Chapter 8
The bullet shattered the heavy iron casing of the breaker box in a shower of blinding blue sparks and molten copper. Instantly, the entire house plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness, the emergency backup generators failing with a sharp, electronic whine. Shouts of alarm echoed through the smoke-filled corridors as the tactical operatives lost their primary grid and thermal optics were momentarily blinded by the sudden surge of ambient heat and electrical feedback.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He moved like a ghost through the familiar layout of his own home, slipping past the disoriented mercenaries toward the front entryway. The heavy double doors were still wide open, framing the flashing red and blue lights of local police cruisers now turning onto the long gravel driveway.
"Flashlights on! Sweep the exit!" the scarred lieutenant roared, his voice cutting through the crackle of spreading flames.
A dozen high-intensity tactical beams swept frantically across the foyer, missing Arthur by inches as he rolled behind a heavy mahogany console table. He could hear the crunch of gravel outside—the police had arrived at the perimeter fence, their bullhorns beginning to broadcast standard warnings to clear the area.
Suddenly, a heavy hand clamped down on Arthur’s shoulder from behind. Before he could turn, a suppressive arm-bar locked around his throat, cutting off his air supply as he was hauled roughly to his feet.
"Found the rat," a gruff voice rasped in his ear.
Arthur’s vision began to grey at the edges. He thrashed backward, slamming his heel down hard onto the operative's boot and driving his elbow backward into the man's ribs. The grip loosened just enough for Arthur to break free, spinning around to drive a desperate, adrenaline-fueled punch square into the operative's jaw. The man stumbled backward, crashing through the weak drywall of the coat closet and disappearing into the dark interior.
Arthur didn't wait to see if he got back up. He bolted through the shattered front doors, sprinting out onto the moonlit lawn just as the blinding spotlight of a police cruiser swept across the driveway.
May you like
"Drop the weapon! Hands on your head!" a police officer shouted over a loudspeaker, the amplified voice ringing sharply in the night air.
Arthur stopped, raising his empty hands slowly into the air as three armed local deputies converged on him from behind their patrol cars. But before the cuffs could click onto his wrists, a heavy, unmarked black helicopter crested the tree line above the property, kicking up a gale-force wind of dust and debris as it dropped low over the front lawn. A heavy machine gun mounted on the aircraft's side began to chatter, chewing up the asphalt inches from the patrol cars.
