Swoosh!
A dark figure burst out of the hangar under the ultraviolet glare, smoke trailing from its body as it vanished into the night. No one had time to track it. The next second, the five Ford SUVs screeched to a halt in formation outside the entrance.
Their mounted ultraviolet searchlights flared at full intensity.
The dim hangar turned violet.
Inside, Dickon Frost stood unmoved.
He held Blade by the throat in one hand, lifting him off the ground like a butchered chicken. Under the ultraviolet beams, Frost should have turned to ash.
He didn't.
Brown stared. "That's not right."
He sucked in a breath. "Isn't he a vampire?"
"He is," Locke replied calmly from half a step behind him.
His gaze locked onto Frost's right hand.
The ring.
Of course.
The ultraviolet radiation flooding the hangar didn't affect Frost because of that ring. It was forming a shield—deflecting environmental exposure.
But shields were different from penetration.
You can ignore the sun.
Can you ignore bullets?
The SWAT officers exited the SUVs in coordinated motion, forming a firing line. Assault rifles were raised, ultraviolet rounds chambered, muzzles steady.
Frost tightened his grip on Blade while studying the armed formation outside.
"Dickon Frost!" Brown stepped forward, voice flat. "You are under arrest."
Frost laughed.
The sound echoed unnaturally in the irradiated space.
His eyes narrowed, sliding past Brown and into the shadow behind him.
"Mr. Locke Underwood," he said softly. "It's you."
Locke stepped forward beside Brown, smile cold.
"We meet again, Mr. Frost."
"I thought we had reached an agreement."
"We did," Locke nodded frankly. "But after I left, I thought of something important."
Frost tilted his head slightly. "And what would that be?"
"It's important to me that you don't exist."
Money?
He wanted it.
His life?
He wanted that too.
Children choose one.
Adults take both.
As Locke finished speaking, Brown raised his hand.
Then he brought it down.
"Fire!"
The response was immediate.
No warnings. No speeches.
Efficiency mattered.
Ultraviolet rounds erupted from over a dozen rifles simultaneously. The hangar filled with sharp reports as bullets tore through the air in dense volleys aimed directly at Frost and Blade without distinction.
Frost's pupils contracted.
His body blurred.
He vanished from where he stood, moving in a phantom streak across the hangar as bullets shattered concrete and punched through steel behind him. He wasn't afraid of ambient ultraviolet radiation.
But ultraviolet penetrating flesh?
That was different.
"Above!"
"Left!"
"Right!"
Gunfire tracked him relentlessly.
Blade was discarded almost instantly during the first barrage. Frost had no choice. He couldn't kill Blade—not because of the script anymore. That plan was already shredded the moment Locke returned.
He couldn't kill Blade for another reason entirely.
And since Blade refused to cooperate and nearly disrupted his speed mid-dodge, Frost simply threw him aside.
"Damn it."
Frost leapt from wall to wall, scanning for escape routes. His movements were inhumanly fluid, each dodge barely ahead of impact.
Then he saw it.
The light opening near the upper wall of the hangar.
His eyes sharpened.
He sprinted vertically up the wall like a gecko, fingers digging into steel seams as he climbed toward the opening.
Locke watched.
The corner of his mouth curved.
"Debbie," he said calmly into his earpiece. "Detonate."
"Understood."
Bang!
Just as Frost reached the upper section of the wall, the ceiling-mounted micro-transmitter exploded.
The blast wasn't large—but it was precise.
At the center of the explosion, liquid burst outward in all directions.
Frost was fast.
Not fast enough.
The colorless spray splashed across his face.
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then his skin began to react.
It wasn't sulfuric acid.
It was holy water.
Steam erupted from his flesh as if someone had poured boiling metal across his features. The reaction was violent and immediate, eating into his skin with sizzling intensity.
Frost screamed and clawed at his face.
He fell.
His body hit the ground heavily.
When he stood again and lowered his hands, his face was ruined.
The once refined features were gone. His skin was pitted and blistered, white smoke rising from blackened tissue.
He looked as though he had washed in acid.
Ultraviolet rounds struck him repeatedly now.
Bullets tore into his torso, punching through muscle and bone.
His eyes burned scarlet.
He stared directly at Locke.
"You…" His voice was raw, twisted. "Damn you!"
Locke's expression didn't change.
He opened his mouth to respond.
Then it happened.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
The scream erupted from Frost's throat.
It wasn't just loud.
It was wrong.
The sound seemed to vibrate inside the skull rather than through the air. It blasted outward from the hangar, rolling over Brown, Locke, and every Sentinel operative present.
The first officer dropped instantly.
Then another.
Then another.
Brown collapsed beside Locke without a sound.
Within seconds, every visible operative outside the hangar lay unconscious on the asphalt.
Not just outside.
Miles away at the Sentinel command center, the scream tore through the communication channels. Debbie and her team recoiled instinctively, ripping earpieces free.
"Ah—!"
"Jesus—!"
"Fuck!"
Debbie's ears rang violently as she threw her headset aside. For a moment she nearly blacked out herself. The satellite feed distorted into static, the image tearing under the sonic assault.
But she forced herself to move.
"Shit."
Her hands trembled as she grabbed the communicator again.
"Boss!" she shouted urgently. "Boss, can you hear me? Boss!"
...
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