A furious burst of pistol fire—Owen squeezed off rounds from the P226 faster than he ever had with his assault rifle. But fifteen bullets vanished in an instant.
Ducking into a side room, he used the brief respite to reload. This was it—his last magazine.
He pressed up against the wall beside the door, gun ready. Outside, the enemy had reached the threshold but hesitated, wary of a trap.
A tense silence settled in as both sides waited behind the wall, only to start shooting at almost the exact same moment.
Bang! Crack! Bang!
Bullets tore through the plaster wall, sending shards flying.
Owen, mid-firing, felt a sudden sense of danger and instinctively dropped to a crouch—just in time. An assault rifle round punched through where his head had just been.
His return fire hit the attacker. Since Owen had fired from a lower angle, the bullet bypassed the body armor and struck the man in the abdomen.
The first man toppled over, half his body landing past the wall. He locked eyes with Owen—who promptly ended the exchange with a bullet to the skull.
The second and third attackers charged immediately. It was kill or be killed. Owen lunged forward, grabbed the second man's arm, pinning his gun to the doorframe. Muzzle flash flared inches from Owen's ear.
Enduring the deafening blast, Owen shoved his P226 to the man's head. Pop! Pop! A gory exit wound exploded on the other side. The slide locked back—magazine empty.
The third attacker didn't wait. He raised his weapon and fired.
Desperate, Owen yanked the second attacker's body into the line of fire. Thup-thup-thup! Rounds slammed into the corpse, shaking it violently.
The human shield's body armor saved Owen. As the attacker ran dry and reached for his sidearm, Owen sprang out from behind the corpse.
With a flick of his wrist, he detached the slide from the P226 and jammed the sharp-edged steel into the man's throat.
The attacker gurgled, blood bubbling. Owen pinned him to the wall, one hand on the pistol slide embedded in his neck, the other gripping the man's weapon arm.
A few spasms later, the body went limp. Only then did Owen release him, panting hard as the body slumped to the floor.
That last kill had been a last-ditch effort—he had nothing left. But he'd pulled it off.
Catching his breath, Owen turned, intent on looting some gear—but just then, another enemy appeared at the top of the stairs.
The corridor gave a perfect line of sight. The moment the man spotted Owen, he opened fire.
Ratatatatatata—!
Owen hit the deck and scurried away like a lizard, crawling into the room just in time as bullets slammed into the walls behind him.
Footsteps closed in fast. No time to grab a weapon—Owen ran for the window.
"Swagger, cover me—NOW!"
As the enemy closed in, Owen hurled himself through the second-story window, glass shattering as he burst out of the cabin.
Swagger, who had been aiming at Janet, immediately pivoted back toward the cabin when he heard Owen's call. Through his scope, he spotted Owen mid-air.
At that same moment, a mercenary appeared in the window behind Owen—Swagger recognized him as the one who had survived earlier thanks to Janet's interference.
Pop!
Before the guy could aim, his head burst like a melon.
Owen had leapt from a bedroom window, landing first on the sloped rooftop, then sliding down to the grassy ground.
After taking out the pursuer, Swagger turned back to check on Janet—but she was gone. Her rifle was still there, but she had vanished without a trace.
Ratatatatata!
A helicopter, having spotted Owen, opened fire.
Owen ran for his life as rounds kicked up soil behind him, the trajectory tracking his every move.
He dove to the side at the last second, narrowly avoiding a spray of bullets.
The chopper roared overhead, banked, and circled back—this time with the gunner on the opposite side ready to light him up again.
"Shit!"
Owen wanted to curse the sky. Of all times for a helicopter to show up, and now—he had nothing that could shoot it down.
"Swagger! Do something—fast!"
Shouting into his mic, he dove into a drainage ditch, dodging another burst of gunfire.
The chopper passed again, only to double back once more—clearly hellbent on finishing him.
Owen sprinted through the ditch, headed toward a section reinforced with concrete and a domed ceiling—hopefully strong enough to block fire from above.
The rotor thump grew louder. Gunfire erupted again. Owen didn't even look back—he just ran like hell.
Five meters. Four. Three. Two...
As he dove into the shelter, bullets struck just behind him. One more step and he would've been hit—but the concrete dome stopped the rounds, saving his life by a hair's breadth.
"Hang on—I'm coming!"
Swagger sprinted toward the cabin. Moments earlier, he had tried to shoot the chopper—but aiming at a moving aircraft with a 4.2 kg, 70 cm sniper rifle was nearly impossible.
His plan was simple: get to the cabin. It was the best sniping point in the area. If he could get to the second floor, he might be able to take out the pilot. Destroying the chopper was unrealistic, but killing the pilot? That he could do.
Swagger barreled into the cabin and sprinted upstairs. On the way, he passed a wounded merc who was still alive—he made sure that didn't last.
Originally, he planned to fire from a window. But when he passed by Sokolov's armory, he changed his mind.
Swagger emerged at the window, now holding the Barrett M82A3—the .50-cal anti-materiel sniper rifle Sokolov had been reassembling earlier.
"Owen! Run toward the cabin!"
He needed the chopper to fly directly toward him. Only then would he get a clean shot.
Owen, hunkered in the ditch, understood immediately—but damn, it was a hell of a gamble. If Swagger missed, Owen was dead.
"Swagger, you better not miss!"
Owen bolted from the ditch and made a break for the cabin.
The chopper spotted him and gave chase, the gunner letting loose another burst. Bullets chased him like angry hornets.
On the second floor, Swagger calmed his breathing. The helicopter lined up perfectly as it followed Owen.
He centered the crosshairs on the main rotor shaft—the critical link between blades and the engine.
BOOM!
The .50-cal round screamed from the barrel, spiraling through the air—and hit home.
Black smoke erupted from the rotor, and the helicopter immediately began wobbling violently—like a drunken giant stumbling across the sky.
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