"The Key of Oblivion"

VIII

The silence in the suite, left behind by Alice's departure, was oppressive and ringing, broken only by Alan's heavy breathing and the distant, panicked radio chatter of the enemy, still searching for their missing prize. Alan was the first to break it, yanking the throwing knife from the doorframe.

"All for nothing," he grumbled, eyeing the elegant weapon. "All night, all this fuss... and for nothing. He's so close. And we're leaving empty-handed."

"We accomplished the main thing," Olga retorted, finally lowering her pistol. Her eyes were filled with wistful melancholy. "Longreath doesn't have the artifact. But yes, bad luck... Who is she? And what crystal did she take?"

"What difference does it make?" Jake said nervously, already moving toward the exit. "The main thing is that we're alive and he didn't get it." Let's leave before the others come to their senses and start combing the entire building."

They moved quickly and silently back toward the service corridors.

"One," Alan said with a grin, "and she took out half of Longreath's men. I wonder where she'll put him? In the collection?"

"Will she be able to control him?" Olga wondered aloud. "She knew what it was. And we... we were just running in the dark."

Suddenly, Jake froze, his finger pressed to his earpiece. His face turned white.

"Quiet! He's here. Longreath. He just arrived. He's cursing, demanding a report..."

Alan stopped abruptly, a familiar fire flashing in his eyes.

"Here's our chance! Get to him while he's furious and doesn't have all the men!"

"That's suicide," the woman countered coldly. "Even when he's upset, he has more strength." "And by the way, I have less than half a clip."

But the argument was interrupted by the harsh creak of a door. A whole squad tumbled out of the next room - five strong men with SMGs at the ready.

"Here they are! Forward!" one of them roared, opening fire.

They had no time to discuss it. The coordination that came with experience kicked in. Bullets rang out against the walls, but the enemy, relying on numbers and firepower, acted clumsily. They aimed at Jake, the most visible behind the glowing screen, completely forgetting the other two.

Jake, without wasting a second, pressed himself into cover, his fingers dancing on his PDA. The light in the corridor went out, plunging everything into pitch darkness. At the same time, their radios drowned out white noise.

"The line is dead!" one of the attackers shouted in panic.

That moment was enough. Two quiet, muffled shots rang out from the darkness - Olga, using her marksmanship, precisely took out the two closest fighters. And then Alan's fury fell upon the rest. The telescopic baton whistled through the air, finding its targets by the sound of their breathing and screams. A flash from the muzzle illuminated his face, distorted with cold rage, and the last thug fell with a broken jaw.

The pantomime ended as quickly as it began. In the ensuing silence, broken only by groans, they heard voices coming from behind the next door. They crept cautiously closer and peered through the crack.

Lothrip Longreath, a short but stocky man in an expensive but now rumpled suit, was pacing the room. His face was crimson with rage.

"Neither the artifact nor those bastards! All my men were slaughtered by some wraith!" He kicked a chair lying on its side. Arkton, his personal bodyguard, stood beside him like a rock, while the last two terrified giants huddled against the wall.

"And there are only three of you left! Search! Find them! And I will personally hang that lanky one upside down from my gates, do you hear?!"

Alan turned around. A silent question burned in his eyes. Olga sighed, checked the magazine, and nodded.

"There's a chance... but we're running low on ammo."

Jake whispered quietly:

"Maybe we should try taking him alive? Find out about the artifact..."

But, meeting Alan's heavy gaze, filled with the promise of reprisal, he merely swallowed and retreated into the shadows.

The decision was made without words.

No one noticed how Longreath's henchman, Marlowe, had slipped out of the next room, taking advantage of their eavesdropping. Stealthily, like a shadow, he made his way to the luxurious black sedan parked by the service entrance - the boss's personal car.

They burst from cover as if from a catapult. Olga's shots knocked one of the giants down. Alan, roaring, lunged at the second. Jake, picking up a fire extinguisher from the floor, blew foam at Arkton, blinding him for a second.

"Boss, get out!" the bodyguard shouted, trying to shield him with his body.

Lotrip Longrith, seeing this, didn't try to be a hero. Seeing his last defense crumble, he rushed for the exit without a second thought.

He burst into his sedan, where Marlow, terrified, sat in the driver's seat.

"Hurry up!" Longreath hissed, waiting for Arkton to catch up.

Marlowe, beside himself with fear, slammed the pedal to the floor. The car screeched to a halt. A moment later, they heard the roar of an engine, the screeching of tires, and the crash of breaking metal - their car, without slowing, rammed the gates of the complex and disappeared into the night.

Silence fell over the room. The commanderless soldiers were dead. Victory was theirs, but it left a bitter taste in their mouths. They stood amidst the devastation, out of breath, empty-handed, while their main enemy had slipped away.

Alan hurled his baton at the wall.

"DAMN!"

Olga sank onto the windowsill, wearily covering her face with her hands. Jake leaned against the frame, shaking.

"But... we're alive. And he didn't get anything."