The moment their boots hit the stadium floor, the air shifted.
Too clean. Too ready.
Isaac rolled his shoulder once, his metal pole resting casually against his back as if they were just late for a family gathering. Sven adjusted his grip on his daggers, eyes flicking over the corridor ahead - wide, reinforced, lit too brightly.
Then the doors slammed open.
Men in black suits poured in from every direction, boots thundering, guns already raised.
Dozens.
Isaac sighed. "'Course it wouldn't be easy."
Gunfire erupted.
The sound was deafening in the enclosed space - muzzle flashes strobing like a nightclub from hell. Bullets tore through the air, ricocheting off steel beams and concrete.
And straight through Isaac.
The rounds passed through his phased body like rain through fog as he stepped forward, unbothered, almost bored. Sven burst into motion beside him, body blurring as he weaved through the storm of metal - twisting, sliding, rebounding off walls with inhuman grace.
