The eighteen-wheeler speeding across the bridge never stood a chance.
Yellow light from the streetlamps lit up the desolate road, but things often lurked in the shadows. Heavy rain slammed against the vehicle, the steady, sharp sound mixing with the dull noise of the tires rolling against the slick pavement. The driver kept his eyes peeled and his senses sharp. His gloved hands tightened around the steering wheel.
The package hidden within the massive trailer attached to his truck had to be protected at all costs. His employers insisted the route was secured. It was three in the morning; no one was out here.
Up ahead, a traffic light at the end of the bridge was changing from green to yellow. He pressed his foot on the gas. There hadn't been an incident yet, but he refused to get caught at a red light. The truck's engine revved, overpowering the sound of the rain.
He'd made it halfway through the intersection before the armored vehicle—black as the night—slammed into him.
The sound of glass exploding and metal crushing echoed across the bridge. The eighteen-wheeler flipped twice before landing back on its busted tires. Five masked men wearing black tactical gear emerged from the armored car with assault rifles raised. Green laser dot sights searched through the night air. The men barked commands at each other, their voices slightly distorted by the masks covering the lower portion of their faces.
The driver's side door of the truck shuddered open. Bleeding from a gash on his forehead, the driver toppled onto the asphalt. His eyes widened as he spotted the armed men stalking toward him. His eyes flicked over to the smoking truck behind him. The package. He failed. Tears welled in his eyes. Were they from the pain or embarrassment? He couldn't tell.
Two of the armed assailants tended to the truck while the other three surrounded the driver. They aimed their weapons at him, the bright lasers settling on the front of his blood-soaked Nexxus Industries uniform.
"P-Please," he croaked. "I have a family…"
Boots stomping against the wet street overpowered the rain pouring from the dark sky. The trio of masked men parted to reveal another man; his uniform was slightly more stylized than the others. Lightweight armor plates covered his vital areas, and a katana was connected to his back. Long, shaggy hair fell to his shoulders, framing his angular features. Rain streaked down his pale skin.
But it was his eyes that were truly frightening.
They were a deep crimson.
"What...what are you?" the driver rasped.
The man ignored him. He turned to the others on the bridge. "Secure the device."
His subordinates nodded and went to join the others infiltrating the locked trailer the driver had been hauling. Two gunshots sounded as they shot open the doors. They shot open the two doors of the trailer and pulled out a complex-looking piece of machinery.
The driver groaned in pain at the feet of the red-eyed man.
"Kane said no witnesses," one of the gunmen reminded.
The leader nodded. He threw an apathetic gaze at the poor delivery driver beneath him. His expression was blank. Cold. Unforgiving. He inhaled slowly, the sound warbling through the breathing apparatus covering his nose and mouth. In a swift motion, he pulled the crimson katana from the magnetic holder built into the back of his armored suit.
The driver's eyes widened. His begging stopped. There was no use for it anymore.
The man with the red eyes said nothing. The rain continued to pour.
A sharp scream ripped from the driver's eyes before ceasing immediately. The point of the red katana had been driven through his forehead.
No witnesses.
The man closed his red eyes, wiped the blood off his blade, and held his hand out, letting the rainwater wash it off. He took another deep breath—the warped noise crackling in his ears—before heading back into his vehicle to join the others. After securing their stolen cargo, they resumed their journey down the desolate bridge.
Mission accomplished.