Magnus swung the sword in an arc that severed the hand of the first guard and the gun barrel of the second. Neither opponent stopped – their brainwashing was routing all the pain stimuli through carefully crafted subliminal pathways that actually amplified their reflexes – and neither did Magnus, dropping into a crouch as the first threw a roundhouse kick, blood spraying out behind them from the stump, and the second smoothly exchanged the ruined firearm for a knife. Magnus tucked into a roll, trying to put some distance, but the guards pressed and Magnus straightened up but off-balance...
Except it was all theatre, all a lure to move the guards into the sight-lines of Francine's sniper rifle. As they lunged at Magnus their heads exploded. On the roof of the apartment building two blocks away, Francine began disassembling the weapon. Moving to the second perch to cover exfil.
Magnus was already inside the warehouse, after dropping one of the Professor's counter-security blankets. The presence of the two modified guards confirmed that this was an Omega site, so the first part of Trump's tip was true. Now, about the second...
Back in the van, pictures from Magnus' phone began appearing on the screen of Goner's laptop. She fiddled with some software to enhance the images. Tapped her earbud. “We got it, Mag. Head on back.”
“I have overwatch,” Francine's voice came in on the channel.
“Copy that,” Magnus' voice followed.
Angst was in the driver's seat. “So?” he asked, rubbing his hands together – it was a cold night.
“Just forwarded it to Mackenzie,” Goner said. “It's weird looking, whatever it is...”
Goner's phone buzzed. Then Angst's. Francine's, on the roof of the adjacent factory. Magnus' as he retrieved the blanket-emitter and slipped outside past the corpses.
A text from Mackenzie.
CODE WHITE.
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