Page 141 of The Dragon 1
We fought.
Chaos.
Heat.
Blood.
Screams.
One of the guards scrambled for his sidearm but Reo tackled him from behind, locked his arms around the man’s neck in a chokehold, and twisted until the guard went limp. In one fluid motion, Reo rolled and tossed the weapon to me.
I caught it midair and let out two quick shots. Center mass in one guard. A bullet through the eye socket of another.
They dropped like string-cut puppets.
More guards poured in through the shattered doorway, barking orders in clipped Japanese. Gas masks. Tactical gear. Laser sights. Like a fucking SWAT unit.
Hiro was already in motion.
A whirlwind of vengeance.
One of them lunged with a baton. Hiro dodged low, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted it until the bones snapped like dry twigs. Then he elbowed him in the throat, grabbed him by the vest, and hurled him face-first into the glass window.
The glass cracked—then spiderwebbed—and gave.
The guard shrieked as he tumbled backward, crashing through the frame out into open air, and then screaming as he fell to his death.
I ducked under a strike, rose with an uppercut, cracked another’s rib with my forearm.
He staggered.
I seized his weapon from his hip, flipped it in my grip and drove a bullet into his skull.
Reo grabbed the pole from a heart monitor, yanked it free with a screech of tearing metal, andimpaleda man through the gut. The scream that tore out of him was guttural and wet. Blood sprayed, painting Reo’s face in a fine mist. He didn’t blink.
He just turned.
Snatched another gun.
Fired into a kneecap.
Shot a crawling man in the spine.
We became war.
We shot and maimed.
Broke teeth and jaws.
Turned precision into poetry.
The air turned electric with gunpowder and fury. The room—once a pristine hospital ward—was now a blood-slick battlefield. Equipment sparked. Alarms wailed. The small table and chairs were overturned and the oxygen tank hissed.
Smoke curled through the broken glass where the wind howled.
Still, more guards entered.
Ten.
