Chapter 17: Corridor of Violence
Velvet was closed for "renovations," which mostly meant Max was fortifying the perimeter. The Hellions were professional; they had already set up choke points, surveillance, and a sniper nest on the roof.
Max sat in the manager's office, now his command center. He was looking at the blueprints of the city, marking Vittorio territories with a red marker. The entity, the Devil, stood by the window, watching the rain.
"They are coming," the Entity whispered.
"I know," Max replied without looking up. "The scouts reported movement three blocks down."
"Not scouts, Max. The smell. Can't you smell it? Sulfur and fear."
The lights in the club flickered. Then they died.
"Contact!" Graves' voice crackled over the radio. "Front breach! Back breach! They're using flashbangs!"
Gunfire erupted downstairs. It was the deep, rhythmic thud of the Hellions' assault rifles clashing with the rapid crack of submachine guns.
Max stood up. He adjusted his cufflinks. "Stay here," he said to the empty room.
"And miss the show? Never."
Max walked out into the hallway. This was the only route to his office—a long, narrow corridor lined with mirrors.
At the far end, the double doors burst open. Six men in black tactical gear sprinted in. They wore silver masks. Vittorio Cleaners. Elite shock troops.
They saw Max. They didn't hesitate. They raised their weapons.
Status: Multiple Hostiles.
Threat Level: High.
Ability Activation: "The Trance"
Max exhaled.
The world turned grey. The muzzle flashes from the Cleaners' guns blossomed like slow-motion flowers. The bullets drifted through the air, leaving ripples in the atmosphere like stones thrown into a pond.
Max moved.
He didn't run; he glided. To a normal observer, he would have vanished. To Max, he was simply weaving through a maze of lead. He tilted his head, and a bullet grazed his ear. He side-stepped, and a burst of fire tore into the wallpaper behind him.
He reached the first Cleaner.
Max grabbed the man's weapon barrel, pointing it upward as the trigger was pulled, blowing a hole in the ceiling. With his other hand, Max delivered a palm strike to the man's mask. The silver plastic shattered. The skull beneath did too.
Max spun the dying man around, using him as a human shield as the Trance faded.
Time resumed.
Bullets slammed into the body Max was holding. The remaining five Cleaners paused, confused. Their target had been twenty feet away a second ago. Now he was among them.
Max drew a combat knife from his belt. He slashed the hamstrings of the second man, dropped to a knee, and uppercut the third man with the hilt of the knife so hard the man lifted off his feet.
It was brutal. It was efficient. It was a slaughter.
One Cleaner tried to reload. Max threw the knife. It buried itself in the man's shoulder, pinning him to the wall.
The last two dropped their guns and drew machetes. They charged, screaming.
Max stood empty-handed. He waited.
When the first blade came down, Max caught the man's wrist. He looked into the silver mask.
"Wrong house," Max whispered.
He broke the wrist, took the machete, and in one fluid motion, decapitated the attacker. The second man froze, terror overriding his training.
Max stepped forward, blood dripping from the blade, his suit miraculously spotless.
"Tell me," Max said, his voice echoing with supernatural dread. "Who sent you?"
The Cleaner dropped to his knees, hands raised. "Kaelen! It was Kaelen! He's at the shipyards! The container yard!"
Max stared at the man. The Entity appeared in the reflection of the mirrors, smiling.
"Mercy is for the weak, Max."
Max raised the machete. "I'm not weak."