The Death Knock at the Safe House

The rain stopped. Night fell, like a giant velvet sheet soaked in dark ink, heavily covering the sky above Seattle.

Only the lights of the skyscrapers in the distant city center, shimmering in the damp air, barely illuminated the city's indistinct outline.

Far from this light-polluted urban-rural fringe, the darkness is deeper and purer, embracing the silent apartment buildings, factories, and chaotic streets.

Some time has passed since the massacre at Eagle Creek Ranch, and the Skagit County Sheriff's investigation has long since cooled down. But for some at the eye of the storm, the silence of the night is often more unsettling than the commotion.

On the edge of the eastern district, there's a drab, six-story apartment building with a mix of residents. At the very top floor, at the very end, lies a two-bedroom apartment. The curtains have never been drawn since the residents moved in, completely isolating them from the outside world.

This is the last stronghold of the "Ghost" team, and also the command center and safe house personally chosen by their leader, "Butcher." Compared to the temporary monitoring point at "Whisper," the defense level here is much higher.

The main light in the living room was off; only a rechargeable camping lamp, turned down to its lowest setting, sat on the coffee table covered with maps and papers, casting a dim, yellowish glow.

The air was filled with the cheap aroma of instant coffee, lingering cigarette smoke, and a persistent metallic and leather scent that belonged to outlaws.

The "Butcher" sat on an old sofa, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. His calloused fingers, covered in tiny scars, pointed to several locations circled in red on the map.

His face appeared particularly hard in the shadows, his eyes deep-set and his stubble unruly, but his gaze remained sharp as a knife, though a barely perceptible anxiety lurked deep within. Across the coffee table sat the two remaining core members—"Anvil" and "Razor."

Both men were fully armed, their tactical vests filled with magazines, and loaded rifles beside them, their expressions tense.

"The Painter" has disappeared. "The Mole" has disappeared. "Whisper" also disappeared after sending out its last "emergency silence" signal. The three peripheral reconnaissance and intelligence nodes vanished completely in less than half an hour, as if erased by an eraser, leaving not even a trace of effective alarm or counterattack.

The Butcher knew perfectly well what this meant. They had been hunted down. The efficiency, precision, and ruthlessness of their opponents far exceeded their expectations. This was not just the style of the Blood Spear mercenary group.

"Blood Spear" excels at discovery and destruction, a head-on confrontation. But this time, it seems the other side has laid a trap beforehand, patiently waiting for them to walk into it one by one, then surgically eliminating them with precision and silence. This is more like a professional intelligence agency or... a top-tier assassin organization.

"Boss, something's wrong." "Anvil's" voice was deep and hoarse, with a metallic, grinding quality. He was a former Marine Corps demolition expert, a man as muscular as a bear. "The Painter and the others are gone without a sound. They're no ordinary scum. This place... might not be safe anymore."

"Razor" didn't speak. This former Delta Force sniper silently and repeatedly checked the bolt and scope of his modified Remington MSR sniper rifle, his movements steady without a tremor, but his eyes were full of vigilance. He was the team's ace, and their last line of defense from a distance.

The "Butcher" remained silent. He knew, of course, that it wasn't safe. But this was their last stronghold, and it had been quite fortified, with hidden cameras and simple alarm devices installed at the downstairs entrance and in the corridor.

Moreover, in case of the worst, there is an emergency exit behind the bedroom closet that connects directly to another vacant apartment downstairs, which has already been rented and is equipped with a spare vehicle and identification.

After the incident at "Whisper," he activated the highest alert level and notified "Anvil" and "Razor" to come and join him.

Should we abandon this outpost immediately and evacuate through the secret passage, or wait and see if a miracle happens, or... gamble that the enemy won't find this place?

Twenty-eight million dollars. Five times the reward promised by Old Walton. The figure echoed in his ears like the devil's whisper.

Giving up means all previous efforts are wasted, the huge reward vanishes, and you'll face the shame of mission failure and potential resentment from your employer. Not giving up...

Just then--

"Knock knock knock."

Three clear, steady, and neither too loud nor too soft knocks suddenly broke the silence inside.

The three people froze instantly, as if struck by lightning! All their movements and breathing stopped at that moment. In the dim yellow light of the camping lamp, even the dust seemed to stop moving.

A knock on the door?!

How is that possible?!

This is a safe house! No one except the three of them knows its exact location!

The downstairs security camera was being monitored by "Anvil," who had just confirmed a few minutes earlier that no unfamiliar faces had entered the apartment building and that everything on the street outside was normal!

The emergency silence protocol of "Whisper" meant that he was either dead or had destroyed everything in the final moments before being tracked, making it impossible for him to reveal this place!

Moreover, if it's someone from their own family returning, they will use a specific, complex, rhythmic Morse code-style knocking signal, rather than this ordinary knocking that sounds like a deliveryman knocking!

Are they police? Impossible. This efficiency, this silence, is definitely not the police style. Are they the target's people? How did they find this place?!

Countless thoughts flashed through "The Butcher's " mind, but his body reacted even faster. Almost the instant the knock sounded, he leaped from the sofa like a cheetah, grabbing the HK416 automatic rifle lying at his feet as he landed, the muzzle immediately pointing at the heavy security door. His movements were swift and silent, displaying the qualities of a top assassin.

"Anvil" and "Razor" moved almost simultaneously. "Anvil" rolled its massive body with extraordinary agility to the side of the coffee table, using the heavy solid wood table as cover. Its M4A1 carbine was pointed at the door, and its other hand was already reaching for a fragmentation grenade hanging at its waist.

"Razor," holding a sniper rifle, moved sideways with astonishing speed, his back against the wall, the muzzle of his gun locked onto the hinge of the door—the spot where someone behind the door might be standing.

Without a word or eye contact, their long-standing tacit understanding allowed the three to instantly deploy their battle formation. The living room wasn't large, but they occupied the most advantageous firing angles and cover.

The heavy security door is a standard inward-opening model, but it has been reinforced from the inside with thickened steel bolts and additional chain. The walls are ordinary cement brick walls, not particularly sturdy, but they provide a certain level of protection.

"Butcher" held his breath, his finger lightly resting on the trigger guard, his body slightly lowered, his ears straining to pick up any sounds outside the door. His heart pounded like a drum, but his hand gripping the gun was as steady as Rock.

Outside the door, all was silent. It was as if the knocking had been a hallucination.

Is it a test? Or...?

Time ticked by, each second feeling like an eternity. Sweat streamed down the "Butcher's" temples. He knew he couldn't wait. The other party had to be prepared for this knocking. Continuing the stalemate would only put him in a more passive position.

He quickly gestured a few instructions in sign language to "Anvil" and "Razor": prepare for a assault/break down the door. Then, he took a deep breath and, in as calm as possible but slightly impatient normal voice, shouted towards the door, "Who is it? In the middle of the night!"

There was no response.

There was only a deeper, more ominous silence.

The Butcher's heart sank to the bottom. Without further hesitation, he nodded sharply at the Anvil.

"Anvil" understood, and without hesitation, he pulled off the safety ring of the M67 fragmentation grenade at his waist, loosened his grip, silently counted to two, and then with all his might, rolled the activated, sizzling iron lump out into the gap between the door and the floor!

"Clang--"

The grenade hit the door, bounced, and rolled onto the floor of the hallway outside.

The tactics are clear: since the enemy is blocking the entrance, whether it's a direct assault or an ambush, first use a defensive grenade to clear the area, creating chaos and casualties, then they should immediately rush out, or...

However, just as the grenade rolled through the door crack—

"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat--!!!"

A series of muffled, deep, and extremely violent explosions suddenly erupted outside the door without warning!

That sound was not something an ordinary assault rifle or submachine gun could produce. It was the deathly roar, like a heavy hammer continuously pounding Anvil, that could only be produced when a large-caliber, full-power bullet was fired at extremely close range at a terrifying rate of fire!

7.62×54mm R steel-core bullet!

And it was the roar of a PKM general-purpose machine gun!

The Butcher's pupils suddenly shrank to pinpoints! He heard the ear-piercing sound of a bullet piercing a door panel, like tearing through thick cardboard; he heard the muffled thud of a bullet piercing a wall, sending cement fragments flying; and he heard the chilling sounds of flesh and blood tearing and short, muffled groans coming from beside him!

"No--!!!"

He only had time to let out a desperate roar before his body, driven by instinct, lunged toward the nearest load-bearing wall to the side!

You could even see that, the instant he lunged out, the security door he had placed so much hope in, reinforced with steel plates, was struck head-on by an invisible giant with a battering ram, and a dozen or so bowl-sized, charred holes instantly appeared in the center of the door panel!

The scorching jet of bullets, like a metallic storm, swept through the doorway and the living room without hindrance, completely covering the coffee table, sofa, camping lamp, and... the spot where the "Anvil" and "Razor" were located, which they couldn't completely dodge in time!

"Anvil" had just rolled out the grenade, his body still in a half-squatting throwing posture.

At least three bullets struck his massive body almost simultaneously.

One shot shattered his right scapula, piercing through his chest with bone fragments and flesh; another shot pierced his side abdomen, tearing his internal organs apart; the last shot hit his left arm, which he instinctively raised to block, tearing his forearm and part of his tactical vest in two!

He didn't even get a proper scream before he flew backward like a tattered rag doll, crashing heavily against the wall before sliding softly to the ground, leaving a horrifying trail of blood before falling still.

The grenade that rolled out didn't even explode outside the door before being partially detonated by the barrage of bullets that followed, producing a muffled, suppressed explosion in the corridor.

"Razor" seemed to have slightly better luck. He was with his back against the wall, and the bullets were mainly coming from the front. But he was closer to the door.

Several stray bullets shattered the wall beside him, and flying chunks of cement hit his helmet and face, instantly blinding him. The excruciating pain made him groan and instinctively curl up, looking down.

But the next second, a ricocheting bullet, or even a precise follow-up shot, struck his exposed shin, the crisp sound of breaking bones sending shivers down his spine. He screamed and collapsed to the ground, the sniper rifle flying from his hand.

The gunfire lasted less than three seconds, but to the "Butcher," it felt like an eternity. When the terrifying, tearing machine gun roar finally ceased, the living room was a complete mess.

The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the pungent stench of blood. Broken furniture, bullet holes and cement debris littered the ground, camping lights were extinguished, and... two team members lay on the ground, mangled and bleeding profusely.

It's over. It's all over.

The "Butcher" leaned against the cold, load-bearing wall, breathing heavily, his heart pounding as if it would explode. Cold sweat instantly soaked his back.

With just one contact—no, not even any contact at all, just separated by a door—his only two remaining teammates, his last remaining strength to turn the tide, were gone.

The enemy didn't care about tactics, whether it alerted the neighbors, or how to clean up the mess afterward. They weren't using assassin's methods, but the methods of an army suppressing a riot! It was absolute, overwhelming firepower!

The enemy's objective was clear: leave no survivors and achieve a swift victory.

Despair, like a chilling venom, instantly coursed through his body. But he refused to give up! He was "The Butcher"! A top assassin who had crawled out of countless mountains of corpses and seas of blood! He still had one last trump card!

A secret passage! A secret passage behind the bedroom closet!

The will to survive overwhelmed all fear and anger. He suddenly poked his head out from behind the wall, facing the door, and blindly fired a short burst of his HK416 at the bullet hole, not caring whether it hit or not, just to suppress and disrupt any possible infiltration.

At the same time, he used both hands and feet to crawl as fast as he could, close to the ground, toward the bedroom! Broken glass shards and cement blocks cut his palms and knees, but he was completely unaware.

The distance between the living room and the bedroom was only a few meters, but at this moment it felt like an eternity. He could feel heavy footsteps coming from outside the door; more than one person was rapidly approaching the door, which was riddled with bullet holes from heavy machine gun fire.

They didn't rush in immediately, clearly wary of potential traps or remaining enemy forces. But that gave him those final few seconds.

He burst through the slightly ajar bedroom door, tumbled inside, and slammed the door shut behind him, not even bothering to lock it. He lunged at the old, solid wood wardrobe against the wall, and with all his might, yanked open the door—inside hung a few old clothes meant for disguise.

Without even looking, he grabbed the back panel of the wardrobe with both hands and pushed it forcefully to the side—a cleverly disguised flap, almost the same color as the wall, was pushed open, revealing a dark opening behind it, just wide enough for one person to pass through, extending downwards, through which one could vaguely see the faint light coming from the room below.

When "Anvil" and "Razor" rented the downstairs room, they had already opened up this vertical passage and connected it with a simple rope ladder.

A surge of elation welled up in the "Butcher's " heart, as if he had escaped a desperate situation. Without hesitation, he slung the HK416 behind his back, grabbed the edge of the hole with both hands, and was about to jump down.

Just then--

"Bang!"

A terrifying roar, far deeper and heavier than the PKM machine gun's earlier sound, seemingly capable of shaking the walls, suddenly came from the direction of the living room balcony!

The "Butcher" froze abruptly, turning his head in astonishment to look at the wall connecting the bedroom and the living room—the other side of that wall led to the balcony.

"Boom--!!!"

He couldn't see anything clearly, only that the bedroom wall, along with the part connecting to the living room, seemed to have been slammed hard from the outside by an invisible giant hand, bulging inward, deforming, and then exploding with a deafening roar! Bricks, cement blocks, and broken steel bars sprayed wildly into the bedroom like shrapnel from a cannonball!

An irresistible, purely physical force, like a high-speed train, slammed into the "Butcher," who had just half-entered the secret passage and hadn't even had time to jump down completely!

No, it wasn't a collision.

It means penetration.

12.7×99mm NATO (.50 BMG) armor-piercing round.

An anti-materiel sniper rifle equipped with advanced sighting devices, coming from the rooftop of a building at least 400 meters away.

The bullet easily tore through the not-so-thick outer wall and bedroom wall, and with its momentum still intact, it accurately hit the "Butcher's" torso.

At the moment of impact, the terrifying kinetic energy carried by the bullet was released, and his tactical vest, bones, internal organs, muscles... exploded like a watermelon stuffed with a firecracker!

Blood, bone fragments, tattered clothing, and equipment parts splattered backward in a radial pattern, covering the wardrobe, walls, and entrance to the secret passage behind him.

The "Butcher" didn't even feel pain. His consciousness vanished the instant the bullet touched his body, as if the delete key had been pressed.

His remaining, torn lower body was still in the position of leaping downwards, then hung limply and powerlessly at the edge of the secret passage, blood cascading down like a waterfall into the dark cave below.

Smoke and dust slowly spread.

In the bedroom, all that remained was the grotesque, gaping hole in the wall, its edges still radiating heat and the smell of gunpowder, and the thick, unbearable stench of blood and death in the air.

Outside the living room, the sound of the front door being violently kicked open, followed by steady footsteps, could be heard.

But all of this has nothing to do with the "Butcher" anymore.

His last remaining, fragmented optic nerve endings seemed to reflect the swirling shadows on the ceiling and a blurry figure about the fee.

Twenty-eight million...

Damn anti-materiel sniper rifles... I didn't ask for enough back then...

Darkness, eternal darkness, utterly swallowed everything.