First Blood

Bullets tore through the warehouse walls, sending splinters of wood and clouds of concrete dust into the air.

Ethan dropped behind a thick support pillar just as another burst of gunfire ripped across the open floor.

His breathing remained steady.

Three years in prison had changed him. Panic no longer controlled him.

He forced himself to listen.

One shooter on the left.

Two advancing through the center.

Another covering the entrance.

They wanted him alive long enough to ask questions—or dead if he resisted.

Either way, surrender was not an option.

Ethan reached into Victor's backpack and pulled out the compact pistol. He checked the magazine.

Full.

He waited.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the warehouse floor.

"Spread out," one of the men ordered. "He's cornered."

A shadow appeared on the other side of the pillar.

Ethan moved first.

He stepped out, fired a single shot, and immediately ducked back.

The gunman cried out, dropping his weapon as he collapsed behind a stack of crates.

The remaining attackers answered with a hail of bullets.

Wood exploded around Ethan.

He sprinted toward a rusted conveyor belt, sliding behind it just before another volley struck the pillar he had been using for cover.

"They trained him," one of the attackers shouted.

"No," another replied grimly. "Prison did."

Ethan glanced toward the office at the far end of the warehouse.

If he could reach it, there might be another exit.

But the attackers were closing in.

Then he remembered the fuel drums stacked beside the loading bay.

An idea formed.

Risky...

But it might be his only chance.

He fired two quick shots toward the advancing men.

As they ducked for cover, he aimed at the nearest fuel drum.

The bullet struck metal.

A second shot pierced the side.

Fuel sprayed across the floor.

One attacker looked down in confusion.

Too late.

Ethan fired again.

The drum erupted in a deafening explosion.

A wall of fire rolled across the loading bay.

The blast threw two gunmen off their feet and filled the warehouse with thick black smoke.

Using the confusion, Ethan dashed toward the office.

Inside, he slammed the door shut and searched the room.

A faded map hung on the wall.

A filing cabinet.

A broken desk.

Then he noticed a narrow steel staircase leading downward.

A maintenance tunnel.

Victor had chosen this safe house for a reason.

Ethan hurried into the tunnel, sealing the hatch behind him just as fists and gunfire pounded against the office door above.

He didn't stop.

Not until the sounds of pursuit faded into the distance.

Only then did he slow his pace.

His clothes smelled of smoke.

His hands were shaking—not from fear, but from the realization that this was the first time he had fired a weapon at another human being.

He stared down at the pistol.

"This is only the beginning," he whispered.

Far above him, hidden behind flames and smoke, one wounded attacker reached for his radio.

"Target escaped," he said through gritted teeth.

There was a long silence.

Then a cold, unfamiliar voice replied,

"Activate Phase Two."

The transmission ended.

The hunt for Ethan Cole had officially begun.

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