Chapter 1841 - 1389: The Third Party Awaits

Left staircase, right corridor, directly ahead leads to the equipment room.

The hall is empty, a kerosene lamp rolls on the ground, flames licking the wooden floor.

"Clear the first floor!" Blake signals.

Derek and Quinn start searching the rooms on both sides.

Blake quickly checks the bodies.

The two middle-aged men lying on the ground wear cheap synthetic robes, and the AK rifles in their hands aren't even loaded.

Something's not right.

They're not professional guards.

Definitely not the ones who ambushed us.

At least not with the same group.

"These are civilians…" He whispers: "Not soldiers."

Reno's voice comes through the headset: "Team A, we encountered strong resistance at the back door, requesting supp—"

The voice cuts off, replaced by intense gunfire and a muffled grunt.

"Reno!" Blake shouts.

No response.

Only continuous gunfire.

"All members of Team B, rally in the hall!" He orders: "We're surrounded, we must establish a defense!"

11:18 PM, perimeter of the control building.

Song Heping lies prone in the shadow of the southeast water tower, observing the battlefield through a scope.

"Enemy sniper has been neutralized."

Joseph's voice comes through the AN/PRC-163 radio.

"Confirmed kill. Assault Team 2 reports."

"Report from the roof of the repair shop: three members of enemy Team B have been forced through the control building's back door."

Song Heping switches channels: "Attention all teams, the prey is in the cage. Follow Phase Three plans, progressively compress, drive into the core area. I want Blake alive, Misu must be captured alive."

He stows his rifle, sliding down the rusted ladder of the water tower like a shadow.

Two team members emerge from the shadows, following behind him.

This is the hunting squad he personally leads, responsible for the final closure.

"Boss, thermal imaging confirms Misu is in the equipment room on the second floor, east side."

Song Heping nods: "Assault Team 1 from the staircase, we'll go along the outer wall. Remember, we need them alive."

11:22 PM, second-floor corridor of the control building.

Blake leans against the mottled concrete wall, gasping for air.

His squad is down to four men.

Himself, Derek, Quinn, and Victor, who just broke through the back door.

Thom and Reno are out of contact, fate unknown.

"Status report!" He growls.

Derek checks quickly: "I'm okay, ammo sufficient."

"Light Machine Gun has 120 rounds left." Victor spits out bloody saliva: "Right shoulder hit, through and through, doesn't affect shooting."

Quinn's face is pale: "Derek's left arm was grazed by shrapnel."

Blake thinks quickly.

They're completely surrounded, the enemy is not attacking fiercely, but gradually compressing from the perimeter.

This is a typical hunting tactic, aiming to capture alive or force surrender.

"Check every room." He says, "Misu must still be in the building. Find him, eliminate him, and the mission is complete, even if Song Heping arrives, it means nothing."

Action is taken immediately.

The four form a diamond formation to search down the corridor.

Blake leads, Victor covers the rear, Derek and Quinn handle side vigilance.

Through the night vision, the corridor doors are all open, rooms filled with abandoned equipment and documents.

Suddenly, Blake stops.

Thermal imaging shows a faint but stable heat source in the room on the right ahead.

It's not a human, but the heat emitted from running electronic equipment.

But the shape of the heat source is strange—rectangular, with neat edges.

"An insulated box." He whispers: "Someone's using insulation materials to hide the heat signal."

He signals: prepare to breach.

Derek moves to the side of the door, takes a flashbang from his tactical vest.

Quinn and Victor aim at potential shooting positions on either side of the door frame.

Blake extends three fingers, retracting them one by one.

Three, two, one—

Derek kicks open the door, the flashbang rolls into the room.

"Bang!"

The flash and loud noise amplify several times in the enclosed space.

Even with anti-flash goggles, the four experience brief visual residue.

"Breach!"

Blake rushes into the room first.

The strong beam of the tactical flashlight pierces through the lingering smoke like a sword.

This is an old equipment room, about six meters square.

Rusty distribution boxes stack against the wall like the corpse of a giant beast, the glass of the instrument.panel shattered, needles forever frozen at some long-forgotten moment.

The air is heavy with the smell of dust, engine oil, and a faintly acidic hint of chemical reagents.

At the far end of the room, a nearly two-meter-tall metal cabinet stands against the wall.

The cabinet's surface is covered with a silver insulation blanket, edges carefully sealed with military tape, reflecting a cold glow under the beam.

Thermal imaging shows a clear human-shaped heat source crouched behind the cabinet.

The chest heaves rapidly with breathing, body temperature significantly higher than the surroundings.

Blake lowers his voice and barks: "Misu! Hands up over your head, walk out slowly! Don't force us to shoot!"

Silence behind the cabinet.

Victor steps from the flank, the muzzle of the MK48 Light Machine Gun steadily aimed at the cabinet's midsection.

"Three seconds!" His voice grates like sandpaper on metal: "If you don't come out, we'll shoot through it!"

Time drips by under tension.

One second.

Two seconds.

Just as the third second is about to end, a trembling hand slowly extends from the cabinet's edge.

The fingers are thin, with grime embedded in the nails.

Then the second arm, and finally the whole person staggers out.

Misu looks at least ten years older than the intelligence photo.

His hair is mostly gray, sticking messily to his sweat-drenched forehead.

The collar of his filthy white shirt is frayed, the knees of his khaki pants worn pale. Gold-rimmed glasses sit askew on his nose, eyes behind the lenses bloodshot, pupils dilated with fear.

His left hand clutches an old canvas backpack tightly, knuckles whitened from exertion.

"Misu?"

Blake begins to confirm identity, muzzle aimed steadily at the opponent's chest.