THE MASK OF BLOOD AND SILK

The roof of St. Jude Medical Center was swept by violent winds as the remnants of the storm dragged away toward the ocean. A sleek, matte-black stealth helicopter hovered twenty feet above the helipad, its rotors spinning with a low, thrumming hum that was completely swallowed by the ambient sound of the city.

Two tactical operators, wearing advanced night-vision visors and carrying hydraulic cutting rigs, had already melted through the reinforced glass skylight directly above the executive surgical suite on Floor 5.

Inside the suite, the specialized medical team was crouched behind heavy steel equipment cabinets as the glass roof shattered downward in a rain of sharp fragments.

Alexander Sterling stood firm in the center of the room, positioning himself directly between the descending mercenaries and Clara’s bed. Despite his age, his eyes were cold and unwavering as he held a small, sleek detonator device in his right hand.

"Step away from the patient," the lead mercenary demanded, dropping down from the cable harness and landing heavily on the surgical floor. He raised a high-caliber sidearm, pointing it directly at Sterling's chest. "Lord Sterling. Your influence ends here. Hand over the girl, or your legacy dies in this room."

"My legacy does not belong to corporate thieves like your masters in Zurich," Sterling said, his voice ringing loud over the hum of the helicopter overhead. "You think you can take her? The moment my pulse drops below sixty, the automated security vault beneath this floor will detonate its termite core, destroying every scrap of research, every server, and every biological sample in this facility—including the matrix."

The mercenary paused, his finger hovering over the trigger. "You're bluffing. You wouldn't kill the girl you spent three years protecting."

"I wouldn't have to," a voice echoed from the shattered skylight above.

Julian dropped down through the broken frame of the roof window, landing smoothly on the steel surgical table behind the mercenary. His clothes were torn, his face smeared with blood and soot, but his eyes burned with an terrifying intensity.

Before the mercenary could turn, Julian leapt from the table, wrapping his arm around the man's throat and driving him backward into the medical equipment rack. The sidearm discharged wildly into the ceiling before clattering across the floor.

The second mercenary raised his rifle to shoot Julian, but a loud gunshot echoed through the room—BANG.

The second mercenary gasped, dropping his weapon as a rubber compliance slug caught him full in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. Standing in the doorway of the surgical suite was Arthur Vance, holding a security shotgun he had retrieved from the facility armory.

"Get away from my niece!" Arthur roared, racking another shell into the chamber.

The lead mercenary, struggling against Julian's grip, reached down to his tactical belt and pulled out a high-grade combat blade. He slashed backward, cutting deep into Julian’s thigh.

Julian gasped in pain, his grip loosening just enough for the heavy mercenary to throw him off. Julian crashed against the floor near Clara's bed, his leg bleeding heavily.

The mercenary leader pulled himself up, bleeding from a cut on his head, his eyes wild with desperate rage. He picked up his fallen sidearm from the floor, racking the slide as he aimed it straight at Julian’s head.

"Enough of this nonsense," the leader growled. "You die first, kid."

CLICK.