In the dark lower levels of the base, Jill Young and her three companions moved silently through the shadows.
"Turn left, then go straight for thirty meters and turn right. No need to rush, we can just avoid a patrol this way." Celeste whispered instructions. Down here, she was basically a walking radar. Paired with Jill Young’s 'Snowfall Vision,' navigating in this dim light was almost like cheating.
"There’s a staircase ahead, with two guards at the landing. Be careful not to make any noise." Celeste pointed ahead. Jill nodded, then flicked her hand, sending out two streaks of light. With two soft thuds, the guards clutched their throats and slowly collapsed. They tried to scream, but only managed faint gurgles, drawing no attention. On closer look, it was two scalpels that had severed their vocal cords completely.
"How do you know this place so well?" Fran Adler snatched a submachine gun from the fallen guards. "I mean, sure, there’s a map in the control room, but one, we didn’t have time to look, and two—no offense, but you can’t exactly read a map."
"Every girl has her secrets, and so do I." Celeste smiled serenely. "I may be blind, but I have other little abilities. I don’t need to see—sometimes, all I have to do is touch something and I just ‘know’."
Beatrice Bliss asked curiously, "Is that how you found the tunnel at the auction house?"
Celeste nodded.
"Alright, mysterious Easterners—I'm officially obsessed with you all now."
Guided by Celeste, the four of them quickly made their way to the upper levels, dodging most of the guards. Any that couldn’t be avoided were swiftly dealt with. Soon, they reached a massive steel gate—pitch black, tightly sealed, and obviously a high-security blast door.
Fran Adler eyed the keypad beside the door. "Should we nab one of the higher-ups and interrogate them for the code?"
"No need. Watch this." Celeste rolled her wheelchair up to the keypad, placed her hand on the panel, and after a moment, began to tap in the code.
"You’re not just our radar, you’re our decoder too!" Jill Young eyed the blast door. Even with her current strength, brute-forcing this door would be tough. "What’s on the other side? An elevator or stairs to freedom?"
"Nope, just a room. But once we get what’s inside, freedom is right around the corner." Celeste finished entering the code, and with a hiss, the door released a puff of pressure and slowly slid open.
Inside were two clueless guards, chatting away and standing lazily at the entrance, barely keeping formation. Their nonchalance was so inviting that Jill couldn’t help but walk up and throw an arm around each of their shoulders. Before they could turn around, she yanked them together—thud. They wouldn’t be causing any more trouble.
Fran Adler’s eyes lit up at the sight inside. "I love this place!"
Rows of gleaming weapons, stacks of neatly arranged grenades—this was an armory. And in the corner, something big, old, and downright savage—
"Ho-ly-crap—" Jill Young and the other three with eyes widened, all blurted out in unison: "A tank?!"
"No way, how is there a tank down here?" Jill Young was baffled. "I mean, who puts a tank underground?"
"I don’t know who the original owner was, but we’re actually pretty close to the surface. Remember the wide corridor outside? That’s the tank’s route." Celeste explained patiently. "Follow that corridor, there’s another blast door. Beyond it is a ramp going up—the only way out right now. I bet the enemy’s got heavy forces posted at that door, and we can’t match their firepower, so—"
"So, check the fuel, ammo, and see if this big lug even works. If needed, patch it up—we’re making this thing move!" Fran Adler hopped up onto the turret, thumped her chest, and grinned. "Trust me, I’m an ace driver!"
Jill Young immediately raised her hand. "Just so you know, I call dibs on gunner!"
Beatrice Bliss threw up both hands. "No way, let me try! I think I can handle it!"
At the blast door leading to the upper level, more than seventy armed guards scanned the area warily. Judging by the casualties at the control room entrance, the commander was determined to overestimate the abilities of these four "assets," so he locked down all the key points. There were originally two express elevators up, but with the power out, this was the only way left.
"Where did those women go?" After all this time, the commander still hadn’t found any trace of them. The boss had yelled at him plenty, cursing his incompetence. The mounting casualties proved those four were still in the area, quietly slaughtering his men. Why were these women so damn hard to handle? Even the usually calm commander was getting anxious. "All units, report in—any sign of movement?"
"Nothing." "No, sir." "Still searching, no sign." "No—wait, I hear something," the last responder finally said something different. "I hear—an engine. A big one!"
A big engine? The commander shouted back, "You’ve got to be kidding! There’s no steamroller or crane down here!"
Wait a second—the commander suddenly remembered something. Could it be...? No way! This base wasn’t built from scratch by the SD Syndicate; they’d just taken over and renovated an old secret facility. That facility was a leftover from the Cold War era, and "that thing" came with it. Wasn’t that old beast supposed to be completely scrapped? There’s no way it still works, right?
This chapter isn’t over yet ^.^, click next page to keep reading!
Just as he was thinking, a rumbling sound echoed through the corridors. The heavy noise came with a sense of oppressive weight, the ground trembling underfoot as an ominous presence drew nearer. The sound grew louder, the tremors stronger, and that feeling of doom became unmistakable. Suddenly, a massive silhouette appeared at the end of the hall—a tank.
"No—freaking—way—!" The commander stared in disbelief, then roared, "Open fire! Everyone, open fire! Where are the grenades? Throw them all—blow those bitches to hell!"
Bullets rattled against the armor, but they were no more effective than raindrops. The grenades hadn’t even been thrown yet when the tank responded.
With a whir, the tank’s turret swung around, the dark barrel aiming straight at them with a deadly intent.
"Those bitches—!!" the commander screamed in fury.
In the next instant—boom! Like a thunderbolt from the gods, the blast door caved in and shattered under a burst of fire and light. Shrapnel pierced, sliced, and crushed the guards, flames engulfed those who couldn't escape. The mightiest weapon in land warfare had shown its true brutality.
In the nick of time, the commander rolled to safety, dodging the debris and flames. But the shockwave still tossed him into the air and slammed him down hard. Ears ringing, vision blurred, nose bleeding, he struggled to open his eyes—only to see a platinum-blonde woman rise atop the tank, hoist the machine gun, and unleash a wild hail of death with manic laughter.
It was the last thing he ever saw.
Meanwhile, in a cozy lounge on the upper level, masked customers sat surrounded by beautiful women, though none seemed interested. An aging white man entered the hall—here to calm nerves and negotiate with the guests.
"Mr. Browning, you’ve ruined tonight’s auction. We’re not staying here any longer—we’re leaving." One customer spoke up, and the others nodded in agreement.
"Don’t worry, gentlemen, everything is under control." The old man raised his hands, wearing a calm, confident smile. "Four rebellious little mice—doesn’t that make things more interesting? Trust me, we’ll have them back in front of you soon enough, and their looks of utter despair will be the finest dessert."
Just then, a boom echoed from below, shaking the entire building and making the wine in their glasses tremble.
"What was that?" Even the old man couldn’t keep his composure.
Boom—another blast. The guests couldn’t take it anymore. "To hell with your dessert! Admit it, you’ve lost control! We’re leaving, right now!" The crowd surged toward the exit, furious. Browning didn’t stop them—his own eyes darted around, and he figured it was time to make his own preparations too.