War is Peace Part 2

There were multiple phone calls again from the parents of the Association, Federation, and even those supporting the League, asking about the condition of their children. Many of the League's office workers were busy answering phone calls, trying to reassure worried or upset parents, while also receiving an earful of complaints about the match.

Amidst the panicked situation, the scene shifts to Delia walking briskly, still holding files that she was on her way to deliver to the League President. The files contained updates regarding their money problems, which had been resolved, but Delia was still perplexed by the unusual spending from General Reyes, who had been sent by the League President to Tomodachi Island.

As Delia made her way through the busy office, her phone suddenly rang. Annoyed by yet another call—likely from a parent—she sighed and answered while continuing to walk.

"You're speaking to Chairwoman Delia Houston of the American Tankery League. If you're calling about the match, please speak to one of the employees—they will explain everything to you," Delia said curtly.

"That's a mouthful," a familiar voice responded on the other end.

"Hey..." Delia froze, surprised to hear her husband's voice after three months of him being on the run from the law following an assassination attempt.

"Doyal? Jesus, what the hell!" Delia exclaimed, her tone shifting to one of anger and concern.

"Calm down, Delia. I'm fine, alright? I promise," Doyal said, his voice steady but with a faint trace of exhaustion.

"Fine? Fine?!" Delia scoffed, her frustration bubbling over as she quickened her pace. "You've been off the grid for three months, Doyal! Not a call, not a text—you might as well have been dead! And you expect me to be calm because you say you're 'fine'? Do you have any idea what I've been dealing with here?!"

"I know, I know," Doyal sighed, his tone soothing yet tired. "I didn't want to drag you into this mess, Delia. You've got enough on your plate already."

Delia stopped walking for a moment, taking a deep breath. The sharp edge in her voice softened slightly, though her concern remained. "...You could've called me sooner, you idiot. I'm your wife, remember? I need to know you're okay."

There was a small pause before Doyal spoke again, more gently this time. "I'm sorry, Dee. I really am. But trust me—I'm fine now."

Delia pinched the bridge of her nose, frustration melting into quiet relief. "Alright, alright... How are you holding up, then? Where are you?"

"I'm in a safe place. McKenzie's here, and we're with some old friends—retired CIA guys we served with back in Vietnam. You'd remember most of them, I'm sure. We've been digging into something big, Delia."

Delia's brows furrowed, the hint of relief quickly replaced by suspicion. "Big? What do you mean 'big'?"

There was a pause, and Doyal's voice dropped, taking on a grave tone. "Delia, we've uncovered something dangerous on Tomodachi Island. Something that shouldn't be there."

"What are you talking about?" Delia asked, her tone now sharp with worry.

Doyal hesitated before explaining, "McKenzie and I, along with the guys, found proof that some of the League's so-called 'professional players'—you know, the ones shipped in for the match—have smuggled a large supply of an old chemical weapon onto the island."

Delia froze in place, her knuckles tightening around the files she was holding. "Chemical weapon...?" she repeated, stunned.

"Yeah. The stuff is ancient—Cold War-era chemical agents. Nasty. It's the kind of thing that should've been locked away or destroyed decades ago," Doyal said grimly. "We think it's been repurposed for something—or someone—on the island."

Delia's mind raced, her shock giving way to a cold dread. "You've got to be kidding me... Who would even do something like this? Are you sure about this, Doyal?"

"I wouldn't be calling if I wasn't, Dee," he replied firmly. "Look, we're still piecing it together, but this isn't just some random smuggling operation. Someone with connections and resources is behind it. And the worst part? It's all happening right under the League's nose."

Delia's heart pounded in her chest as she processed his words. The chaotic office noise around her suddenly felt distant, like a dull hum in the background.

"Doyal... if this is true, we're in way over our heads," Delia whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

"I know," Doyal said. "But you've always been good at holding things together when it counts, Delia. That's why I'm telling you. We need to figure this out before it's too late."

Delia exhaled shakily, gripping the files tighter. "Alright. What do you need me to do?"

"Stay sharp, Dee. Don't trust anyone—not even the suits around you. Keep your eyes open, and get me any intel you can on the professional teams. McKenzie and I will keep digging on our end, but we're going to need your help if we're going to stop whatever's happening."

"Fine," Delia said, her voice steely now as her resolve kicked in. "But you'd better promise me you'll keep yourself alive while you're out there, Doyal. You hear me?"

Doyal chuckled faintly, the sound reassuring her in spite of the gravity of the situation. "I hear you, Dee. I promise. I'll call you soon."

"You'd better," Delia muttered, before the line went dead. She stood frozen in place for a moment, her mind racing. Slowly, she lowered the phone and looked down at the files in her hand.

"Chemical weapons... Professional players..." she whispered to herself. "What the hell is going on?"

Delia was about to continue walking when a familiar voice stopped her.

"Chairwoman Houston!"

Delia turned to see the League President's assistant approaching quickly, her expression tense. "The President needs you in the conference room immediately. The American Tankery Association and Sensha-Do Federation are in talks to end the match."

Delia sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of course they are," she muttered. "Alright, fine. I need to speak to the President anyway. Someone needs to explain this insane spending."

Gripping her files tightly, Delia followed the assistant down the bustling hallway, weaving through anxious staffers and ringing phones. They stopped in front of the large conference room doors. The assistant held the door open, and Delia stepped inside.

The room was filled with heavy tension. On one side sat the representatives of the American Tankery Association: Kennedy Morrison, Chairman of the Board of Education for the Association, and Colonel Blake Abernathy, whose stern military demeanor seemed to weigh down the air.

On the other side were the representatives from the Sensha-Do Federation: Ami Chono, the Federation's face of diplomacy; Shiciro Kodama, the owner of Sensha-Do itself; and the two formidable chairwomen, Chiyo Shimada and Shiho Nishizumi. Both exuded authority and unwavering resolve as they glanced between their American counterparts.

Delia's eyes flicked to the head of the table, where the League President sat, his face drawn with fatigue. He gestured for Delia to take the seat beside him.

"Glad you could join us, Chairwoman Houston," the President said quietly as Delia slid into her seat.

"I didn't have much of a choice," Delia replied under her breath, dropping the files on the table. "Let's get this over with."

The meeting began immediately, the discussion sharp and to the point.

"The current situation has spiraled far beyond acceptable limits," Kennedy Morrison began, his deep voice carrying authority. "Parents are worried sick. Four months is entirely too long for any event of this scale. As a representative of the Association, I propose the immediate termination of this match."

"Agreed," Colonel Blake Abernathy added, his arms crossed. "We're at a point where it's no longer about competition. It's about safety."

Ami Chono nodded in agreement from across the table. "The Federation shares the same concerns. The Japanese schools and their families have been vocal. We cannot allow this match to continue under these circumstances."

Shiciro Kodama, the owner of Sensha-Do, spoke up calmly. "For the sake of our reputation and the wellbeing of our players, we must act swiftly. Ending the match is the only logical decision."

Delia glanced at the League President, watching as he folded his hands together thoughtfully. After a moment, he leaned forward.

"I understand the concerns on both sides," the President began, his tone firm but diplomatic. "And I agree that it's time to bring this match to an end. However, there will be one condition for both organizations."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him.

"The condition is simple: neither the Association nor the Federation will ever pick a fight with the League again," the President stated, his gaze hard. "This situation has pushed us all to the edge. It cannot happen again."

Chiyo Shimada exchanged a look with Shiho Nishizumi, who gave a small nod. Chiyo spoke up. "We agree to your condition, President."

Kennedy Morrison frowned but eventually relented with a nod. "Fine. The Association agrees as well."

The President nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then let's finalize this."

As the assistants prepared the documents for signatures, Delia leaned back in her chair, exhaling softly. Finally, she thought. Maybe we can put this nightmare behind us.

But just as the representatives reached for their pens to sign, chaos erupted.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sharp crack of multiple gunshots rang through the air, shattering the tense silence. Glass windows exploded inward, and the room was plunged into confusion.

"Get down!" Colonel Abernathy barked, flipping the heavy conference table onto its side as makeshift cover. Papers scattered as chairs were overturned, and the representatives dove for safety.

Delia's heart raced as she hit the ground, shielding her head as more shots echoed through the office outside. She glanced up and saw the League President being dragged behind cover by his assistant, his face pale with shock.

"What the hell is going on?!" Delia shouted over the chaos.

Shiciro Kodama, crouched behind a chair, looked just as stunned. "It's an attack!"

"Stay low!" Colonel Abernathy ordered, drawing a sidearm from his coat. "Morrison, are you alright?"

Kennedy Morrison, clearly rattled, nodded as he ducked behind cover. "I'm fine—but who would attack the League offices?!"

Delia's mind raced, the earlier conversation with Doyal flashing through her thoughts. Chemical weapons. Smuggled onto the island.

"This isn't random," Delia muttered to herself, her pulse pounding in her ears. "This is connected..."

Gunfire continued to erupt outside, followed by the shouts of security personnel scrambling to contain the situation. Delia looked toward the President, who was attempting to stay calm.

"Mr. President!" she shouted. "We need to get out of here now! This room is a deathtrap!"

The President nodded sharply. "Agreed! Abernathy, can you clear a path?"

Colonel Abernathy gripped his weapon tightly and peeked over the overturned table. "I'll try, but we need to move fast!"

The chaos outside the conference room intensified. Delia's sharp eyes caught movement through the shattered windows—figures in black tactical uniforms, their faces concealed by dark masks, sweeping through the office with ruthless precision.

"Who the hell are they?" Delia muttered under her breath, her voice trembling with disbelief.

The men moved methodically, firing at anything that moved. Office workers screamed, diving for cover as desks were shredded by gunfire. One of the masked attackers yanked the pin from a grenade and hurled it toward a cluster of workers frantically trying to escape.

"Grenade!" someone screamed.

The explosion rocked the building, sending debris flying. Delia shielded herself as glass and drywall rained down around them. Dust filled the air, choking her lungs.

Gripping her shoulder bag, Delia scrambled for her phone, her hands shaking as she fumbled to dial Doyal's number. She crouched low, pressed against the overturned table for cover, the sounds of gunfire ringing in her ears.

After a tense moment, the call connected.

"Delia?" Doyal's voice came through, concerned but calm. "What's going on? What's all that noise?"

"Doyal! It's—it's bad!" Delia stammered, panic creeping into her voice. "The League office—it's under attack! There are men in tactical gear—killing everyone! I saw them throw a grenade, and—"

"Calm down, Delia!" Doyal's voice sharpened, trying to ground her. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"I'm still in the conference room! They're everywhere, Doyal! People are dying!" Her voice cracked as she peeked over the table, her wide eyes taking in the destruction. A black-clad figure moved into view, his assault rifle methodically firing into fleeing workers.

"Delia, listen to me. Stay low and—"

The line went dead as a sharp pain ripped through her shoulder.

"Agh!" Delia cried out, the phone slipping from her hand as she collapsed onto the floor. Blood began to soak through her blazer as the searing pain spread.

"Delia! Delia!" Doyal's voice crackled through the phone, frantic now.

Clenching her teeth against the agony, Delia reached out with her good arm, trying to grab the phone. Her fingers brushed the device, but before she could secure it, a bullet tore through the phone, shattering it to pieces.

"No!" she gasped, pulling her hand back instinctively. Doyal's voice disappeared, replaced by the high-pitched whine of broken electronics.

"Move! Move!" a harsh voice barked nearby.

The masked men were advancing, their boots thudding against the floor as they swept the room. Delia forced herself to move, biting back the pain in her shoulder. She crawled toward the President and the others, who were still huddled behind cover.

"Delia!" Colonel Abernathy's voice called out, his tone sharp with concern. "Are you hit?"

"I'm fine!" Delia lied, gritting her teeth as she pressed her hand to her bleeding shoulder. "We need to get out now!"

The Colonel nodded, his military instincts kicking in. "Everyone, stay low and follow my lead!"

As Delia struggled to her knees, her mind raced. The attackers weren't random—they were coordinated, organized, and deadly. Whoever they were, they'd come here with a purpose.

And that terrified her.

The old safehouse hadn't changed much since their days in the Agency. Faded maps covered the walls, an old radio crackled in the corner, and dust hung heavy in the air. McKenzie, their wiry explosives expert, was securing ammunition crates while a few retired CIA operatives—grizzled men who had fought beside Doyal in Vietnam—checked their weapons.

Doyal stood at the head of the room, his face etched with anger and focus. His wife's last words echoed in his mind, along with the sharp crack of the line going dead.

"Gear up." His voice cut through the room like a blade, commanding and calm.

"Doyal, you sure about this?" McKenzie asked, slotting a magazine into his rifle. "We don't even know if she's—"

Doyal spun on him, his eyes blazing. "She's alive. I know she's alive." His voice softened, but the fire remained. "I'm not sitting here while Delia's out there bleeding. We move now."

The team nodded, understanding that the old Doyal was back—the one who had commanded them through the thick jungles of Vietnam, the one who'd always brought them home.

"Here's the deal," Doyal began, pointing at a rough map of Washington, D.C. "The League office is our target. It's been hit hard, and I'll bet my last dollar it wasn't some random group. Delia said tactical uniforms, coordinated attack—we're looking at pros. We go in fast and hard, clear the building, and find any survivors. Questions?"

Silence. Just the sound of weapons being checked and magazines locked into place.

"Then let's roll."

The convoy of black SUVs barreled down the highway, engines roaring. Doyal sat in the passenger seat of the lead car, McKenzie at the wheel. The others followed close behind, armed and ready for whatever awaited them.

Doyal stared ahead, jaw clenched. His mind flashed with images of Delia—her laughter, her stubbornness, the way she always called him out when he was wrong. Hold on, Delia... I'm coming.

"D.C.'s a mess right now," McKenzie said, scanning the road. "Police scanners are lit up—no one's got a clue what the hell's going on."

"Typical," Doyal muttered. "We'll figure it out when we get there."

As they neared the League office, the scene came into view—and it was worse than Doyal had imagined.

The street outside the League office was a war zone. Emergency lights flashed through the smoke, and the air stank of gunpowder and fire. Bullet holes riddled the glass facade of the building. Bodies—both workers and first responders—lay sprawled across the pavement, a grim testament to the brutality of the attack. Police cars were overturned, and a fire raged near the entrance, black smoke curling into the gray December sky.

"Jesus..." McKenzie whispered, slowing the SUV.

Doyal stepped out of the vehicle, rifle in hand, his sharp gaze sweeping the area. He signaled to the team behind him, and they disembarked, spreading out into formation.

"Secure the perimeter!" Doyal barked, his voice sharp and authoritative. "Move in pairs. Watch your corners. Anyone see a twitch, you put them down!"

The old CIA operatives moved like they'd never retired—silent, precise, and deadly.

Doyal moved ahead with McKenzie at his side, stepping over shattered glass and debris. The sound of crackling flames and distant sirens filled the air. Doyal's boots crunched over a discarded League office badge, stained with blood.

"They executed the first responders," McKenzie said grimly, pointing to a line of fallen officers near the entrance.

"Cowards," Doyal growled. "Let's move."

The lobby was even worse. Bullet casings littered the marble floor, and trails of blood led deeper into the building. Papers fluttered in the air as if the building itself had been torn apart by a storm.

"Eyes sharp," Doyal whispered, raising his rifle as they advanced.

They moved through the darkened corridors, weapons raised. Occasionally, Doyal heard faint groans—survivors. His men peeled off to help the wounded while he pressed forward.

Near the main conference room, Doyal stopped dead in his tracks. A smear of blood led to a shattered phone on the ground. His heart dropped as he recognized it.

Delia's phone.

"Damn it!" he hissed under his breath, kneeling to inspect it. The device was riddled with bullet holes, but the sight of it told him one thing: she'd been here, and she'd fought to survive.

"Doyal!" McKenzie whispered urgently, pointing ahead.

At the far end of the hallway, two masked attackers lingered, scanning the area. Their rifles were slung low, but their posture was alert.

"Cover me," Doyal murmured, rising to his feet.

He moved like a ghost, silent and deadly, closing the distance between himself and the masked men. McKenzie provided cover, his rifle ready.

At ten feet, Doyal sprang forward. Before the attackers could react, Doyal grabbed the first man, driving his knife into his side. The man choked out a gasp before collapsing. The second turned, but Doyal's rifle barked once, dropping him where he stood.

The echoes of the shots faded. Doyal wiped the blood from his knife, his expression cold.

"Clear," McKenzie whispered, stepping forward.

Doyal moved past the fallen men, his eyes blazing with determination. He was close now—he could feel it. Delia was here somewhere, and he wasn't leaving without her.

Hold on, Delia. I'm coming for you.

Doyal and his team advanced cautiously through the smoke-filled corridors. The air was thick, burning their lungs as they moved, weapons raised. The devastation in the building only worsened as they pressed deeper—bullet holes scarred the walls, and debris crunched underfoot.

"Eyes sharp! They're still here," Doyal growled, sweeping his rifle left and right.

Suddenly, a series of metallic clinks echoed ahead.

"GRENADE!" McKenzie yelled, throwing himself into cover.

Thick white smoke exploded, billowing out in a dense cloud and filling the hallway. Visibility dropped to near-zero as the masked soldiers advanced, their footsteps echoing through the haze.

"Smoke cover! They're moving on us!" Bronson shouted, firing blind into the cloud.

"Hold your fire! Watch for targets!" Doyal barked, keeping his cool.

Through the smoke, faint red laser sights cut across the haze. The enemy soldiers opened up with short bursts of gunfire, bullets sparking off the walls as they tried to pin Doyal's team down.

"Return fire!" Doyal ordered, squeezing off controlled bursts in their direction. The sound of crack-crack-crack filled the hallway as both sides exchanged gunfire.

Bronson, crouched behind an overturned desk, pointed urgently. "Doyal! One of their armored elites is launching something!"

From the smoke, a low whirring sound began—faint at first, then louder, followed by a mechanical clattering. Doyal turned to see a small, remote-controlled explosive drone—a RC-XD—tearing through the debris-strewn floor toward their position. The drone's red indicator light blinked menacingly, its wheels skidding as it locked onto its target.

"Take it out!" Doyal shouted.

"On it!" Decker replied, dropping to one knee. He aimed his rifle carefully at the charging drone, his finger squeezing the trigger. The RC-XD swerved, speeding up as it closed the distance.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Decker's bullets ripped into the drone, hitting its weak spots.

"Come on, come on..." he muttered.

A final shot hit its payload—

BOOM!

The RC-XD exploded violently, shrapnel tearing through the smoke and cutting down several of the masked attackers who had been advancing behind it. The shockwave rattled the walls, sending plaster and dust cascading from the ceiling.

"Nice shot, Decker!" McKenzie shouted, firing a burst into the smoke as masked soldiers screamed and fell.

"Push!" Doyal barked, leading the charge.

Using the smoke as cover, Doyal's team surged forward. Decker laid down suppressing fire as Bronson and McKenzie flanked the hallway's edges, clearing the corners with military precision. The masked soldiers were reeling, their advance stalled by the explosion and the relentless counterfire.

Doyal moved like a ghost in the chaos, his rifle barking short bursts of death. He caught one soldier reloading and dropped him with a single shot to the chest. Another attacker, masked and armored, swung his rifle toward Doyal—

Too slow.

Doyal stepped in, grabbing the man's rifle and slamming the butt of his own weapon into the attacker's jaw. The masked man crumpled to the floor.

"Clear this section!" Doyal commanded, adrenaline pounding in his veins.

"Contact right!" McKenzie yelled.

Another burst of fire tore through the haze, forcing Doyal's team into cover. One of the armored elites—larger and more heavily geared than the others—appeared from the smoke, his weapon firing a steady stream of bullets.

"Heavy armor!" Bronson shouted.

"Hit him high and low!" Doyal ordered.

Decker tossed a grenade, the explosive bouncing off the wall and landing at the armored elite's feet.

BOOM!

The explosion sent the soldier stumbling, and Bronson finished him with a headshot. The heavy armor collapsed with a thud, smoke curling from the joints.

The gunfire finally began to die down, leaving only the distant crackling of flames and the faint sound of groaning survivors.

Doyal scanned the wreckage, his team fanning out to secure the hallway. The masked attackers had been pushed back or killed, their bodies sprawled across the floor.

"That's it?" McKenzie panted, wiping sweat and dust from his face.

"For now," Doyal said darkly, lowering his rifle. "They weren't expecting us to fight back this hard."

Bronson nodded, reloading his weapon. "What the hell were they even after? They've hit this place like it was a military target."

Doyal's gaze hardened as he looked deeper into the building, where faint lights still flickered in the smoke.

"They weren't here to steal... they were here to kill."

His mind flashed to Delia. Where are you, Delia?

"McKenzie, Bronson—start checking for survivors and anything we can use to ID these guys. Decker, you're with me. We're moving deeper."

"What are we looking for, boss?" Decker asked, readying his rifle.

"Answers," Doyal said grimly.

As the team moved further into the building, the distant sounds of something mechanical hummed ahead—a sound that put Doyal on edge.

"Stay sharp," he muttered, raising his weapon.

Decker crouched in front of the security terminal, the flickering monitors illuminating his face. "I got eyes on survivors! Looks like Abernathy, Morrison, Shimada, and Nishizumi—they're holed up in the meeting room. But these bastards are trying to talk them into surrendering."

"Not happening," Doyal said, his voice firm. "McKenzie, Bronson, get ready to move. We stack on the door and breach hard. No one walks away."

The grainy footage on the monitor showed masked soldiers pounding on the reinforced door, weapons ready, shouting threats to the people inside. Their voices echoed through the comms system:

"Come out now, and we'll let you live. You have no chance of escaping!"

Inside the room, Shiho Nishizumi and Chiyo Shimada were tending to Delia's wounded shoulder while Colonel Abernathy stood protectively in front of the group, his face set in stone. Morrison looked pale, gripping his chair in terror.

Doyal led his team down the scorched hallway, stopping outside the barricaded room. The masked soldiers' shouting could be heard faintly through the thick metal door.

"Alright, we hit them fast and hard," Doyal growled. "McKenzie, flashbang. Decker and Bronson, take the right flank. I'll go center. We clear that room—no survivors on their side. Ready?"

"Ready!" McKenzie pulled a flashbang grenade from his pouch, yanking the pin.

"On my mark... Three... Two... One..."

CLANG!

McKenzie tossed the flashbang under the doorframe. A loud POP followed, the blinding light and ear-splitting sound reverberating through the room. Muffled screams erupted from the masked soldiers as they staggered, clutching their eyes and ears.

"BREACH!" Doyal roared.

Bronson kicked the door open, and the team stormed inside like a tidal wave.

The chaos was instant. Doyal's pistol cracked twice, dropping the first soldier center mass. He pivoted, grabbing another by the collar before slamming his head into the wall. The man crumpled to the floor with a thud.

Two soldiers spun to fire, but Decker and Bronson lit them up with short bursts from their rifles, sending them sprawling over the meeting table.

Doyal turned, catching a final masked attacker lunging at him with a knife. In one fluid motion, Doyal sidestepped, grabbed the man's head, and snapped his neck with a sharp, sickening crack. The body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

"Clear!" McKenzie called, sweeping his rifle around.

"Room secure," Decker confirmed.

"Damn, Doyal! You're a sight for sore eyes," Colonel Abernathy said, stepping forward and clapping Doyal on the shoulder. Despite the blood and sweat on his face, Abernathy cracked a relieved grin. "Didn't think anyone was coming."

"Always got your back, Blake," Doyal replied, holstering his pistol.

Delia, seated near the back of the room, exhaled in relief. "Doyal..."

He rushed to her side, kneeling beside her. "You alright, Dee?"

"I'm fine," she replied weakly, offering a small smile. "Thanks to Shiho and Chiyo. They patched me up."

Shiho Nishizumi gave a small nod, still calm and collected despite the chaos. "It was the least we could do."

Chiyo Shimada added, "You came just in time. Much longer, and those men would have broken in."

Doyal squeezed Delia's hand. "We're getting you all out of here. Let's move!"

Just as Doyal and the others started regrouping, Ramirez's voice crackled over the radio:

"Doyal! We've got incoming—lots of it! Looks like they're bringing in heavy reinforcements this time. Trucks, more infantry... and I think they've got elites coming your way!"

"Copy that, Ramirez," Doyal said, rising to his feet. "Hold your position and stay sharp. We'll handle it."

Bronson swore under his breath. "They're doubling down. We need to move fast."

"Agreed," Doyal said. "Everyone, weapons up and stay tight."

As they exited the meeting room into the main corridor, they heard an ominous mechanical click-click-click up ahead.

"Contact!" McKenzie hissed, pointing.

From the shadows emerged another elite soldier, taller and more menacing than the others. His armor gleamed under the flickering lights, and in his hand, he held small electrical devices—stun traps. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the traps onto the floor, where they began sparking and buzzing.

"Don't touch the traps! They'll stun you!" Decker yelled.

The elite soldier opened fire with a heavy machine gun, the rounds hammering the walls and forcing Doyal's team into cover. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off steel surfaces.

"Flank him!" Doyal ordered, gesturing to McKenzie and Bronson. "Decker, suppressing fire!"

Decker leaned out, unleashing a hail of bullets to keep the elite pinned. McKenzie moved left, while Bronson slipped to the right, carefully avoiding the electrical traps on the floor.

Doyal seized the opening. He sprinted forward, his rifle barking as he peppered the elite's chest armor. The rounds staggered the soldier slightly, but the heavy plating absorbed most of the hits.

The elite soldier turned toward Doyal, raising his weapon—

BOOM!

Bronson fired a grenade launcher, the explosive slamming into the elite and sending him crashing backward into the wall. The soldier's armor smoked, and Doyal finished him with a final shot to the head.

The corridor fell silent again, save for the faint hum of sparking traps.

"That one was tough," McKenzie said, panting as he reloaded. "These elites are no joke."

Doyal nodded grimly, checking his rifle. "They're upping their game. Whatever they're after, they don't want us stopping them."

Abernathy stepped up, weapon in hand. "Then we'd better move fast. They won't stop until everyone in this building is dead."

Doyal looked at his wife, then at the group of survivors. "Stick close to us. We're getting out of here—together."

Doyal's team moved quickly through the blood-streaked hallways, weapons at the ready. The survivors—Colonel Abernathy, Shiho Nishizumi, Chiyo Shimada, and Morrison—stayed close, their steps hurried and tense.

Doyal turned to Delia as they neared the exit. "Dee, where's the League President?"

Delia winced, clutching her wounded shoulder. "He escaped... right when the shooting started. Took his personal security and ran. Left everyone else behind."

Doyal scoffed, shaking his head. "Typical politician. Coward."

Abernathy grunted in agreement. "You'd think he'd stay and take charge of the situation. Guess his life was more important than anyone else's."

"Forget him," Doyal said. "We get out of here, regroup, and take the fight to whoever's pulling the strings."

The group approached the large double doors leading to the parking garage. Just as Decker reached for the handle, the doors suddenly exploded inward, the force knocking him back.

KABOOM!

The team staggered, shielding their faces as debris scattered across the floor. Through the smoke and dust, a massive figure emerged.

"Contact!" McKenzie shouted.

The Juggernaut stomped forward, clad head-to-toe in heavy, black tactical armor that gleamed like obsidian. His helmet's visor glowed faintly red, and in his hands, he carried a monstrous mini-gun, its barrels spinning menacingly.

https://youtu.be/7SVlJaLYdhM

(This how you introduce a fucking Juggernaut!!! Take fucking notes!) 

Behind him, a squad of masked soldiers fanned out, weapons raised.

The Juggernaut's deep, mechanical voice echoed through the hallway:

"Step aside."

Then the mini-gun roared to life.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!

A wall of bullets sprayed across the hallway, shredding walls, furniture, and anything in its path. The sound was deafening as the air filled with smoke and debris.

"Take cover!" Doyal bellowed, grabbing Delia and dragging her behind an overturned table.

Decker and McKenzie dove behind a support column, while Bronson and Abernathy huddled behind a steel beam. Shiho and Chiyo were pulled to safety by Morrison, who was surprisingly quick for a man in his position.

Bullets pinged and ricocheted everywhere, the relentless storm forcing the group to stay pinned.

"Mini-gun? Are you kidding me?!" Bronson yelled, reloading his rifle.

"That's not just a soldier," McKenzie growled, peeking out briefly. "That's a damn tank on legs!"

Doyal's eyes narrowed as he assessed the Juggernaut. "We can't fight him head-on. That armor's too thick, and he's got us pinned."

Decker, crouched behind cover, shouted over the gunfire. "We'll need to flank him—get behind or hit him with explosives!"

Abernathy nodded grimly. "If we don't take him down fast, we're not getting out of here alive."

Doyal looked at McKenzie and Bronson. "McKenzie, you flank left. Bronson, take the right. I'll draw his fire. Decker, find a way to hit him hard—grenades, whatever you've got."

"You're gonna draw his fire?!" Delia said sharply, her voice full of worry.

Doyal gave her a reassuring look. "I've dealt with worse. Stay low and stay safe, Dee."

Doyal signaled to his team, then stood up from cover, firing short, controlled bursts at the Juggernaut. The bullets pinged harmlessly off the armored beast, but it got the Juggernaut's attention.

The Juggernaut's helmet turned toward Doyal. The barrels of the mini-gun began to spin again.

"Come on, you son of a—!"

BRRRRRRRRT!

Doyal sprinted to the side, sliding into cover just as the mini-gun tore through his previous position, obliterating the table into splinters. Sparks and smoke filled the hallway.

Meanwhile, McKenzie and Bronson moved. McKenzie darted left, weaving through the smoke, while Bronson slid right, keeping low and silent.

Decker pulled a grenade from his vest, rigging it quickly with duct tape. "I'll need a clear shot!" he yelled.

McKenzie reached a vantage point on the left side and shouted, "I've got eyes on his flank!"

Bronson mirrored him on the right. "Ready when you are!"

Doyal grabbed his radio. "Decker, light him up!"

Decker popped out from cover, grenade in hand. "Eat this!"

With a perfect throw, the grenade soared through the air and landed at the Juggernaut's feet.

BOOM!

The explosion rocked the hallway, engulfing the Juggernaut in smoke and fire.

For a moment, everything went silent.

Then—

The Juggernaut emerged from the smoke, staggering but still standing. His armor was scorched, and the mini-gun faltered for a moment.

"He's hurt!" McKenzie yelled. "Now's our chance!"

Bronson took the shot, aiming for the Juggernaut's exposed joints. His rifle cracked, and sparks flew as rounds punched into weak points in the armor.

"Keep hitting him!" Doyal ordered, joining the assault. He fired his rifle, aiming for the same exposed areas.

The Juggernaut let out a guttural roar, stumbling under the concentrated fire. Finally, his armor gave way. He collapsed to one knee, the mini-gun clattering to the floor.

Decker didn't hesitate. He drew his sidearm, walked up, and emptied three rounds into the Juggernaut's helmet.

The massive soldier slumped to the ground, motionless.

"Clear!" Bronson shouted, breathing hard.

Doyal stood over the fallen Juggernaut, rifle still raised. "That was too close."

Abernathy walked up, wiping sweat from his brow. "Who the hell are these guys?"

"No idea," Doyal replied, scanning the hallway. "But they're organized, well-armed, and they're not giving up."

Delia stepped up, still clutching her shoulder. "We need to move. If they had a Juggernaut, there could be more coming."

Doyal nodded, rallying his team. "Alright, let's get to the garage. We'll evac and regroup somewhere secure."

As they moved quickly toward the exit, Ramirez's voice crackled over the radio again:

"Doyal, you're not gonna believe this... I'm picking up choppers inbound. You've got company—lots of it."

Doyal's jaw tightened. "Then we'd better move fast. Everyone, let's go!"

The group burst into the parking lot, weapons drawn and eyes scanning for movement. The air was tense, but to their surprise, it was eerily quiet—no sign of the enemy yet. The only sound was the distant wail of approaching sirens.

"We're clear for now," Ramirez said, lowering his rifle. "But that won't last."

Doyal took command, his voice steady. "Alright, listen up! We're splitting up. Ramirez, Bronson, and Decker—you're driving the SUV. Get everyone to the old CIA safe house. That's our rally point."

"What about you?" Delia asked, stepping forward, worry etched on her face.

Doyal turned to McKenzie, then nodded toward two motorcycles parked in the corner of the lot. Dust and grime covered them, but they looked functional. "McKenzie and I will follow on those bikes. We'll draw heat off you."

Delia shook her head, visibly distressed. "You can't—Doyal, you'll be exposed! It's too dangerous!"

Doyal stepped close, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "We don't have a choice, Dee. You and the others need to get out of here safe. Trust me—I've done crazier things."

McKenzie grinned from across the lot. "Crazier things, huh? This feels like the time in Saigon."

Doyal smirked. "Except this time we're on Harleys instead of Hueys."

Delia reluctantly nodded as Ramirez helped her into the SUV, along with Shiho, Chiyo, and Abernathy. "You'd better come back to me, Doyal," she said firmly.

"You'll see me at the safe house," Doyal replied, his voice reassuring.

Doyal swung a leg over one of the motorcycles, starting it with a loud roar. McKenzie mounted the other bike, revving the engine. "I'll watch your six, boss!"

Doyal pointed to Ramirez. "Move out—now!"

Ramirez floored the SUV, tires screeching as they peeled out of the parking lot. Doyal followed close behind, twisting the throttle and speeding toward the ramp leading out.

The approaching police cars were visible now, blue-and-red lights flashing as SWAT teams poured into the area.

"They're too late," Doyal thought.

Without slowing down, Doyal lined up his bike with a damaged police cruiser parked sideways near the ramp.

"Don't do it, Doyal—" McKenzie started to say.

Too late.

Doyal hit the cruiser at full speed, using its hood as a makeshift ramp.

"Hang on!"

The motorcycle launched into the air, soaring briefly above the chaos. Sparks flew as Doyal landed hard, tires screeching as he sped onto the open street. McKenzie followed seconds later, landing with a less graceful thud but keeping control.

Behind them, the SUV carrying the others tore down the road, Ramirez keeping a firm grip on the wheel.

The escape had barely begun when two black SUVs roared out of a nearby alley, masked soldiers leaning out the windows, weapons blazing.

"Contact!" Bronson shouted from the backseat, grabbing his rifle and returning fire.

The street exploded into chaos. Bullets riddled parked cars, shattering windows and sending pedestrians diving for cover. Police vehicles in pursuit tried to intercept, only to be brutally rammed by the enemy SUVs.

One police cruiser spun out, slamming into a light pole. Another was sent skidding onto the sidewalk.

"Keep us moving, Ramirez!" Decker barked, firing bursts at the masked soldiers.

"I'm trying!" Ramirez growled, yanking the wheel to dodge an oncoming car.

Doyal and McKenzie weaved through the traffic, staying just ahead of the firefight. McKenzie shouted over the roar of engines, "These guys aren't holding back!"

"No kidding!" Doyal snapped, firing a one-handed shot from his pistol at a soldier leaning out of an SUV. The bullet struck the enemy square in the chest, sending him tumbling out of the vehicle.

The chase thundered into the city center, where traffic gridlocked the streets. Civilians screamed and scattered as the convoy barreled through red lights, ignoring everything in its path.

"We're gonna lose them in this mess!" Ramirez shouted.

Doyal's voice crackled over the SUV's radio. "Take the expressway! I'll clear a path for you!"

"Copy that!"

Up ahead, Doyal gunned the throttle, speeding through traffic like a bullet. He swerved onto the median, shattering a line of plastic barriers as his bike roared forward.

McKenzie was close behind, yelling, "Remind me why I let you talk me into this, boss?!"

"Because you love the adrenaline!" Doyal shouted back, grinning despite the chaos.

The SUVs continued the chase, forcing their way through traffic.

Suddenly, a black helicopter roared into view, its spotlight locking onto the escaping convoy.

"Aw, hell," Bronson muttered from the SUV. "They've got air support!"

The helicopter's side door opened, and masked soldiers began firing from mounted machine guns. Bullets rained down on the street, chewing through cars and asphalt.

"Decker!" Ramirez shouted. "We need a plan!"

"Get us under an overpass! That'll give us cover!" Decker replied, reloading his rifle.

Meanwhile, Doyal looked up, spotting the helicopter. He growled into the radio, "Ramirez, keep moving! I'll handle the chopper."

"Handle it how?!" Ramirez shouted back, incredulous.

"You'll see," Doyal muttered.

Spotting a ramp leading to an overpass construction site, Doyal made a snap decision. He veered off, gunning the engine as his bike climbed the dirt path.

"Doyal, what the hell are you doing?!" McKenzie shouted, following reluctantly.

The helicopter hovered lower, soldiers tracking Doyal's movements.

"Come on... come on..." Doyal whispered.

At the top of the ramp, Doyal spotted his opportunity—an unfinished bridge section that dropped off mid-air.

Without hesitation, he accelerated.

The motorcycle flew off the edge, soaring straight toward the hovering helicopter.

The soldiers onboard barely had time to react.

Doyal drew his pistol mid-air, aiming for the fuel line near the helicopter's engine.

BANG!

The shot struck true. The helicopter sputtered, smoke pouring from its side as it began to spin wildly out of control.

Doyal's bike crashed into a lower rooftop, skidding across the gravel before coming to a stop. He groaned, pulling himself upright.

The helicopter spiraled into the distance before smashing into the street below in a fiery explosion.

McKenzie pulled up next to Doyal, panting and wide-eyed. "You're insane, you know that?"

Doyal grinned, brushing dirt off his jacket. "Told you I'd handle it."

Down on the expressway, the SUV roared ahead, now free from the helicopter's fire. Ramirez's voice crackled on the radio.

"Doyal, we're clear for now! Heading to the safe house!"

Doyal revved his bike. "Copy that. We'll be right behind you."

McKenzie shook his head. "You're buying the drinks after this, boss."

Doyal smirked. "Fair enough. Let's move."

With that, the two motorcycles sped off, weaving through the chaos as they raced to rejoin their team.

A/N: Short Chapter now I just wanted to get this out of the way as more new chapter's will be insane and crazy that you all will like that all I have to say anyway here a meme that I made.