BW:F Chapter 25

The men in the guardroom on the level above were watching the security cameras and were not sleeping. Indeed, they were very interested, and they had plenty of time to come to their senses and grab their weapons. One of them has the sense to slam his fist on the alarm button.

High-pitched wailing blares through the stained concrete halls of the hideout.

So it would not be fair to say that they are taken completely by surprise. At the same time, they are not fully prepared for what is coming.

Nat savagely kicks the doors in; heavy metal slams against the walls with a harsh clanging as she moves through, firing rapidly. Hydra goons drop dead and she darts behind the nearest one as her pistol goes empty. Nat leaps, clamping her thighs around his head and taking him to the ground. She rolls to her feet with his AK at her shoulder, leaning into the rifle and firing on full-auto. Henchmen dive for cover as the corridor fills with smoke, chips of stone, and ricocheting bullets.

Nat plunges forward, ducking and rolling to snatch a loaded magazine from the vest of a fallen guard. She uses it to knock the empty magazine and replaces it, then fires back at the guards trying to crowd in behind her. The rifle clicks empty again and she turns to slam the stock into a guard’s face before kicking the next one off his feet. Another seizes her from behind. She yanks the pin from one of his grenades and bashes him in the face with the back of her head before flipping free and cartwheeling away. She dips around the corner as the grenade goes off, reaching out with one bare toe for the shoulder sling of a fallen AK. She flips it into the air with her foot and catches it, opening fire yet again as she advances up the stairs, scalding hot casings raining around her ankles. Gunpowder stings her eyes and at least one of these goons has grabbed her tender backside, but there’ll be a time for discomfort later.

She throws the empty rifle at the next guard and leaps to kick him in the chest with both feet, straight into his friends. She’s on top of them before they can pick themselves up, pulling a pistol from a carelessly unsnapped holster. She fires four shots and steps over the bodies. The lights flicker and the alarm continues to wail.

She looks over her shoulder, but there’s no one behind her. Maybe they’ve taken the hint. Or maybe they’re regrouping. Either way, she has to push on. This door was heavily guarded.

She squares herself in front of it. The smoke and gunpowder has applied a light shading to her oily body, and her sweat has begun leaving odd clean streaks on her skin. She probably looks like some kind of demon from a nightmare.

She grips the pistol in both hands and kicks the door in.