The door pushed outward slowly.

  Metal scraped as it opened, inch by inch, until the gap was wide enough for him to step through. Then he emerged.

  He was tall.

  Taller than me. Almost as tall as Lydia. Well over seven feet. He moved in slow, leisurely steps. His limbs were long and thin, and in the dim lighting they created a silhouette that was almost alien. The blade he carried dragged along the floor beside him, making a screeching sound that echoed down the corridor.

  The weapon was massive. Longer than it had appeared in the footage. A slab of metal with a jagged edge. The tip left a faint trail in the grime and blood coating the tiles.

  He walked forward until he reached the center of the hallway. Then he stopped. His head turned slowly toward me. A balaclava covered his face. Only his eyes and mouth were visible through the black material. For a few seconds he simply stood there, breathing hard. Short bursts. I scoffed internally. The whole entrance felt overly theatrical. Intimidation tactics, maybe. Some criminals liked a performance. I opened my mouth to address him. Then something strange happened.

  I could smell him.

  My nose wasn't that good. It shouldn't have been able to pick up anything this well at this distance. The hallway still stank of blood and death. Any individual scent should have been drowned out by the mess surrounding us.

  Yet somehow it cut through everything. Hormones. Sweat. Acids. Bodily fluids. Even waste. He reeked of activity. It felt like everything was…. amplified.

  Maybe my senses were just heightened from the adrenaline.

  "Put the weapon on the ground and raise your hands behind your head," I said, refocusing. "You are under arrest."

  No visible reaction. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even blink. Maybe I should have used my guns instead.

  "If you do not comply," I continued, "Then I am authorized to use deadly force."

  Still nothing. I considered closing the distance myself. The thought barely finished forming before he made the decision for me.

  He lunged.

  The blade came straight for my chest.

  I barely moved in time.

  My body twisted sideways and the strike tore past me so close I felt the wind of it brush against my chin. I stumbled back two steps, boots sliding slightly on the slick floor.

  Something rubbed the back of my heel when I stopped. I glanced down. A finger. Disgusting.

  The blade didn't stop when it missed me. It drove straight into the door behind me with a violent crack, the tip punching through the metal like it was thin cardboard.

  I gaped for half a second.

  These doors were reinforced. If I hadn't been on my guard, I would have died then and there. The speed of that attack wasn't something I could track with my eyes. Who was this guy?

  He ripped the blade free. The metal around the puncture bent outward as the weapon tore loose.

  I stepped back and brought my weapons up, settling into a defensive stance.

  "Alright," I muttered under my breath.

  Let him come. I would see if it was a fluke. The man flipped his weapon. Then he roared.

  The sound tore down the hallway as he charged. The distance between us vanished in an instant and the blade came down in a blur of steel.

  I could see it.

  Years of training took over.

  Trent came up just in time, the axe blade catching his strike before it reached my helmet. The impact jolted through my arms. Even Bran didn't hold a candle to this much power.

  He swung again.

  The blade moved faster than my eyes wanted to track, a relentless storm of cuts and thrusts that forced me backward step by step.

  I parried one with the spear tip. Redirected another with the shaft. The hammer head caught a downward slash that nearly drove the weapon out of my grip.

  Each blow felt heavier than the last.

  I ducked under a horizontal slash that shaved a few strands of hair from the back of my neck. My boot caught on something soft underfoot and I had to shift my footing mid-step to avoid tripping.

  An eye. I almost forgot about the bodies.

  Focus.

  The next strike came low and vicious. I turned the shaft and deflected it aside but he transitioned into an upward slash faster than I could react.

  The blade sliced across my arm.

  Pain. Hot and sharp. I jerked back, carefully stepping around the scattered remains as I put distance between us. Having to keep track of them wasn't making this any easier.

  Blood ran down my sleeve.

  Great.

  Defending alone was eating up almost every ounce of concentration I had. Just reading the direction of his strikes felt like trying to follow lightning. Tracking a pattern under these conditions wasn't feasible.

  I forced myself to breathe slowly and raised my weapons again.

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  The man stood a few steps away, blade resting loosely in his grip. He was waiting. Giving me the initiative. How arrogant.

  Fine.

  My turn. I pushed forward.

  Trent and Lloyd moved with me. One thrust for his torso, the spear tip darting toward his neck, while the other blade swept toward his ribs in a tight arc.

  He dodged it. Effortlessly.

  The thrust missed his neck by inches and he slipped past the axe swing like he'd seen it hours in advance.

  I pressed anyway.

  The next sequence came faster. As fast as I could manage. Thrust, hook, pivot, hammer strike. The shorter handles of the weapons let me chain the movements together quickly, the transitions flowing from one attack to the next without pause.

  This meant nothing to him. He kept slipping away. Too easily. Barely any wasted movement.

  I could tell that he wasn't taking this seriously. Didn't see me as a threat.

  A mistake.

  One I intended to make his last.

  I drove forward, stabbing toward his face. The tip darted straight for his eyes. He reacted exactly how I wanted. His head snapped sideways to avoid the attack. And his foot shifted right to compensate.

  Right where I wanted it.

  The bodies scattered across the hallway were obstacles. Obstructions against efficient movement. I decided to think of them as terrain.

  His foot landed awkwardly against one of them, shifting his balance for a split second. That was all I needed. The trap had been sprung

  My right hand rotated Trent as I wound up.

  The hammer head whipped around in a vicious sideways strike. Every ounce of strength I had left went into that swing. The metal head connected with the side of his skull with a dull, heavy crack. The impact echoed down the hallway.

  His entire body lifted off the ground. He flew sideways and slammed against the wall before collapsing to the floor. There was silence. It was over.

  I stood there breathing hard, Trent still extended from the swing.

  My arm trembled from the force I had put into it. After a moment I exhaled slowly and relaxed. I looked down at the weapons in my hand. They were far more effective than I expected. Even against an opponent that hopelessly outclassed me in speed and strength, the weapons had given me options. Possibilities. I could only imagine what I would be capable of once I gained more insight.

  I raised my hand toward my helmet. It was time to call the others.

  Then I heard it.

  A low groan.

  My head snapped to the side. The man was moving. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up from the floor.

  I could believe what I was seeing. That hit should have caved his skull in. Even with a helmet, the force behind that strike should have left him unconscious. At the very least concussed.

  He picked up his blade like nothing had happened.

  "What…?" I gasped.

  He looked at me with amusement in his eyes.

  "You're stronger than I expected," he said calmly.

  I stared at him. The revelation that he could talk barely even registered to me as I stood there in shock, not even offering a response. How the hell was he still moving?

  He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his blade.

  "Guess I'll need to try a little harder."

  That snapped me out of it. Questions later.

  He moved again. Somehow even faster this time. The hallway blurred as he rushed me.

  My eyes couldn't keep up anymore. I defended instinctively, intercepting the strikes aimed for my heart and throat. Two attacks slammed into them with bone-shaking force. My hands had begun to ache.

  The third one slipped past my guard. Pain exploded across my side. Another slash tore across my thigh. The next across my bicep.

  I staggered backward, desperately trying to recover my defense as the blade carved through it again and again.

  This was beyond overpowering. It was impossible. I raised Trent and Lloyd overhead just in time to block a massive downward strike.

  The force detonated through my elbows. My guard shattered.

  The sheer power blasted my weapons apart, tearing them from my fingers. Without pause, his leg drove forward. The kick hit my chest like a battering ram.

  The hallway vanished.

  My body crashed into the wall at the far end, air blasting out of my lungs as I hit the floor. I couldn't breathe. Blood spilled from my mouth, coating my tongue as I choked on it.

  The man lowered his blade. He jerked it once, shaking the blood from the edge. Then he rested it across his shoulders.

  And started walking toward me.

  The world spun.

  For a few seconds I wasn't even sure which way was up. I shifted slightly, forcing myself into a sitting position against the wall. Pain flared through my chest and ribs as I moved, but it was dull. More of an ache than anything sharp.

  That was good. Sharp pain meant broken bones. I took a slow breath, testing it. Air went in. Came back out. Painful, but manageable. Nothing felt shattered inside my chest. My limbs still responded when I told them to move. No internal bleeding that I could sense.

  Relief washed through me and I let my head fall back against the wall for a moment. I wasn't in great shape.

  But I wasn't dying either.

  The real problem was my balance. The hallway tilted every time I tried to focus on it. A heavy fog clung to my thoughts, dulling the edges of everything around me. Concussion. Probably mild. Given time I could shake it off. Unfortunately, time wasn't a commodity I currently had.

  I watched as the man strolled towards me. He started whistling halfway. It was a cheerful tune. Light. Almost playful. It didn't belong at the site of a massacre.

  My stomach turned. Through the haze in my head I thought about what I had just seen. His speed. His strength. His illogical durability. I could only come to one conclusion.

  He was an enhanced.

  The fact that I hadn't been able to see or detect any external hardware suggested something internal. Nanotech, maybe. Advanced.

  Very advanced.

  If that was true, then this situation had escalated far beyond what we had been sent here to handle. Cases involving military-grade augmentation weren't local jurisdiction. Hell, they weren't even Conrad's jurisdiction. The CCA would come down on something like this with the force of a meteor strike. And something told me this operation ran deeper than a single enhanced killer. This was just the surface.

  I lifted my hand weakly toward my helmet. I needed to warn someone. Anyone. My fingers barely reached the side of it before a foot slammed into my wrist. The man had reached me. He stood over me now, towering.

  "Not bad kid," He said, smiling. "Didn't have you pegged for a fighter."

  Kid. I was starting to hate that word.

  "Who are you?" I choked, coughing up more blood. "What do you want?"

  He clicked his tongue as he wagged his finger. "Wrong question. You should be asking what I'm going to do to you."

  "Why did you kill all these people?" I ignored the bait. "What are you looking for?"

  "What's it matter to a dead man?"

  "Right back at you," I said hoarsely. "There is no escape. The entire facility is surrounded. It's only a matter of time before the officers outside breach the defenses."

  My breathing was getting steadier now. The dizziness had started to fade.

  "Twenty seven people are dead. At best you get the chair. Or, if you're unlucky, they send you to the belt. There are things worse than death."

  I let the word sit, holding his gaze. His smile didn't fade. If anything it grew.

  I pushed myself a little straighter against the wall. "What now?"

  He brought his blade back down. "Let me worry about that."

  My mind started working. His guard was at its lowest. He was completely relaxed. My body, despite the beating, was still functional. The dizziness was almost gone. He was preparing for a killing strike. The trajectory would be obvious. If I moved the instant he committed, I could dodge. Maybe even get in close. His legs were right there. Take out his footing. Then run. Or—

  A voice crackled suddenly over the comms.

  I froze. A grin spread slowly across my face. I wasn't dying today.

  He noticed. "Putting on a brave face are we? Good. Shows you've got some spine."

  The weapon was lifted to the side. "Any last words?"

  He made another mistake. One I had once made myself. In almost the exact same situation.

  "Go for a kill shot." I said, almost laughing. "He's too dangerous to be left alive."

  The man frowned slightly. His brows lifted in confusion.

  A small, dark hole formed between them.

  His forehead erupted outward as the round exited, the force snapping his head forward. Blood trickled from the hole, dripping from his jaw and formed a small pool on the floor.

  He remained standing. I watched in stunned silence, half-expecting him to shrug that off too. Then his knees buckled. The massive body collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud. Lifeless. Behind him, Lydia lowered her rifle. She slung it back over her shoulder and looked down at me.

  "Get up, Cap. Break's over."