Max allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Three cells down, one to go. But they weren't done yet.
"Movement!" Thar's voice crackled through the comm. "Someone's coming—shit, they're not affected by the sleep!"
Max's head snapped up. A fourth Doomer? They'd only counted three on surveillance.
"Positions!" he barked, moving toward the stairs. "Conrac, stay with Darven. Allow no one through this door till he says it's safe. Everyone else, with me!"
They met the newcomer in the mansion's foyer— definitely a Doomer.
Max expected him to turn around and flee, or pull out a gun and shoot, but the guy unexpectedly charged right at him instead.
What the hell?
Maybe the drugs they were on addled their brains.
As if to confirm his suspicion, the Doomer laughed maniacally. "The Brotherhood will always win, you alien scum. You think you've won? This is just the beginning."
Max wanted to laugh. The idiot really thought they were alien invaders? It was almost worth it to let him escape so he could bring the news to his bosses.
The Doomer moved fast, but Max was ready, his armored fist meeting the guy's face with devastating force that had him flying backward. He landed on his feet though, blood streaming from his ruined nose. "I will kill you! Demon!"
"Look who's talking." Max engaged again.
The fight was different—this Doomer was craftier, using techniques Max had not encountered before. He went for joints, trying to damage the exoskeleton's servo mechanisms.
"The bombs here are nothing," he hissed, going for psychological warfare. "There are many more. We have hundreds of cells, thousands of bombs. You can't stop us."
Max knew it was a lie, an attempt to distract him. But for a split second, doubt crept in. What if they'd missed something?
That momentary pause was all his opponent needed. The Doomer's fangs found a gap where only a thin membrane covered his neck. Pain flared as they penetrated, drawing blood and about to pump venom.
Not going to happen.
Max triggered the exoskeleton's electrical discharge. Another upgrade from William. It coursed through the armor's surface, channeled directly through the Doomer's fangs, and everywhere he was touching the suit.
The guy convulsed as his nervous system overloaded.
"Shocking, isn't it?" Max quipped as his opponent collapsed, twitching.
He made a mental note to personally thank William for this feature.
"Command, we have one more Doomer to add to our collection. He wasn't on our intel."
"That's concerning," Onegus said. "There might be another cell we are not aware of. Bag him. We'll sort it out later. Make sure the explosives are disarmed."
The additional Doomer had taken Max's mind off that issue, but now he was back to stressing over that.
The next fifteen minutes passed like hours while Darven worked on the explosives.
In the meantime, Max and his team stored the Doomers in a specially reinforced transport van. They, along with the sleeping terrorists in a second transport, would be taken to a warehouse where Julian would scan them for trackers, and their clothing and devices would be stored in secure, signal-blocking containers. All the Doomers were injected with tranquilizers to keep them under till they could be placed in holding cells in the keep's dungeon.
It occurred to Max that they might be running out of space there.
Good times.
"Got it," Darven finally announced, sagging with relief. "We can get in and start moving the explosives out."
"Outstanding work," Max said. "Strike One to all teams. Concert cell fully secured."
They loaded the explosives into a truck that would proceed to a warehouse located far from any populated areas.
As dawn approached, Max stood in the empty mansion, surveying the damage. Broken walls, shattered furniture—the detritus of violence. But no bodies.
All in a night's work.
