New York never slept, but tonight, it was about to get a rude awakening.
A low thunder echoed through the city skyline as a giant military chopper roared across the rooftops, blades slicing through the night sky like a buzzsaw on a mission. The traffic down below was gridlocked, pedestrians clueless about the chaos unravelling beneath the city's surface. But the chopper wasn't here for traffic reports.
Its destination was clear.
The Venom Night Club.
On a rooftop helipad barely a block away, the chopper didn't bother with a graceful landing. It skidded to a rough hover and dropped just long enough for a squad of black-armoured soldiers to leap off in a fluid, synchronised motion. They were already moving before the skids touched metal.
"Move, move, move!" barked the squad leader through the comms, voice curt and sharp.
