2026-01-05 21:22:56
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368: Convoy Siege
The gunfire came in short, disciplined bursts. Not wild or desperate but professional.Margaret’s convoy tore through the industrial district, headlights off, engines screaming as concrete walls and rusted warehouses blurred past. Gabrielle sat low in the back seat, seatbelt tight across her chest, her hands clenched together. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She watched. She listened.“They’re pushing us right,” the driver shouted: “Blocking the cross street.”Margaret leaned forward, eyes sharp, tablet glowing faintly in her hands: “Don’t take it. That alley is a dead funnel.”Another burst of gunfire shattered a side mirror.“They’re not cartel,” Margaret said into comms: “Their spacing is too clean. They’re trained to box, not spray.”Achilles was already moving through the night, boots slamming against pavement, breath controlled despite the pace: “I know,” he said: “That’s why they’re dangerous. Rachael, distance?”“Thirty seconds,” Rachael replied: “Hard push.”The lead SUV s
367: City Countdown
The city did not celebrate yet.Even after the broadcast ended, even after El Serpiente was restrained and dragged out of the studio, Cartagena remained tense, like a body holding its breath after narrowly avoiding death. Sirens echoed from distant streets. Helicopters cut across the night sky. People stood on balconies, phones in hand, whispering, pointing, afraid to believe it was truly over.Achilles stood in the studio corridor, Gabrielle wrapped in a protective vest beside him. He checked her face carefully, his hands gentle but precise, as if she were another fragile device that needed careful handling. She was shaken, but steady.“I’m okay,” she said softly before he could ask: “I really am.”He nodded once, accepting it. He knew better than to smother her strength. Still, he kept her close.Margaret’s voice came through the comms, sharp and urgent: “Don’t relax yet. We’re not done.”Achilles straightened: “Report.”“The explosives we neutralized were not the full network,” Mar
366: Public Threat
The studio lights burned hot.El Serpiente’s voice flowed smoothly across the broadcast, calm and rehearsed, the kind of calm that frightened people because it sounded reasonable. Millions watched across Colombia and beyond, unaware of the quiet war unfolding behind the cameras.Achilles stood just outside the studio doors, his presence hidden but absolute. He did not rush. He did not panic. He listened.“Foreign generals,” El Serpiente said: “operate above your laws. They bring violence and then call it peace. Tonight, you will see the truth.”Behind him, Gabrielle sat bound but unbroken, her posture straight, her eyes steady. Achilles caught her gaze through the glass for a brief second. She did not cry. She did not plead. She trusted him.That trust settled into Achilles’ chest really deep.Margaret’s voice came through the comms, controlled but tight: “Explosive signatures confirmed. Twelve locations so far. Transport hubs, plazas, waterfront markets. Civilian density is extreme.”
365: Urban Hunt
Cartagena breathed differently at night.The city glittered along the coast, lights reflecting off the Caribbean like nothing beneath them was wrong. Music drifted from bars. Traffic rolled on. Lovers walked hand in hand. To the outside world, it was calm.To Achilles, it was a battlefield wearing a smile.He stood inside a dim operations room commandeered from a compromised municipal building, eyes fixed on a live city map. Red markers pulsed across districts where cartel influence was strongest. Blue markers showed civilian density. Yellow flagged political interference.Too many yellows.“They’re shielding him,” Achilles said quietly.Margaret nodded from the screen beside him, her face sharp with concentration. “Three council members, two senior police commanders, and one federal liaison are actively delaying warrants. Paperwork traps. Jurisdiction loops.”“Bought or threatened,” Rachael added: “Possibly both.”Achilles leaned back slightly, folding his arms: “He wouldn’t hide in
364: The Collapse
The tunnel hummed faintly as Achilles advanced. Not from machines. From tension. The kind that settled into stone before it broke.He slowed his pace, every sense open. The walls here were newer, poured concrete reinforced with steel ribs. Purpose-built. This was not a hiding place. It was a kill corridor.Margaret’s voice stayed low in his ear: “Babe, charge signatures are everywhere. They’ve staggered them. Sequential collapse.”“They don’t want to seal me in,” Achilles said: “They want to crush me.”“Yes,” she replied: “And the trigger is manual.”Achilles smiled without humor: “Then someone’s close.”He stopped mid-step and knelt, pressing two fingers against the floor. The vibration was faint but rhythmic. A heartbeat that wasn’t his.“They’re waiting for confirmation,” he said: “Visual or audio.”He reached into his pack and pulled out a compact, palm-sized, matte black drone. He sent it forward, hugging the ceiling, its feed flashing across his wrist display.The tunnel opened
363: Tunnel Warfare
The lift screeched to a halt below the mountain, jolting Achilles and the steel cage hard enough to rattle teeth. He stepped out first, weapon raised, scanning the dark. The air down here was colder, heavier. Old stone. Old blood. This was not part of the public fortress. This was something older, hidden long before El Serpiente took power.“Surface secured,” Brig. Rachael’s voice came through the comm: “But we’ve lost heat signatures underground. They sealed the upper access points.”Achilles set Gabrielle behind a rock outcrop and keyed his mic: “They didn’t seal everything. They’re drawing us in.”Margaret’s voice joined, steady but tight: “Babe, I’m back in partial systems. This underground network isn’t on any official map. It’s military grade. Whoever built this expected war.”Achilles already knew. He knelt and pressed his palm to the stone floor. Fresh vibration. Recent movement. Not fleeing. Organizing.“They want tunnel fighting,” he said: “Close quarters. No air support. No
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