with a metallic crash. In an instant, the main entrance was wide open, no obstacle between the attackers and the inside of the station.
Siobhan saw the twisted faces of the Red Bone Gang outside—expressions of excitement and madness.
—Fire! —roared Brock, pulling the trigger just behind the shutter.
Emmett, Siobhan, and the rest raised their weapons and unleashed a hail of bullets.
Flames bursting from barrels.
Empty casings clattering to the floor in a frantic rhythm.
—Bang, bang, bang —weaving a deadly symphony.
—Ah!
The Red Bone Gang wasn't far behind. They quickly scattered at the door, unleashing savage roars.
They dropped to one knee and opened fire with seven or eight AK-47s, spraying a chaotic barrage inside with unrelenting fury.
The sharp sound of the AKs added a cruel pitch to that symphony of death. One gang member fell dead, another took his place.
Fire from inside the station was quickly suppressed, and Siobhan felt the red bricks around her explode with booms, the pillars riddled with bullet holes.
—Shit!
Brock felt like he'd been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer and dropped to the floor. He groaned in pain, and his AR-15 slid away out of reach.
—Bang!
Emmett fired the shotgun outside, blowing a massive hole in a gang member's chest.
He didn't dare look back and shouted:
—Brock, are you okay?!
Before he could finish, Emmett let out a cry and collapsed backward. A deep slash of blood was visible on his shoulder—a bullet had gone clean through.
Brock said nothing. He struggled, rolled twice backward, drew his Glock, and fired toward the front of the station.
—I'm out of ammo! —shouted Siobhan. She tossed the AR-15 aside and drew her Glock.
Staring at the small pistol in her hands, bullets whizzing around her, Siobhan's eyes were filled with fear—but she trusted Ethan and Hood wouldn't let them die.
—Bang!
Ethan moved fast, holstered the Glock, and pulled out a grenade. With his teeth, he yanked the pin hard. All three turned the corner at the same time.
Ethan stepped forward and hurled the grenade with force.
—Boom!
Chayton's men, kneeling and firing at the station entrance, didn't see the grenade until it hit the ground at their feet. Seconds later, the explosion ripped through the area, shrapnel flying everywhere, unleashing brutal chaos.
Ethan, Hood, and Bunker advanced in formation, aligned like an unbreakable wall. As they moved, they fired without hesitation. The dim yellow streetlights barely lit their path, but every muzzle flash lit their faces with brilliant, blinding flares.
Stunned by the explosion and wounded by fragments, the Red Bone Gang failed to mount an effective counterattack. Ethan and his team steamrolled them, leaving most behind.
The few survivors crawled to the back of the truck, firing blindly in desperation. Outside, more than a dozen trucks and cruisers were parked, providing cover. Ethan's team fanned out, closing the circle with ruthless efficiency.
—Puff, puff, puff!
Bullets struck the vehicle body, punching holes in a row.
—Bang!
Ethan's Beretta fired its final round, punching through two windows and blowing out the head of a man peeking up. Gunshots echoed sporadically. The remaining gang members fell one after another.
Some raised their hands in surrender—only to be dropped anyway by Hood and Bunker.
As Ethan passed a truck, a swift kick knocked the Glock from his hands, sending it skidding across the pavement.
He spun fast to dodge the butt of an AK-47 swinging at his face—
—Bang, bang, bang!
With a fluid move, he spun and surged upward. Without hesitation, he landed a brutal punch to his opponent's ribcage.
—Crack!
The dry sound of breaking bone echoed through the night. The shirtless man gasped and folded in pain—several ribs shattered by Ethan's precise strike.
—Ah!
But there was no time for mercy. A thunderous roar erupted from the shadows, shaking the quiet night and filling the air with a palpable threat. Tension surged—the real fight was just beginning.
—You're dead, Morgan!
Chayton stepped back, trying to lift his AK, but Ethan kicked him straight in the ankle.
—Bang!
Chayton crashed to the ground.
—Chayton! —roared Ethan.
He kicked the weapon from his hand and charged forward—unaware of the sound that rang in his mind like a bell.
Ding:
Emergency Mission: Defeat Chayton Littlestone in hand-to-hand combat. 👊 🔥
Reward: +1 Melee Combat Upgrade. 💪