The penthouse is quiet at this hour.
Mavis stands near the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Glock 19 resting in his hand. The weight feels natural now, comfortable. Outside, New Harbor glitters with a million lights, oblivious to what's about to happen up here.
His enhanced hearing picks up the faint mechanical hum of the elevator ascending. The slight creak of weight shifting inside the cab. Three people. Maybe four.
The System flashes information across his vision in cold blue text:
[Combat Survival Initiated.]
[Hostiles Detected: 7 Total.]
[Eliminate all threats.]
[Reward: Enhanced Reflexes + Tactical Analysis Unlock.]
Mavis moves away from the windows, positioning himself behind the kitchen island. The marble is thick enough to stop most rounds. His breathing stays calm and measured.
The elevator dings softly.
The doors slide open with a whisper.
Three figures step into his penthouse. Two men flanking a woman in the center. They're dressed in tactical black from head to toe, moving with the kind of precision that comes from military training. Weapons raised, silencers already attached. Each step is calculated and silent. They're Mandy's people.
The woman leads the formation. Her eyes sweep the penthouse methodically, cataloging exits and angles of attack. She moves like a predator, patient and deadly.
She doesn't see Mavis yet. He's pressed against the wall beside the island, swallowed by shadow.
Then everything changes.
The service entrance explodes inward with a deafening crash that shakes the entire floor. The reinforced door flies off its hinges, slamming into the opposite wall. Four men pour through the opening like a flood, loud and aggressive.
"Looks like we got company."
Mandy's operatives spin toward the noise, weapons tracking.
Seven killers. Two factions. One target.
Mavis steps out from behind the island.
"Evening."
All seven weapons swing toward him.
He dives.
The penthouse erupts.
Gunfire shatters everything—suppressed coughs from Mandy's team, thunderous blasts from Vik'ki's shotguns. Bullets tear through furniture, shred paintings, spiderweb around the windows.
Mavis rolls behind a marble column as rounds spark off stone inches from his head.
The System floods his vision with data:
[Combat Protocol Activated.]
[Enhanced Perception: Active.]
[Time dilation: 340% processing speed.]
Time doesn't stop. But it slows.
Mavis rises from cover, aims, fires twice.
The first shot catches one of Vik'ki's soldiers above the left eye. He drops instantly. The second shot takes another in the throat. He goes down clutching the wound.
Two down.
The woman from Mandy's team returns fire with surgical precision. Rounds punch through the marble column, spraying dust. Mavis is already moving, sliding across the floor toward the overturned sofa.
A shotgun blast tears through the air where his head was a second ago.
"Stand still!" one of Vik'ki's men roars.
Mavis doesn't answer. He rises from behind the sofa, double-taps his center mass. The man stumbles backward, crashes through the glass coffee table.
Three down.
The remaining four adapt fast. Mandy's operatives spread out, covering each other with hand signals. Vik'ki's last soldier takes cover behind the kitchen island, firing wildly.
The System tracks them all in real-time, highlighting positions, calculating trajectories.
The male operative with the MP5 advances on Mavis's position, laying down suppressing fire. Bullets chew through the sofa, stuffing explosions into the air.
Mavis waits. Counts the rounds.
The MP5 clicks empty.
Mavis surges up, closing the distance before the man. His shoulder drives into the operative's chest, slamming him against the wall. The man's head cracks against the brick. His eyes rolled back.
Mavis catches the MP5 as it falls, spins and fires a burst at the other male operative.
The rounds catch him in the leg and shoulder. He drops, screaming.
Four down.
The woman appears from behind the destroyed column, her Beretta tracking Mavis. She fires three times.
The first round grazes his shoulder. Pain flares hot and sharp. The second misses. The third—
The System kicks in.
[Tactical Evasion Engaged.]
Mavis's body moves before his mind registers the threat. He twists. The bullet passes so close he feels the air displacement.
He returns fire. Two shots center mass.
She staggers but doesn't fall.
The last of Vik'ki's crew—a massive man with a shaved head—charges from the kitchen, roaring. No weapon. Just rage and muscle.
Mavis sidestep,drives an elbow into the back of his skull. The man crashes face-first into the floor.
Mavis puts two rounds in his back.
Five down.
The woman backs toward the elevator, still firing. Covering the wounded operative as he drags himself toward the service entrance, leaving a red smear across the marble.
Mavis advances. Each step is calculated.
She ejects her magazine, slams in a fresh one without breaking eye contact.
"You're good," she says. Her voice is cold and sharp. "But I don't need to win."
She reaches into her tactical vest.
The System screams:
[ALERT: EXPLOSIVE DEVICE DETECTED.]
[THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL.]
She pulls out a detonator. A single red button under her thumb.
Her lips curve into a smile. "If I can't kill you, I'll bury you."
She presses it.
Small devices throughout the penthouse begin beeping. Soft at first, then faster.
Shaped charges. Attached to support columns, hidden behind furniture, placed near the windows.
The woman backs into the elevator. The doors slide closed.
The beeping accelerates.