The Ghost Consigliere

CHAPTER 5: Raid in the Acid Rain

The acid rain fell harder over Saint-Bastian that night. Its roar sounded like thousands of pebbles thrown at once against the tin roof of the antique bookstore. Down in the basement, the smell of damp earth mixed with the thick aroma of freshly brewed black coffee.

Elias sat in front of a stolen monitor, trying to hack into the lower sector police frequencies with his left hand, still marked by black necrotic veins.

“Coffee.” Sloane set a steaming metal cup on the wooden table beside his keyboard. “Don’t spill it on the motherboard.”

Elias glanced over, his eyes red from lack of sleep. “The police radio is dead quiet. Too quiet. Friday nights like this, the lower district is usually full of reports, brawls, robberies. This… nothing.”

Sloane took a sip of her coffee, leaning back against the table. She had just finished cleaning her modified pistol. “Vancroft probably paid them off to shut down patrols tonight. Your father likes clean streets when his dogs go hunting.”

“Is the van upstairs finished?”

“Yeah,” Sloane replied. “I reinforced the rear doors with steel plating, and I built a small compartment for an emergency oxygen tank and your portable pacemaker. If your heart stops again when the connection snaps, at least I won’t have to do CPR while driving.”

Elias snorted, a faint smile tugging at his pale face. “How thoughtful. I’m touched.”

“I just don’t want my secret weapon dying stupidly before I get paid,” Sloane shot back casually.

Before Elias could respond, a sharp buzzing sound cut through the room.

BZZZZZT! BZZZZZT!

The yellow bulb above them flickered violently before dying completely. The monitor in front of Elias went black. The basement plunged into total darkness. Only the red emergency LED from the alarm panel on the wall remained, spinning and casting eerie shadows across the bookshelves.

“Sloane…” Elias whispered, tense.

“Quiet,” Sloane hissed. She set her coffee down silently. In an instant, the former combat medic’s instincts took over. Her hand drew the suppressed pistol from her waist, her thumb flicking off the safety. Click.

She crept toward the concrete stairs leading to the ground floor. She sharpened her hearing. Beneath the roar of rain, she caught something else.

Velcro tearing. The faint click of carabiners brushing against Kevlar.

“Five of them. Tactical. Roof and front door,” Sloane whispered from the base of the stairs without turning. “They cut the power.”

“Dante…” Elias growled in the darkness. His black-veined hand gripped the armrest of his wheelchair. “That bastard found us fast.”

“I told you, your tactics were slow.” Sloane stepped backward down the stairs. “I need you checking the perimeter.”

“With what? Your sewer rats?” Elias snapped. “There’s no corpses within a hundred meters. I’m stuck in this chair, Sloane. I need a first sacrifice!”

CRASH!

The sound of glass shattering exploded from the bookstore above. Something heavy was thrown inside.

“Down!” Sloane shouted.

Three seconds later, a small cylindrical canister rolled down the concrete stairs, stopping two meters in front of Elias’s wheelchair.

Not a fragmentation grenade. A military-grade tear gas canister.

PSSSHHH!

Thick white smoke burst out under pressure, instantly filling the cramped basement. The chemical burn stabbed into the lungs.

“Uhk, khh!” Elias erupted into violent coughing. His lungs felt like they had been doused in gasoline and set on fire. His eyes burned, streaming uncontrollably. He pushed his wheelchair backward in panic, but behind him stood only solid bookshelves.

Sloane tore her shirt collar, spat into the cloth, and tied it over her face. She charged through the gas, grabbing Elias by the collar and dragging him, chair and all, away from the center of the cloud.

“Don’t breathe through your mouth!” she shouted.

From the stairs above came the pounding of boots. Tactical flashlights mounted on assault rifles cut through the thick smoke. Red laser dots danced across the walls and shelves.

“Move in! Move in! Clear the lower level! Target is in a wheelchair, take him alive. Kill anyone with him!” A cold, commanding voice echoed from above.

Elias coughed up blood. Black fluid seeped from the corner of his lips as his strained nerves reacted to the danger. “Sloane… run,” he rasped, pushing weakly at her arm. “Leave me. They want me.”

“Shut up, boss. I don’t abandon my patients twice,” Sloane snapped coldly. She shoved his wheelchair into the darkest corner behind a heavy theological shelf. “Close your eyes. The second someone dies in your range, take the body. No hesitation.”

Without waiting, she rolled left out from behind cover just as two black-clad mercenaries descended the stairs.

Pfut! Pfut!

Sloane fired twice. The first shot missed in the thick gas, striking concrete. The second hit the lead soldier’s Kevlar vest, knocking him back but not killing him.

“Contact! Three o’clock!” he shouted.

A burst of return fire shredded the air. 5.56 rounds tore through the wooden shelves around Sloane. Splinters, paper dust, and fragments of ancient books exploded into the air, mixing with the tear gas.

Sloane ducked and slid across the slick floor. She was agile, but the basement was too tight to maneuver freely. She kicked over a wooden table, flipping it into a makeshift barricade.

“They’re in full body armor!” Sloane shouted toward Elias. “I can’t hit their heads from this range!”

In the corner, Elias clutched his head. His eyes burned. Gunfire thundered in his ears. He could hear Sloane’s strained breathing.

He shut his eyes and forced his brain to broadcast his necrotic frequency blindly in all directions, searching for a dead signal.

Zzzzt… zzzt…

Nothing. No corpses. No dead bodies within a hundred meters.

“Die… please… one of you, just die,” Elias whispered, trembling with frustration. The veins in his left arm throbbed painfully. He had never felt so crippled, so useless. A god of death without ammunition.

In the center of the room, three more soldiers descended. Five against one. Their formation was flawless. They spread out, pinning Sloane from two angles.

“She’s behind the table! Flashbang!” one of them barked.

Sloane heard the pin being pulled. Her heart slammed in her chest. If that flashbang detonated in this enclosed space, she would be blind and deaf for five seconds. Five seconds was enough to die ten times over.

Without hesitation, she leapt from behind cover just before the small cylinder landed.

BANG!

A blinding white flash and a sharp concussive blast tore through the room. Elias’s ears rang violently, nausea rising in his throat.

Sloane avoided full exposure, but the jump left her exposed. One of the mercenaries at the base of the stairs swung his rifle toward her.

BOOM!

Sloane let out a strangled cry. The high-caliber round tore through her left thigh, ripping through muscle and flesh. Blood sprayed into the air. She lost balance and slammed hard onto the concrete steps. Her pistol flew from her hand, skidding three meters across the floor.

“Hostile down!” the soldier shouted.

He walked calmly down the stairs, boots echoing against the concrete. He looked at Sloane clutching her bleeding thigh. Her eyes were locked on her pistol, just out of reach.

The soldier scoffed. He raised his rifle, aiming straight at her head. A red laser dot settled on her forehead.

From behind the bookshelf in the shadows, Elias’s eyes widened. The tear gas blurred his vision, but he could see that red dot clearly.

Guilt, rage, and absolute terror detonated inside his chest. The woman who had saved him, who had chosen to be his blade, was about to die protecting him. Protecting a useless cripple.

“DON’T!”

Elias screamed, his voice breaking through the smoke and gunfire. He slammed his hand against his wheelchair and forced himself out of hiding.

“SLOANE!”

The mercenary glanced at him, amusement flickering behind his tactical goggles. A cripple in a wheelchair. Zero threat.

“Your turn, cripple,” the soldier said coldly, his finger tightening on the trigger aimed at Sloane’s head.

Elias could only stare in horror. His mind screamed, blasting death signals in every direction, searching for a corpse to seize. But there was nothing. The chain had snapped. The god of death stood helpless before the muzzle of steel.