I moved with a newfound stealth, years of navigating the city's underbelly kicking in. Each creak of the floorboards, each shadow stretching across the hallway, felt like a threat. Richard wouldn't leave me unguarded. He'd want to savor my recapture, to break me completely.
The map showed two possible exits. The front door, undoubtedly heavily guarded, and a back exit leading to a narrow alleyway. No contest. I chose the alley.
As I crept towards the back of the building, I passed another room, ajar just enough to peek inside. It was a makeshift office. A single bare bulb illuminated a desk littered with papers, a half-eaten sandwich rotting in a corner, and a laptop humming quietly. My heart leaped. Information.
I slipped into the room, my eyes scanning the documents. Shipping manifests, invoices, and something far more disturbing: photographs of men, bound and gagged. The dread that had been simmering within me boiled over. "Project Nightingale" wasn't just about money or treachery; it was about something far more sinister.
I quickly grabbed the laptop, shoved it into the burlap sack, and backed out of the room, my senses on high alert. The alley was just ahead.
The back door was a heavy, steel affair, bolted shut from the inside. I cursed under my breath. I needed to be quiet, but I also needed to be quick. I raised the rusty pipe, aiming for the bolt mechanism. One well-aimed strike should do it.
Just as I swung, a voice shattered the silence.
"Going somewhere?"
A burly figure stood at the end of the alley, blocking my escape. He was built like a brick wall, with a scar running down his cheek and eyes as cold as ice. He held a glinting length of chain in his hand, twirling it menacingly.
"Richard sent me to tidy up," he said, his voice a low growl. "Seems you made a bit of a mess."
My mind raced. Confrontation was unavoidable. I hefted the pipe, my grip tightening. He had the advantage of strength and reach, but I had the element of surprise. He expected me to be broken, defeated. He didn't know the fire that burned within me.
"I'm not going back," I said, my voice trembling slightly, but firm. "Tell Richard he underestimated me."
He chuckled, a harsh, humorless sound. "That's what they all say. But in the end, they all break."
He lunged, the chain whistling through the air. I ducked, the chain slamming against the steel door with a deafening clang. He was fast, but I was quicker.
I retaliated, swinging the pipe with all my might. It connected with his arm, a sickening thud. He grunted in pain, momentarily stunned. I pressed my advantage, striking again, aiming for his head.
He managed to partially block the blow, the pipe glancing off his skull. But it was enough. He staggered, his eyes glazed over. I didn't hesitate. I brought the pipe down again, and again, until he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I had to move. Now.
I fumbled with the bolts on the door, finally managing to wrench them free. I slipped out into the alley, the cold night air rushing against my skin.
The map led me through a labyrinth of backstreets and dimly lit avenues. The Riverfront Docks were a hive of activity, the air thick with the smell of salt water and diesel fumes. The warehouses loomed like dark, silent giants.
Finding Warehouse D was easy enough. It was the only one with armed guards posted outside.
I knew I couldn't just waltz in. I needed a plan. I ducked into the shadows, observing the guards, searching for a weakness.
Then I saw it. A delivery truck backing up to a loading dock on the far side of the warehouse. A distraction.
I crept along the perimeter of the warehouse, staying in the shadows, until I reached the delivery truck. The driver was inside, filling out paperwork, oblivious to my presence.
I took a deep breath and approached the back of the truck, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it.
I quietly climbed into the back of the truck, the darkness swallowing me whole. This was going to be dangerous, but if Marcus was inside, I had to try. He was the only family I had left. And without him, we were all dead. Project Nightingale needed to be stopped, and Richard needed to pay.