John's judgment was spot-on—the front door was just a feint. Though the gunfire there was fierce, bullets flying and even two stun grenades lobbed inside via an under-barrel launcher, the attackers never made a real push. Meanwhile, a shadowy figure appeared outside the ventilation window of the holding area.
On the wall opposite the cells were several small ventilation windows about two meters off the ground, meant for letting in light. Outside were thick panes of glass; inside, crosshatched iron bars as thick as a child's arm.
The inmates gaped as the black shape outside fiddled with one of the windows. Bishop, always alert, had already retreated behind the wall like Jack, hiding near the hallway entrance.
With a thunderous bang, the glass and iron bars exploded inward. The other three inmates finally snapped out of it, screaming and scrambling for cover under the window or beneath their bunks.
"Help! They blew the window!"
"They're coming in! Somebody help us!"
Their shouting quickly tapered off when a fully-armed figure with a rifle climbed halfway through the blasted window.
Dressed in heavy, tactical black riot gear like the kind cops wear when exchanging 'friendly fire' with street protesters, the intruder wore a steel military helmet topped with a monocular night vision scope, and his face was completely concealed by a black thermal mask and goggles.
Jack didn't know how well-equipped Detroit's SWAT teams were, but judging by this guy's setup—probably ex-military surplus—it wasn't far off.
Squeezing through the narrow window with all that gear took effort. Jack, waiting silently just beyond the hallway door, let the intruder wrestle his way inside with the help of a teammate.
As the armored officer scanned left and right, about to lower his NVG, Jack had already slipped silently into the room, hugging the wall with noiseless precision.
The candle Jack had placed earlier in the holding area had long since gone out. Now it was darker inside than outside. Just as the officer pulled down his night vision and looked up, he saw a red blur moving toward him without a sound.
His heart seized in terror. He tried to raise his weapon—but it was already too late.
Bang! A single shot to the face. The black-clad intruder dropped flat, blood spurting. Jack didn't pause. He moved forward, sticking close to the brick wall.
"Watch the window—there's another one!" Bishop finally shouted from behind the wall of his cell, unable to stay silent.
But his warning was unnecessary. Jack never once glanced down at the first intruder's body. He was already crouched directly beneath the broken window, out of sight from the second attacker.
"What the hell was that...?" the next man, who'd been covering the first from outside, tried to peek in.
Bad move.
A hand grabbed his rifle arm. Then he was yanked forward like a ragdoll, dragged through the window and into the room, leaving a long, eerie trail in the snow outside.
If anyone had seen it from afar, they'd have sworn it was a scene straight out of a horror movie—the broken window gaping like a monster's maw, swallowing the man whole with no sound or trace.
Jack didn't even waste a bullet this time. A swift twist of the neck, 180 degrees. Snap. The job was done.
The three inmates inside could only stare, dumbstruck and trembling. The junkie gulped audibly and, realizing it might have been too loud, snuck a terrified glance at Jack.
Looting the corpses took mere seconds. Jack hit the jackpot—two AR-15 rifles, six spare magazines, two Glock 17s each with a spare mag, all fitted with red-dot sights and visible green laser pointers.
He promptly ripped off the laser sights—useless in the dark except to give away your position. These weren't the infrared type Jack usually used, and they were a liability more than anything.
The cheap monocular NVG got tossed too. It might help in pitch black, but in this low-light environment, Jack didn't need it. Besides, wearing a helmet hindered his agility.
The bulletproof vests, though, he kept—each came with front and back armor plates, rated to stop 5.56 rounds. Lifesavers, both of them.
He also got two flashbangs, a military-grade knife, and two pairs of noise-canceling earphones. Not much use now, though—Jack didn't need noise suppression, and the radio channels were jammed.
After waiting under the window a bit longer to ensure no one else peeked in or lobbed another flashbang, Jack figured the attackers had only sent two this way. He slung his haul and turned to leave.
Only an idiot would stick his head out to look. Jack hadn't forgotten about the sniper.
Gunfire still crackled at the front. If the attackers realized their backdoor assault had failed, they might go berserk and push hard from the front. Several windows facing the street lacked bars—that made them the weakest entry points.
"You're just gonna leave us here?!" the junkie wailed as Jack turned to go. Both he and the small black man lunged at the bars, clutching them in desperation.
"Let us out, man! Smiley's freakin' out in here! Too scary, man, it's too much!"
Jack didn't respond. He simply tapped his waist, indicating he had no keys.
The junkie got frantic, spitting as he shouted. "You can't do this, man! We're just sitting ducks in here! Please, please—"
"Smiley's gonna piss himself, man! Don't leave us to die like animals!"
The lone black girl in her separate cell said nothing, but her terrified eyes followed Jack.
Jack ignored them both. Instead, he looked to Bishop, who was still cloaked in shadow by his cell wall.
"Can you keep them under control?"
"No problem. I guarantee it." The big man's voice was calm, his face hidden by darkness, but his confidence came through loud and clear.
Jack didn't respond, but neither did he object. Of the four prisoners, only Bishop was someone to be wary of. The rest were low-level thugs—petty thieves and fence operators. Not people worth executing.
Had they not freaked out earlier, Ronick might've actually let them out to help.
"You've got five minutes to explain the situation to them," Jack said coolly. "Make them understand."
With that, he vanished down the hallway.
——
A violent flash burst in the front hall, followed by a gut-punching wave of concussive noise. Alice screamed—but couldn't even hear herself.
Disoriented, she glanced at John, who was crouched behind a pillar, covering his ears and seemingly shouting something at her. She blinked dumbly, unable to make out his words.
Realizing it was no use, John hoisted his shotgun and fired a blast through the window directly across from Alice, then grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
They'd barely taken a few steps when a charge—likely a small plastic explosive—blew the barred window to pieces. A flashbang followed.
The flash cleared—and the front door blew open. Two black-clad attackers, one carrying a ballistic shield, entered in single file.
From behind a barricade of two stacked file cabinets, old Jasper popped his head up and opened fire. Buckshot sparked harmlessly against the shield.
But revealing his position earned retaliation. The second man, hiding behind the shield, fired a burst, forcing Jasper to duck back behind the metal cabinet.
The tide was turning fast. The front hall was moments away from being overrun.
Then Ronick, armed with an AR-15, burst from the corridor and unleashed a spray of suppressive fire toward the door.
______
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