Strike of the Scorpions

It began with the sound of wind—a low howl rushing through the trees of the outer perimeter. A shadow crossed the security lens at 02:11 a.m.

Then, the system blinked offline.

Inside the estate's southern wing, two guards on rotation slumped forward in perfect unison, needles embedded in their necks.

The Scorpions had arrived.

Silent. Ruthless. Unseen.

Their leader, a jagged-faced man known only as Veyr, gestured to fan out. Eight assassins moved in calculated silence, their steps a ghost across the marble. They didn't need orders. The plan was simple: Locate the girl. Locate the woman. Eliminate resistance.

They hadn't anticipated Davina.

---

Davina woke with a shiver.

Not fear—instinct.

She slipped from bed and tapped the panel on her desk. The moment the internal grid flashed with static, her heart kicked into overdrive.

She pulled on her tactical gear and pressed the silent alarm.

Across the compound, panic hadn't yet begun, but her voice cracked through every comm:

"Security breach. South wing. Protocol Nine."

---

Gina was already moving.

She'd felt it. The cold shift in the night.

As the alarm flared red, she slid a blade into her boot, grabbed her dual pistols, and headed straight for the south corridor.

She didn't need to guess.

The Scorpions had made their move.

And now she would make hers.

---

Elara, watching from a separate hideout nearby, smiled as the estate lit up.

"Let them dance," she muttered, adjusting her scope.

She wasn't there to strike yet. Not physically. But her eyes were everywhere.

She whispered into her comm, "Veyr, bring me proof."

His reply: "On it."

---

But as Veyr turned the final hallway, Davina met him head-on.

She was smaller, younger—but nothing in her face flinched.

She raised a small plasma weapon, custom-built. "Leave now."

Veyr smirked. "Little girls shouldn't play war."

She fired first.

His arm exploded in a mist of blood.

The rest of the corridor ignited.

Explosions ripped through the flanks as Gina's traps detonated, one after the other. Hidden turrets unfolded from the ceiling. Sirens wailed.

And Gina arrived, dressed in black, eyes burning.

"You picked the wrong house," she said.

She moved like shadow and lightning.

In under three minutes, five of the Scorpions were down.

But Veyr grabbed Davina mid-strike, a blade at her throat.

Gina stopped. "Let her go."

"She bleeds," Veyr snarled. "And I win."

From behind, a new figure entered the corridor—Dave, still bandaged, still weak, but holding a gun with both hands.

He fired.

Veyr dropped.

Davina scrambled free, breathing hard.

"Your aim's improved," Gina muttered.

"I had good reason," Dave rasped.

---

By morning, the attack was over. Four Scorpions were dead. Three escaped. One was captured.

The captured one refused to speak—until Davina stepped in with a single syringe.

Ten minutes later, they had coordinates to Elara's secondary base.

"She wanted proof," the prisoner had whispered. "But now she'll want vengeance."

Gina stared at the map.

"She'll get both," she whispered. "And then she'll bleed."

Outside, the sun rose.

But it did not bring warmth.

War had fully arrived.