Glacial Monopoly: My Gifts Return Hundredfold

Chapter 5: The Blind and the Ghost

Alex didn't panic. He didn't order his men to blindly rush the stairs. In the wasteland, adrenaline got you killed. Information kept you alive.

He knelt on the concrete, staring at the holographic projection glowing softly from the sleek black disc. He tapped the edge, zooming in on the fifteen red dots descending through the maintenance shafts.

They moved with brutal, military precision. A vanguard of four, a center column of eight, and a rear guard of three.

But Alex’s eyes locked onto the center column.

One of the red dots was different. It wasn't just a human heat signature. Projecting slightly above the dot’s torso was a localized, intense thermal bloom—the unmistakable heat of a high-capacity lithium battery pack in use.

"Thermal optics," Alex whispered, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" Elena asked, standing near the vibrating diesel generator.

"They have a Tech," Alex explained, pointing at the glowing blue wireframe. "He’s carrying a thermal imaging scanner. In an environment this cold, a human body stands out like a flare. If he gets a line of sight on this platform, they'll shoot us through the walls before we even see their faces."

Alex picked up the heavy military compound crossbow and loaded a red-tipped explosive bolt. He grabbed a roll of duct tape from the scavenged supplies and strapped the hockey-puck-sized holographic projector directly to his left forearm. The blue 3D map rotated as he moved his wrist.

He looked up at the blinding halogen lights overhead. Light was a beacon. It meant civilization. But in a tactical defense, it was a death sentence. It illuminated the defenders while the attackers stayed hidden in the shadows of the stairs.

"Elena, go to the breaker box on the wall," Alex commanded. "Find the heavy switch marked Main Lighting. Leave the HVAC fans running. We need the heat. But when I give the signal, you pull that lighting switch and plunge this station back into the dark."

Elena swallowed hard. The darkness was terrifying, but she nodded, gripping the rusted folding knife in her pocket. She ran to the breaker box and put both hands on the heavy iron lever.

Alex turned to his three militiamen. They were clutching their pristine high-carbon machetes, sweating in the newly heated air.

"Get behind the metal ticketing turnstiles. Stay low," Alex ordered. "When the lights go out, the enemy will panic. They will shoot wildly. Keep your heads down until they stumble into the turnstiles. Then, you hack their legs off."

The men nodded, scrambling to position themselves behind the thick stainless-steel barriers.

Alex didn't stay on the ground. He scaled the side of a stalled, rusted subway car, using the shattered windows as footholds, until he reached the roof. He lay flat against the cold metal, blending into the shadows of the ceiling, his crossbow aimed perfectly at the bottleneck of the main stairs.

He checked the glowing blue radar on his wrist.

Distance: Thirty yards.

The heavy thud of combat boots echoed down the concrete stairwell. Flashlight beams cut through the steam generated by the melting ice.

The vanguard of the Iceborn Hunters breached the mezzanine. They were heavily armed—scavenged assault rifles, thick armor padded with kevlar and animal hides.

"Spread out! Secure the perimeter!" a gruff voice barked.

A man stepped out from the center column. He wore a bulky helmet fitted with a heavy, multi-lensed visor. Thick cables ran from the visor to a heavy battery pack strapped to his chest.

The Tech.

The Tech swept his head left, then right. "Captain, I got massive thermal interference from the hot air vents. But I see them. Three heat signatures hiding behind the turnstiles. One more near the generator."

"Any on the roof?" the Captain asked, raising his rifle.

The Tech began to tilt his head upward. "Scanning vertical..."

Alex didn't give him the chance.

Lying flat on the roof of the train car, Alex squeezed the trigger of the crossbow.

Crack.

The titanium bolt crossed the distance in a blur of motion. It struck the Tech directly in the center of the heavy battery pack on his chest.

BOOM.

The micro-explosive detonated, instantly igniting the high-capacity lithium cells. A blinding flash of white-hot plasma engulfed the Tech and the two men standing closest to him. The explosion shattered the thermal visor and blew the Tech backward, his armor melting into his flesh.

"Sniper!" the Captain roared, firing blindly toward the ceiling. Bullets sparked against the steel roof of the train, inches from Alex’s face.

"Elena, now!" Alex yelled over the gunfire.

Elena threw her body weight onto the heavy iron lever.

Clunk.

The blinding industrial halogen lights died instantly.

The subway station was plunged into absolute, suffocating pitch black. The only sound was the deafening, jet-engine roar of the massive HVAC fans pumping heat into the air.

On the mezzanine, panic erupted.

The Iceborn Hunters were suddenly blind. Their flashlights were practically useless, cutting through the thick steam and smoke of the explosion, creating a chaotic strobe effect that only confused them further. The sudden loss of their thermal advantage shattered their tactical discipline.

"Where are they? I can't see shit!" a hunter screamed.

"Hold your fire! Stop shooting, you're hitting our own guys!" the Captain bellowed.

But discipline was gone. The hunters opened fire into the dark, spraying bullets into empty concrete walls and shattered ticket booths.

High above them on the train roof, Alex moved.

He didn't need lights. He had a map hack.

He glanced at his left forearm. The blue holographic dots moved frantically in the darkness. Alex slid down from the train car, completely silent under the roar of the fans. He dropped his crossbow—reloading took too long—and drew the pristine, high-carbon military machete he had saved for himself.

He slipped into the darkness like a ghost.

A hunter backed away from the stairs, frantically trying to reload his jammed rifle. He didn't see the shadow step behind him.

Alex clamped a gloved hand over the man's mouth, yanked his head back, and drew the razor-sharp machete across his throat. He lowered the dying man quietly to the floor, stepping over him without breaking stride.

One.

Alex checked his wrist. Two red dots were moving blindly toward the turnstiles, firing short bursts into the dark.

"They're behind the gates! Flush them out!" one of them yelled.

They stumbled forward in the dark, their shins slamming hard into the stainless-steel turnstile bars.

Before they could recover, the three militiamen struck. They didn't shoot. They followed Alex's orders perfectly. Three gleaming machetes lashed out from the floor, hacking viciously into the exposed calves and knees of the hunters.

Screams of agony tore through the station as the two hunters collapsed, their legs ruined, only to be finished off by a flurry of brutal, desperate stabs from the militiamen.

Three.

The Captain realized his men were being slaughtered by invisible forces. "Fall back! Back up the stairs! Tactical retreat!"

The remaining seven men turned and ran for the stairwell.

But Alex was already there.

He stood at the base of the stairs, the blue light from his wrist illuminating his cold, expressionless face. The blade of his machete dripped with blood.

The first two retreating hunters saw him and raised their shotguns.

Alex didn't retreat. He lunged forward, sweeping the blade in a vicious upward arc. The high-carbon steel sheared straight through the barrel of the shotgun and buried itself deep into the first hunter's collarbone. Alex used his momentum to tackle the man backward, sending the remaining hunters tumbling down the concrete stairs in a tangle of limbs and dropped weapons.

It wasn't a battle anymore. It was a meat grinder.

For the next two minutes, the darkness of the subway station was filled with the sickening sounds of hacking steel, panicked screams, and the relentless roar of the heating fans.

Then, silence fell.

Alex stood in the center of the mezzanine. He was breathing heavily, his parka soaked in the blood of his enemies. He looked at his wrist.

All fifteen red dots were extinguished.

"Elena," Alex called out, his voice cutting through the dark. "Lights."

Clunk.

The halogen overheads slammed back on.

The three militiamen slowly stood up from behind the turnstiles, completely unharmed, staring in absolute awe at the carnage on the stairs. Fifteen elite, heavily armed Iceborn Hunters lay dead. Alex had dismantled a superior military force using nothing but darkness, geography, and a broken folding knife he had multiplied into an armory.

Alex wiped his blade and sheathed it. He walked over to the corpse of the Captain.

Attached to the Captain’s chest rig, a military-grade radio crackled with static.

Alex unclipped the radio and brought it to his ear.

"Vanguard, sitrep," a deep, chilling voice echoed from the speaker. It was Kael, the Warlord of the Iceborn. "I heard an explosion. Is the grid secured?"

Alex stared at the fifteen corpses littering his floor. He pressed the transmit button.

"The grid is mine," Alex said softly. "Send more men."