Chapter 3 - The Blackout
Before Marcus could react to Croft's words, the fluorescent fixtures overhead buzzed violently, flickering once, twice, and then dying completely.
The room plunged into pitch-black darkness, swallowed by the sudden death of the hospital's hum. A split second later, the dull red glow of emergency battery lights kicked in, casting long, bloody shadows across the walls. The steady rhythm of the heart monitors ceased, replaced by shrill, low-battery warning chirps.
"Hostile breach," Croft barked, drawing his sidearm with fluid precision. "They've killed the primary grid and the basement backup generators."
Panic erupted in the hallway outside. Shouts echoed off the linoleum tiles, followed by the heavy, synchronized thud of tactical boots moving rapidly through the corridor. Clara pressed her back against the pillows, wrapping the blanket completely around the baby, shielding the tiny head with her trembling palms.
"Marcus!" Clara cried out in the dim red gloom.
Marcus reached the bedside in a single stride, grabbing an aluminum IV pole from the corner and twisting the locking collar until the heavy metal rod detached into a makeshift weapon. "I'm right here, Clara. Nobody touches you. Nobody touches this baby."
A sharp, suppressed gunshot cracked through the door panel. Wood splintered inward as one of the federal marshals near the entrance collapsed backward, blood blossoming across his tactical vest. The second marshal returned fire blindly into the smoky threshold before a stun grenade rolled through the opening, bouncing twice on the floor.
"Cover your eyes!" Croft yelled, lunging toward the wall.
A deafening flash and concussive roar ripped through Room 4. Clara buried her face into the mattress, screaming as the shockwave rattled her teeth. The smell of burning magnesium and sulfur flooded the enclosed space. Through the blinding white afterburn in her eyes, Clara saw two figures silhouetted in the red emergency light—men in matte-black combat gear, helmets fitted with night-vision lenses, moving with terrifying mechanical efficiency.
Croft fired twice, dropping one intruder, but the second struck Croft across the temple with the butt of a carbine, sending the federal agent sprawling unconscious across the floor.
The remaining operative stepped forward, ignoring Marcus completely, his gloved hand reaching directly for the swaddled infant on Clara's chest.
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"Move and she dies," Marcus roared, lunging forward with the steel IV pole, driving the pointed tip straight into the operative's collarbone. The man grunted, staggering back, his carbine clattering to the tiles.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He tackled the intruder to the floor, wrestling for control of the fallen sidearm. But as Marcus pinned the man's wrist, the hospital room's external window shattered into thousands of glistening shards. A grapple line snapped taut against the windowsill, and a third figure vaulted into the room from the stormy night outside.
