The mornings in Geneva were typically draped in a serene silence, but today, a chilling shadow of death loomed over the Institute of Art Conservation and Research. Through the swirling snow, three black vans emerged like predators, cold and calculating, as they blockaded the building’s main entrance.

  Inside the sterile confines of the scanning room, Marcus, Novem, and Alister had just finished extracting the encrypted codes from the monitor. Suddenly, the world buckled. A massive explosion rocked the entire foundation.

  "BOOM...!!!!"

  The automated fire suppression systems hissed to life, raining a fine mist from the ceiling. Red emergency lights pulsed rhythmically, accompanied by a klaxon so piercing it felt like a physical blade against the eardrum.

  "They're here! Take positions!" Marcus bellowed. He whipped a Glock-19 from his inner holster in one fluid motion, leveling it at the doorway.

  The Fourth Floor: A Bloodstained Corridor

  The heavy office door flew off its hinges from a thunderous kick. Smoke grenades skittered across the floor, spewing thick, acrid white clouds that swallowed the room whole.

  "Alpha Team, move in! No survivors!" a gravelly voice barked from the haze.

  Six tactical operatives, clad in pitch-black gear and ballistic masks, breached the room. The crimson lines of their laser sights danced through the smoke like hungry spirits.

  Professor Dr. Novem’s reaction was preternatural—far beyond the limits of a normal man. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled his scalding cup of coffee directly into the face of the lead operative.

  "Agh...!!!"

  As the man reeled, Novem executed a low sweep, sliding across the floor to take the soldier's legs out. In a heartbeat, he wrenched the sub-machine gun from the man’s grip.

  "Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

  With surgical precision, Novem neutralized two more incoming hostiles within seconds. Every movement he made carried the lethal grace of a warrior who had spent centuries perfecting the art of death.

  "Alister! Don't lose that plate! Just stay on my heels!" Novem commanded.

  Alister clutched the bronze plate to his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. As they sprinted down the hallway, the air was filled with the cacophony of shattering glass and the frantic shouts of the pursuing team.

  The Stairwell Standoff

  The trio bypassed the elevators, lunging toward the stairwell. As the door swung open, they collided head-on with a squad descending from above.

  "Left side! Get down!" Marcus warned, returning fire with his Glock.

  Dr. Varkas’s mercenaries were swarming the building like a disturbed nest of hornets. Bullets chewed into marble pillars and glass partitions, filling the air with a lethal snow of dust and shards.

  "Ugh...!"

  Alister stumbled, his momentum suddenly cut short. A round had torn through the right side of his abdomen. Crimson bloomed instantly across his white shirt, soaking the fabric.

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  "Alister!" Novem shouted, yet his eyes remained eerily calm. "Don't panic! It missed the vitals. Your body will handle the repair. Get up... hold on!"

  Gasping for air, Alister forced himself up. A searing heat radiated from his gut, but then something strange happened—the agonizing pain began to dull into a numb throb, and the flow of blood started to thicken and stall. Gritting his teeth against the shock, he pushed forward.

  The Ground Floor Trap

  The situation turned dire at the lobby. The main exit was a kill zone, fortified by heavy machine guns raining a relentless torrent of lead.

  "The main gate is a dead end! We're taking the glass wall!" Novem shouted over the gunfire.

  They veered toward the massive expanse of armored glass. It was designed to withstand a siege, making it nearly impossible to breach. Novem reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver sphere—his own invention: a High-Frequency Sonic Grenade.

  "Cover your ears!" he roared, hurling the sphere at the center of the transparent barrier.

  "Beep... BOOM...!!!!"

  The sonic blast shattered every lightbulb in the vicinity, but the reinforced glass only spider-webbed with cracks. It held firm. The heavy footsteps of the enemy were closing in.

  "It's too thick! We're pinned!" Marcus yelled, firing blind cover shots.

  Novem’s Hidden Might

  Novem offered a grim smile as he stubbed out his cigarette. A light that had been hidden for centuries began to glow within his irises.

  "Move aside... if the modern way fails, we go back to the old ways."

  He stood before the fractured wall, took a deep, centering breath, and drew his right fist back. In that fragment of a second, the air around his hand began to ripple, humming with a strange, blue static.

  "HAA...!!!!!"

  Novem unleashed a series of short, devastating strikes into the heart of the glass.

  "BOOM... CRACK... SHATTER...!!!!!"

  Under the weight of a strength that defied the laws of physics, the weakened armored glass disintegrated. Shards exploded outward, glittering like diamonds as they fell onto the snow outside.

  "Let’s go," Novem said, his breathing as steady as a calm sea.

  They leapt through the jagged frame and dove into the cold. Marcus sprinted toward an Audi A8 idling in the shadows of the parking lot.

  As they tore away, tires screaming against the asphalt, Alister collapsed into the backseat, staring at his wound in disbelief.

  "You’re lucky it didn't hit anything vital, Arthur," Novem said, glancing at Alister’s blood-soaked shirt. "But rest for now... we need to clear Geneva as fast as possible."

  The car vanished into the heart of the blizzard, leaving nothing but tire tracks in the red-tinted snow.