PREVIEW

... er in the warehouse.

I don’t flinch. I keep moving. Duck, aim, shoot.

The air stinks of metal and smoke. The staccato bursts of semi-automatics rattle through the rafters. Men scream. Glass shatters. Someone’s radio cuts out with a burst of static.

Bodies drop like flies.

Another one lunges from behind a crate. I whirl, squeeze the trigger. He falls mid-step, dead before he hits the floor.

I reload in three seconds flat. Clip. Slide. Ready.

Some as ...

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