Jack reached his safe house through a hidden tunnel beneath the decaying floorboards, sweat slicking his brow. He moved fast—grabbed weapons, documents, burner phones, and a battered photo of Serah—all while his instincts screamed.
Something was off.
Then—footsteps. Dozens of them.
A chill raced down Jack's spine.
He slid silently to the corner and peered through a crack in the boarded window.
Ten figures. Blacked out. Full gear. No insignia. Just cold, efficient movement.Extraction-12T. Termination Squad.
This wasn't reconnaissance.It was an execution.
Jack counted the seconds. Three. Two. One.
Boom!
The door blasted off its hinges—agents stormed in. Jack threw a smoke grenade and dove sideways as suppressed rounds tore through the air. He slid across the floor, rolled behind the kitchen counter, popped up, and fired.
Two down. One in the throat, one in the eye.
Another kicked through the hallway door—Jack grabbed a stool and flung it. The agent swatted it away—Jack was already moving. He struck low, grabbed the man's wrist, twisted the pistol out, and slammed him headfirst into the fridge.
Three down.
He ran upstairs, leading two agents in pursuit. Midway, he snapped a wire on the staircase—trip rig. One agent fell, and a claymine blast ripped through the space.
The second flanked him—silent, fast.
They clashed in a cramped hallway—knife to knife. The agent landed a cut across Jack's side. Jack grunted, headbutted him, twisted the blade from his hand, and drove it into his gut.
Four.
The rest were surrounding the house now.
He was out of ammo. Bleeding. Breathing like a furnace.No way out through the front.
He grabbed Serah's photo again, held it to his chest for half a second.
Then—floorboards. The tunnel.
He yanked the latch, dropped in just as bullets shattered the walls above. He crawled fast, teeth clenched, blood dripping in the dirt behind him.
Then—flames.
They set the house on fire. A signal. Or a cremation.
But Jack was already gone.
Bleeding, coughing, he forced himself through, crawling beneath the foundation just as bullets ripped through the house behind him.
He burst out into the woods, adrenaline overriding pain.
Then—
Buzz.
His burner phone lit up with a new message.
"Well managed, Jack. I will be seeing you soon."
No name.Just shadows on the screen.
They weren't just following him.They were orchestrating every move he made.