The Symphony of Carnage

Chaos was a canvas, and Kaelen Ryker was about to paint his masterpiece.

The roar of gunfire was a symphony to him. The panicked shouts of the guards were the choir. He moved through the labyrinth of shipping containers and crates with the silent grace of a wraith, the chaos a perfect cloak for his intentions.

(Seven hostiles remaining. Two on the catwalk, five on the ground floor. They're blind, firing at my last known position. Predictable. Their fear makes them stupid.)

He emerged from behind a stack of steel drums on the far side of the warehouse, a good fifty yards from where he'd vanished. The guards were still blasting away at the empty space, riddling a stack of crates with holes.

Kael raised his rifle. He didn't spray. He fired two precise, single shots. CRACK. CRACK.

High above, one of the catwalk guards crumpled, a neat hole appearing in the side of his head. The second guard spun around in confusion, searching for the source of the shot. He never found it. Kael's third shot took him through the throat. He gargled on his own blood before toppling over the railing, his body hitting the concrete floor below with a sickening, wet crunch.

The remaining five guards on the floor stopped firing, their heads whipping around in terror. They were being picked off by a ghost.

"Where is he?!" one of them screamed, his voice verging on hysteria. "I can't see him!"

From his glass perch, Silas Croft watched in horror, his fat face slick with sweat. This wasn't an inspection. This wasn't a rival gang hit. This was a reaping.

"Spread out! Find him, you useless bastards!" Croft shrieked into the warehouse intercom, his voice distorted with panic.

(A mistake,) Kael thought, a cold smile forming beneath his helmet. (Dividing his forces. He just signed their death warrants.)

Kael melted back into the shadows, discarding the rifle. It was too loud. Too impersonal. He preferred his work up close.

Two of the guards, emboldened by Croft's order, began to move down an aisle between two towering walls of containers. Their backs were to him. Their movements were jerky, their eyes darting everywhere at once.

Kael dropped from the top of a container, landing behind them as silently as a falling shadow.

Before they could even register his presence, he struck. He slammed the head of the first guard into the corrugated steel wall of the container, the impact creating a dull, resonant BONG. The man slid to the floor, unconscious.

The second guard spun around, his eyes wide with terror, his mouth open to scream. Kael's hand shot out, clamping over his mouth, stifling the sound. With his other hand, he grabbed the back of the man's head and twisted. A sharp, final snap echoed in the narrow aisle.

Kael let the body drop and continued his silent, inexorable advance.

The remaining three guards had grouped together near the center of the warehouse, standing back-to-back, their weapons pointed out into the shadows. It was a classic defensive formation. It was also a trap.

Kael didn't attack them. He attacked their environment.

He spotted a heavy chain hoist suspended from a ceiling girder, a massive engine block dangling from its hook. The controls were on a nearby support pillar. He slipped through the shadows, his movements unseen. With a quick, powerful tug, he released the chain's brake lock.

With a deafening screech of metal, the engine block plummeted from the ceiling.

The three guards looked up, their faces etched with pure terror. They didn't even have time to scream before a ton of greasy steel crushed them into the concrete floor. The impact shook the entire warehouse, sending a tremor through the floor that Elara felt in the van.

Silence descended once more, broken only by the hum of the warehouse lights and the sound of Croft's ragged, panicked breathing, which was now clearly audible over the intercom.

The slaughter was over. It was time for the interrogation.

Kael emerged from the shadows, walking calmly toward the center of the warehouse. He was untouched. His borrowed tactical gear was pristine. He stopped and looked up at the glass-walled office, a hunter staring at his cornered, trembling prey.

Inside the office, Silas Croft fumbled with a drawer in his desk, his pudgy fingers shaking uncontrollably. He pulled out a large, silver revolver. It was a showpiece, a rich man's weapon, but it was still deadly. He pointed it at the office door, his arm trembling.

Kael started up the metal stairs, his boots clanging with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each step was a hammer blow against Croft's sanity.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

He reached the catwalk and walked towards the office door. He didn't try the handle. He simply kicked it.

The door flew off its hinges, slamming into the far wall with a deafening crash.

Silas Croft screamed and fired the revolver. BOOM! The sound was immense in the small office. The bullet, fired from a panicked hand, went wide, shattering the glass wall behind Kael.

Kael didn't even flinch. He walked into the office, his presence sucking all the air out of the room.

Croft scrambled back, tripping over his expensive leather chair and falling to the floor in a heap. He tried to aim the revolver again, but Kael was on him in two strides. He kicked the gun out of Croft's hand, sending it skittering across the floor.

He reached down and hauled the portly man to his feet by the front of his silk shirt, lifting him until his feet dangled inches off the ground.

"You laughed," Kael said, his voice a low, terrifying growl through the helmet's speaker. "You laughed when you talked about killing Leo Vance."

Croft's face was a mess of terror and confusion. "Who? I-I don't know what you're talking about!"

Kael slammed him against the remaining glass wall, which groaned and cracked under the impact. "Don't lie to me. I have the recording. The one you were so proud of."

The color drained from Croft's face. He understood now. This wasn't a random attack. This was retribution.

"P-Please," he whimpered, tears and snot running down his face. "It was just business! I was following orders! They'll kill me if I talk!"

"I will kill you if you don't," Kael countered, his voice flat and cold. "They might be slow. I won't be. But your death can be quick. Or it can be an educational experience. The choice is yours."

He let Croft's feet touch the ground, but kept his grip on his shirt. "I need to unlock a file. It's protected by a Vex command-level bio-signature lock."

Hope flickered in Croft's terrified eyes. "I can do that! I have clearance! I can give you whatever you want! Money, information, anything!"

Kael was silent for a moment. He tilted his helmeted head, as if considering the offer. Then, he slowly reached up with his free hand and removed his helmet.

He let Silas Croft see his face. His cold, unforgiving eyes. His expression devoid of any mercy.

"I told you," Kael said, his voice now clear and undistorted, a soft, deadly whisper. "You have something I want."

Croft stared into Kael's eyes and saw not a man, but an abyss. He finally understood the horrifying, literal truth of Kael's words. The hope in his eyes died, replaced by a profound, soul-shattering terror.

"No," Croft breathed, his body going limp with dread. "Oh gods, no. Please, no…"

Kael ignored his pleas. "I only need one," he said, his voice calm and conversational, as if discussing the weather. "But for laughing… I think I'll take them both."