Xavier gritted his teeth.
The last elite wasn't like the others. No rifles. No armor.
Just fists glowing with red heat.
The guy moved like a ghost—phasing through walls, vanishing mid-step, reappearing behind Xavier with a blow strong enough to crack metal.
Xavier rolled, chest burning. His coat was scorched. His shoulder was dislocated.
He spat blood. "You're starting to piss me off."
The elite didn't answer. He just came again.
Fast.
Xavier tried shooting—missed.
Got kicked in the gut—flew back—slammed into a wall.
Crack.
Pain flared through his spine. His gun slid across the floor.
The elite marched forward, fist raised, glowing brighter. "You don't belong here, rat."
Xavier laughed, even as his bones screamed. "Neither do you."
Click.
The turrets on the ceiling whirred to life.
The elite paused. Looked up. "What—"
The entire hallway lit up with gunfire.
High-velocity rounds tore through everything.
