Chapter 90 - The Final Breach
The first Generation Ten operative closed the distance with terrifying velocity, a ceramic combat blade slashing toward Naomi’s throat in a blinding diagonal arc. Naomi ducked beneath the steel, parried with the reinforced forearm of her tactical suit, and drove a brutal front kick into the operative's sternum.
The kick would have shattered the ribs of any normal man, but the operative merely absorbed the kinetic energy, re-anchored his stance, and lunged again without missing a beat.
Before Naomi could draw her sidearm, the second and third operatives converged on her flanks, their strikes moving in synchronized mathematical rhythm. A titanium baton caught Naomi across the left shoulder with bone-jarring force, spinning her against the granite pillar.
Pain—sharp, white-hot—flared through her collarbone, but the conditioning of Generation Nine took over instantly. She caught the baton on its return stroke, twisted the operative's wrist until the joint gave way, and drove the butt of her pistol into the third attacker's eye socket.
Gunfire shattered the enclosed space.
Ethan burst into the cellar from the upper landing, his assault rifle barking in semi-automatic rhythm. Two high-velocity rounds slammed into the operative threatening Eleanor Whitmore, throwing the guard off balance and sending the pistol clattering across the stones.
"Mother! Move!" Ethan yelled, laying down suppressing fire that drove the fourth operative behind an arched pillar.
Eleanor scrambled across the wet floor toward the stairs as Ethan covered her, his weapon smoking from continuous discharge.
Julian Sterling, seeing his window of escape narrowing, seized the Apex Ledger and sprinted toward an iron service door at the rear of the cellar—an old smuggling tunnel leading out toward the riverbanks behind the estate.
"Naomi! He's running!" Ethan screamed, battling two of the enhanced operatives who were swarming his position with relentless, inhuman savagery.
Naomi broke free from her engagement, shattering the knee of the operative before her with a brutal low-angle stomp. She vaulted over the fallen soldier and sprinted through the smoking breach into the dark tunnel after Julian.
The smuggling passage was narrow, wet, and smelled of mud and centuries-old decay. Ahead of her, the beam of Julian’s tactical flashlight bounced frantically off the rough brick walls.
"You can't stop this, Naomi!" Julian’s voice echoed back through the damp dark. "The ledger belongs to the new world! The old masters are dead!"
Naomi sprinted through the darkness, closing the distance between them with every stride. She could hear the rushing water of the Schuylkill River just ahead—the tunnel exit was only fifty yards away.
Julian reached the iron grate leading out into the night and kicked it open, bursting out onto the muddy, rain-slicked riverbank where a high-speed black stealth boat was already idling in the shadows, its twin propellers churning the black water.
Naomi burst out of the tunnel right behind him, tackling Julian into the mud with crushing force.
The Apex Ledger flew from his grasp, sliding across the wet grass to stop inches from the river's edge.
Julian rolled onto his back, pulling a heavy tactical knife from his boot, slashing wildly at Naomi’s face. Naomi deflected the blade with her forearm, her knuckles cracking against his jaw with enough force to shatter his teeth. She pinned him into the mud, her knees pressing against his chest, her hands clamping around his throat in a suffocating, unbreakable vice.
"It's over, Julian," she whispered through the rain.
Julian coughed up blood, but instead of fear, a horrific, triumphant grin split his lips.
"Is it... Naomi?" he choked out, raising his bloody hand to reveal a small, palm-sized detonator. "Look at the water... Look at who’s driving the boat..."
Naomi snapped her head up toward the idling stealth craft.
Standing at the helm, illuminated by the boat's red instrument console, was a woman dressed in a clean, gray domestic uniform identical to the one Naomi had worn for three years at Whitmore House.
The woman slowly lowered her hood, revealing a face identical to Naomi’s own.
May you like
"Hello, Sister," the figure on the boat spoke over an external speaker, her voice ringing clear across the river. "Did you really think you were the only Nine that survived?"
Before Naomi could move, the detonator in Julian's bloody hand clicked.
