Ron Donaldo: Rise Of The Apex Don

Chapter 29

Cross looked toward the exact center of the huge warehouse floor. He had missed it when he first walked in, but now he saw it. Sitting all by itself in the middle of the empty concrete floor was a single, cheap wooden chair. 

Sitting on top of the wooden chair was a small, black radio. It had a small red light blinking on top of it. 

Next to the radio was a thick, black wire. The wire ran from the radio, across the floor, and disappeared into a massive metal box bolted to the wall. 

Cross walked slowly toward the chair. His combat boots made soft sounds on the dusty floor. He stared at the blinking red light. 

His radio earpiece buzzed. 

"Cross," Vane’s voice said. Vane sounded slightly nervous, which was very rare. "My sensors just picked up a massive power surge inside your building. The power is not coming from a generator. It is being pushed into the building from the city's hidden sewer lines. Get out. Get out right now. It is a trap."

Before Cross could turn around and yell to his men, the small black radio on the wooden chair suddenly clicked on. 

A voice echoed out of the small speaker. It was deep, calm, and terrifyingly smooth. 

"Hello, Cross," Ron Donaldo said. 

Cross froze. He raised his gun and pointed it at the radio, as if the radio itself was going to attack him. 

"Where are you, Apex?" Cross growled into the empty room. "Show yourself!"

"I am an engineer, Cross," Ron’s voice said slowly. "I spend my life studying how things work. I study engines. I study buildings. And during my five years in a concrete box, I spent a lot of time studying the human body."

"What are you talking about?" Cross yelled. He looked back at his men. "Fall back! Move to the doors!"

The twenty Ghost Hounds turned and ran toward the heavy steel doors. 

SLAM!

Before they could reach them, thick metal blast doors dropped from the ceiling, completely covering the exits. The heavy steel hit the concrete floor with a deafening crash. The electronic locks clicked loudly. They were totally trapped inside. 

"The human ear," Ron’s voice continued from the radio, completely calm, "is a very delicate machine. It controls your hearing, yes. But it also controls your balance. It controls your brain's ability to stand up. It controls your stomach."

Cross felt a sudden, terrible chill run down his spine. He looked at the massive metal box on the wall. He realized it was not a power box. It was a giant, military-grade acoustic speaker. 

"Vane sent you to kill me with bullets," Ron said softly. "But I do not need bullets to break you. Welcome to the Night of the Long Knives."

"Shoot the speaker!" Cross screamed at his men. 

But he was one second too late. 

Ron pressed a button on his end. 

The acoustic trap activated. 

It was not a loud explosion. It did not sound like a bomb or a gunshot. At first, it did not sound like anything at all. 

It was a high-frequency sonic wave. It was a sound so high and so incredibly powerful that the human ear could not even hear the actual noise. But the human body felt it instantly. 

Cross felt like a long, invisible ice pick had just been driven directly into the center of his brain. 

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

A terrible, ringing pressure filled his skull. It was agonizing. 

Cross dropped his expensive submachine gun. The weapon clattered to the floor. He brought both of his hands up to his ears, pressing them as hard as he could against his helmet. But it did not help. The sound was not traveling through the air; it was vibrating through the bones in his skull. 

All around the warehouse, the elite Ghost Hounds began to fall. 

They dropped like rocks. The sonic frequency disrupted the fluid inside their inner ears. Instantly, their brains forgot which way was up and which way was down. Total, absolute dizziness hit them like a speeding truck. 

One soldier fell to his knees and immediately threw up all over the floor. His stomach violently rejected the terrible pressure in his head. 

Another soldier tried to run, but his legs simply stopped working. He crashed face-first into the concrete wall and slid down, groaning in pure agony. 

Cross fell to the ground. The pain behind his eyes was blinding. The room spun wildly in circles. He could not tell if he was lying on his back or his stomach. His arms and legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. He tried to reach for the pistol on his belt, but his fingers would not move. His nervous system was completely overloaded. He was totally paralyzed by the invisible force. 

The twenty deadliest mercenaries in the world were completely defeated in less than ten seconds. They were reduced to crying, shaking, vomiting messes on the floor. 

Not a single bullet had been fired. 

Ron’s core struggle was always about choosing how to fight. He chose not to be a butcher. He chose to be smarter. He chose science over slaughter. 

For two full minutes, the invisible, agonizing sonic wave filled the room, making sure every single mercenary was completely incapacitated. 

Then, the heavy blast door on the far left side of the warehouse slowly slid open. 

A tall figure stepped into the dark room. 

It was Ron Donaldo. 

He was wearing his sharp black suit. But over his ears, he wore a massive, thick pair of industrial, noise-canceling headphones. These headphones were specially designed to block the exact frequency of the sonic weapon. 

Ron held a small, black remote control in his right hand. 

He walked slowly and calmly onto the warehouse floor. He looked like a man taking a peaceful walk in the park. 

He stepped over a groaning mercenary who was curled into a tight ball on the floor. Ron looked down at the expensive gun lying in a puddle of vomit. He shook his head slightly. All that money, all that training, completely beaten by sound waves. 

Ron walked to the center of the room. He reached the wooden chair. 

He looked down at Cross. 

Cross was lying on his back. His nose was bleeding slightly from the massive pressure change. His eyes were wide with pure terror and hatred. He stared up at Ron. Cross's mouth was open, but he could not speak. The dizziness was too strong. 

Ron looked at the violent mercenary leader. Ron felt no pity. These men had come to put a bullet in his brain for money.