A Trigger-Happy Guardian Angel #16

Silvija crouched low behind a thick cluster of underbrush, her eyes sharp as she peered through a pair of high-powered binoculars. The Foreigner's hideout sprawled before her, a series of low, nondescript buildings surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The compound looked unassuming, blending into the wooded terrain around it, but the subtle movement of guards patrolling the perimeter revealed its true purpose.

She shifted slightly, careful not to make any noise. Around her, three of her best men waited in silence, their weapons at the ready. They had been observing the hideout for hours, keeping track of every vehicle that entered and left, every guard shift, every potential weak point.

Through the binoculars, Silvija watched as the gates to the compound opened, and several dark SUVs rolled out in a tight convoy. She passed the binoculars to one of her men, who pulled out a compact telescope to get a closer look.

"There," he whispered, adjusting the focus. "The kid's in the second car. Looks like he's restrained."

Silvija nodded, taking back the binoculars and training them on the lead vehicle. A man who looked remarkably like the Foreigner sat in the passenger seat, his sharp features partially obscured by sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. "He's making his move," she murmured. "Let's wait a bit before we hit the base. Give them time to get comfortable."

One of her men touched his earpiece, relaying the information to Wolverine. "Targets are en route to the exchange point. Kid and Foreigner both confirmed."

Silvija exhaled slowly, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the compound one last time. "Let's move," she said. "We hit the base, secure any other hostages, and gather intel. No mistakes."

The team slipped back into the shadows, their movements swift and silent.

...

Wolverine stood alone on the beach, the Muramasa blade clenched tightly in his hand. The ocean stretched out before him, the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. He stared at the horizon, his senses on high alert as he awaited the convoy's arrival.

Nathan's plan had been precise, almost unnervingly so. The Foreigner had chosen the exact location and time Nathan had predicted. Wolverine's gaze drifted to the blade in his hand, its edge gleaming ominously in the fading light. He flexed his grip, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline that came before a fight.

A crackle in his earpiece brought him back to the present. Silvija's team had confirmed the convoy was on its way. He rolled his shoulders, preparing himself mentally for what was to come. Soon later, the SUVs appeared in the distance, their headlights cutting through the growing dusk.

The vehicles came to a halt, and the man who looked like the Foreigner stepped out, flanked by several armed men. One of them held a gun to Daniel, the young mutant, whose eyes were wide with fear. Wolverine's gaze flicked between them, his mind racing. Was it really the Foreigner, or just another mercenary in disguise?

Taking a deep breath, Wolverine approached, his muscles coiled and ready. Staring at the blue horizon beyond the Foreigner and his men, he could only hope Nathan's shot would come in time.

...

Nathan crouched on a small boat two miles offshore, his custom-made sniper rifle nestled snugly against his shoulder. The rifle was a masterpiece, a seamless fusion of cutting-edge human craftsmanship and advanced alien technology, brought to life through Silvija's extensive network.

The stock was crafted from reinforced lightweight alloys, making it durable yet maneuverable, and the scope featured a sophisticated digital interface, capable of adjusting in real-time to compensate for environmental factors like wind speed and humidity.

He breathed deeply, steadying himself as he adjusted the scope. The expanse of ocean stretched out before him, the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the boat a steady, calming backdrop. The water was relatively calm, but Nathan knew better than to trust the sea's tranquility.

Knowing he needed to familiarize himself with the rocking of the boat, the distance, and the wind, Nathan exhaled slowly, steadying the rifle against his shoulder as he lined up his first test shot.

His target was a jagged rock near the beach, its surface barely distinguishable through the slight haze of the distance. He adjusted the scope, letting the crosshair settle just above the rock, and squeezed the trigger gently. The rifle's silencer ensured the shot was little more than a whisper, the bullet slicing through the air with precision.

Through the scope, Nathan watched as the bullet hit slightly above the rock, veering just to the left. He frowned, making a mental note of the deviation. The combination of distance, slight breeze, and the natural sway of the boat was affecting his aim more than anticipated. His fingers moved deftly over the scope, making minor adjustments to account for the elevation and wind drift.

He waited for the boat to steady itself, the rhythmic sway of the ocean settling momentarily. Taking another breath, he lined up the crosshair with the same rock and fired again.

This time, the bullet struck just below the mark, hitting the base of the rock but still off from the intended point. Nathan's frown deepened, but his hands remained steady as he made another careful adjustment to the scope, fine-tuning the aim for what he knew would be the crucial shot.

Just as he was about to fire another test shot, his earpiece crackled to life. "Targets have arrived," came the voice of one of Silvija's men. "Convoy's in position at the exchange point."

Nathan shifted the rifle, peering through the scope to get a clearer view of the beach. The vehicles had come to a stop, and his gaze locked onto the figures emerging from the cars. Among them, Daniel stood, his figure small and tense covered by a man holding a gun to his head.

Nathan ignored the figure who might be the Foreigner—or just a cleverly disguised body double—and instead zeroed in on the man holding Daniel. The kidnapper had the boy in a chokehold, his arm locked tightly around Daniel's neck, effectively using the child as a shield.

Most of the boy's small frame was obscured, leaving Nathan with no clear shot at the mercenary's body. A body shot was too risky; even a slight miscalculation could end in disaster for the young mutant.

Nathan's frown deepened. A headshot was his only option. His muscles tensed, his breath slowing as he shifted the crosshair to align with the kidnapper's head. The man's head rose and fell with the subtle movements of the waves, adding another layer of difficulty to the already precarious situation.

Wolverine's voice carried through the air, gruff and steady as he engaged the kidnappers in a conversation designed to stall them. His words were low, almost a growl, filled with enough menace to hold their attention without escalating the situation prematurely. Nathan didn't listen to the specifics; his entire focus was locked on the moment he had been waiting for.

The waves rocked the boat gently, a rhythm that had been chaotic moments ago but now began to settle into a softer sway. Nathan's heartbeat slowed to match the rhythm, his breathing becoming almost imperceptible. He waited, patience woven into every fiber of his being, watching and anticipating the exact moment when the movement would stop.

Then, it came—a brief lull, a fraction of a second where the boat was still, and the waves seemed to hold their breath. The calm before the inevitable chaos. Nathan's eyes sharpened, his vision narrowing to the scope's crosshair, which now hovered perfectly over the man's head.

His finger tightened on the trigger, the gentle squeeze deliberate and controlled. Everything else faded—the sound of the waves, the distant murmur of Wolverine's voice, even the tension in the air. There was only the target, the line of sight, and the millisecond in which everything could change.

Nathan's muscles tensed just enough to steady the shot as he pulled the trigger.

...

Wolverine stood on the beach, his stance casual but his senses razor-sharp as he faced the Foreigner—or the man pretending to be him. The group of mercenaries flanking their leader held their weapons steady, creating a tense line between the kidnappers and Wolverine. Daniel's wide, frightened eyes darted between his captor and Wolverine, a silent plea for help.

The supposed Foreigner, a tall man with a calm, calculated demeanor, took a step forward, his lips curling into a cold smile. "Reassurance," he said, his voice smooth and menacing. "That's what you want, right? That if you play nice, the boy gets to live?"

Wolverine's fingers twitched, his grip on his impatience tightening as he played his role. "Yeah," he growled, his tone low and steady. "How about a little reassurance that you'll keep your end of the deal?"

The Foreigner laughed softly, shaking his head. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But let's not waste time. Hand over the Muramasa Blade, and maybe I won't paint this beach with the kid's brains."

Internally, Wolverine seethed, but he knew better than to let it show. He needed Nathan to take the shot, and every second bought brought them closer to that moment. "You get the blade, you let the kid go," Wolverine stated, though his claws itched to come out.

The man's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "No guarantees, my friend. But you're out of options. Throw the sword, get on your knees, or the boy dies. Now."

Wolverine's jaw clenched as the mercenary holding Daniel pressed the barrel of the gun harder against the boy's temple. His hand on the Muramasa tightened briefly before he relaxed, giving in to the play. He tossed the blade, the weapon spinning once before landing in the sand at the Foreigner's feet. Slowly, Wolverine sank to his knees, his eyes locked onto the man with a simmering promise of violence.

The Foreigner bent down, his fingers wrapping around the blade's hilt. He lifted it with an almost reverent air, his gaze sliding back to Wolverine with a grin that promised suffering. "You've been a thorn in a lot of people's sides for too long. It's only fitting you die by your own weapon," he taunted, stepping closer, the blade glinting ominously in the dimming light.

Wolverine's knuckles whitened as he knelt, his ears straining for the sound he hoped would come. The man holding Daniel shifted slightly, the press of the gun to the boy's head growing more forceful as the Foreigner—if it was him—raised the Muramasa, readying to strike.

Then it happened.

A sharp crack split the air, and the mercenary holding Daniel jerked back violently, his head snapping as his brains exploded in a gruesome spray. For a heartbeat, everyone froze—the beach falling silent save for the wind.

The Foreigner spun around, his eyes wide with alarm, scanning the horizon for the unseen sniper. Wolverine didn't hesitate. He surged to his feet, his claws extending with a metallic snikt as he barreled past the Foreigner.

The first mercenary barely had time to react, his gun firing wildly as Wolverine's claws slashed across his chest. The man crumpled, a gurgle of pain escaping him as Wolverine shoved him aside. Another merc raised his weapon, firing point-blank into Wolverine's side.

The bullets tore through his flesh, but Wolverine didn't falter. His snarl deepened, and he swung his arm, severing the mercenary's hand with brutal efficiency. The man screamed, falling to his knees as blood spurted from the wound.

Wolverine didn't stop.

He reached Daniel, his movements a blur as he delivered a precise chop to the boy's neck, rendering him unconscious, and sparing him from witnessing any more bloodshed. Daniel slumped forward, and Wolverine caught him, pushing him gently behind him, shielding the child with his own body as he fell on the soft sand.

Straightening, Wolverine turned to face the remaining mercenaries and the Foreigner, or whoever the man truly was. His claws dripped with blood, his stance unyielding as he growled, "You want a piece of me, bub? Come and get it."

...

Nathan's heart pounded in his chest as he peered through the scope, watching the mercenary's head explode in a visceral burst of blood and bone. The moment stretched endlessly, his vision locked onto the aftermath—the chaos erupting as Wolverine tore through the kidnappers, securing the boy with deadly precision.

The rifle slipped from his hands, nearly plunging into the water as he slumped onto the floor of the small boat. His breath came in ragged gasps, the tension that had coiled in his muscles finally releasing. He leaned back, staring up at the overcast sky, the weight of what he had just done settling on him like a crushing wave.

Every element had to align perfectly: the rocking of the boat, the sway of the waves, his breathing, the rapid thud of his heartbeat in his ears. It had taken every ounce of his concentration to pull off that shot—a shot that, if it had gone wrong, would have cost an innocent child his life. The pressure had been suffocating, a mountain pressing down on him with the gravity of life and death.

But he'd made it.

He inhaled deeply, forcing the air into his lungs, his fingers trembling slightly as they rested on his knees. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the small victory. Daniel was alive. Wolverine had done his part. They had a chance.

After a beat, Nathan shook off the lingering fatigue, his resolve hardening. Slowly, he sat up, reaching for the rifle. His hands were steadier now, the initial shock wearing off as a cold, calculated determination took its place. He couldn't afford to relax yet. The job wasn't done.

He raised the rifle again, peering through the scope. The scene on the beach was a flurry of movement—mercenaries shouting, some scrambling to regroup after Wolverine's brutal assault. Nathan's gaze zeroed in on them, his finger lightly resting on the trigger.

This time, the stakes were different. With the child safely out of immediate danger, Nathan didn't need the same surgical precision. The pressure had eased slightly, and his role shifted. He wasn't just a sniper now; he was a deterrent, a silent guardian ensuring that no one dared to make another move toward the young mutant.

He focused on one of the mercenaries, who was edging toward Daniel, hesitation flickering in his movements. Nathan adjusted his aim, leading the target slightly. His finger tightened, the shot fired, and the mercenary's knee buckled as he went down with a scream, clutching his shattered leg.

Nathan smirked grimly, his voice a low mutter, "Go ahead, try it. See what happens."

He shifted his aim again, scanning for the next threat. He didn't need perfect conditions to stop these men. A well-placed shot to the shoulder or leg was enough to maim, to break their resolve. With each pull of the trigger, he reinforced the message: the child was off-limits.

They wouldn't touch him again, not without facing Nathan's wrath from two miles out.

...

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