Ghost moved his arms with force, breaking the neck of the last soldier and letting his body fall to the ground with a thud.
Looking around, he observed the fallen bodies of the enemy soldiers. Chris adjusted his tactical vest, moving away from the three fallen bodies near his feet. Jill emerged from the forest, putting a few bullets from her sniper rifle into one of the pockets of her tactical vest. Accompanying her were the pilot and the copilot, who looked a little weaker than before, more tired. He needed urgent medical treatment.
Looking away, he saw Hunk and his team approaching at a fast pace. They looked fine, apart from a few injuries here and there.
Hunk had a bandage around his shoulder, Parker had a bandage on his head and was limping a little. The two BSAA medical soldiers were walking with the two remaining orphans, who had a few scratches, were dirty and some of their clothes were torn.
"Look who it is, I was beginning to think I was fighting alone." Ghost joked as Hunk approached, and they both greeted each other briefly.
"I decided to take a scenic route, enjoying the view. I knew you could handle it." Hunk said, and the two soldiers watched as the group came together again, and the medical team immediately checked on the injured copilot.
"Hm... that was close." Hunk said, nodding at the piece of metal embedded in the copilot's chest.
"Yeah, but he'll be fine if we're quick. Speaking of which..." Ghost said, turning and walking towards the large helicopter ahead.
Hunk followed. Just before entering the helicopter, Ghost turned to his partner and nodded.
Opening the helicopter's side door, he quickly climbed in, checking for any threat that decided to hide inside. His eyes quickly scanned the inside of the vehicle. There was nothing but a few medical kits scattered around, some weapons on the side walls and a laptop on one of the seats.
"Clear." Hunk said after checking the cabin, and then turned around, approaching Ghost who was turning on the laptop.
There were some files open, and a somewhat familiar symbol.
"Russian soldiers... by technology, soldiers of the president's security service." Ghost said, turning the laptop screen to Hunk, who just snorted.
"So the president of Russia himself hired a mercenary to kill you. You're famous." Hunk said, and Ghost shrugged.
"I have this habit, it's my personal charm." Ghost said, and Hunk snorted in derision, walking towards the cabin and opening the back of the helicopter.
The rear ramp descended slowly, and the medical team carefully loaded the wounded soldier into the helicopter, placing him on the ground a few steps before the cabin.
Chris was the next to enter the vehicle, followed by Jill who accompanied Parker. Parker refused the woman's help and sat down a few steps to the side of Hunk, grunting slightly in pain and muttering that "his pride has been hurt enough for one day".
"Good to see you're still alive, Parker." Ghost said, closing his laptop again and putting it to one side. He would give the device to Ayala when they arrived.
"Humpf, almost, but it's good to see your mask again." He sighed, grunting once again as he moved his injured leg. Unfortunately, they didn't have any extra herbal mixture. "So, remember the time I asked if you were ugly when you said you wouldn't take your mask off?" The man asked, and Ghost looked at him with a certain curiosity.
Parker, for his part, raised his arm and threw it down again, as if telling him to throw that memory away.
"Forget I asked. If I ever get a girlfriend, remind me not to show you to her." He said, and Ghost laughed softly, shaking his head at the man's good humor. "By the way, sorry to ask, but why the hair?"
Ghost stared at him again, one eyebrow arched beneath his mask.
"No matter what you say, that hair definitely doesn't belong in this line of work." Parker said, and Ghost shook his head, slightly thoughtful, finding the man's words amusing.
"Because it annoys my boss." He replied, and Parker laughed, leaning his back against the metal wall of the helicopter.
"That's a good reason." Parker said, resting his head and closing his eyes, relieved to finally be getting out of that place.
The helicopter suddenly started up, and Ghost removed his rifle from his back, leaving the gun at his side. Sighing, he stretched, tensing his muscles in an attempt to relax a little.
He could go for another day or two on that mission if he needed to, but he wouldn't mind a rest.
A short rest, of course, because by the time he reached the city, he would still have work to do.
Next to Falcone was Hunk, observing his man's situation. He would be fine, they could hold off until they reached the base, with better equipment to treat him.
At a certain point, the masked agent received news on his radio, the signal had returned and he now had news from the outside world.
He talked on the radio for a few moments, until suddenly the air around him became a little colder. His body language stiffened, he became tense.
At the end of his radio conversation, he made his way over to Ghost, who, although he didn't seem to be paying attention, noticed the sudden change in his partner's behavior.
"Ghost." He called out, his voice serious, which in itself was no cause for concern. But it was strangely serious, and Ghost's sharp, trained instincts screamed that something was wrong.
"... There's been an incident. I ask you to keep control. Despite the efforts of Ayala and the team, due to a lack of equipment, your family has been kidnapped." Hunk said, and without realizing it, Ghost held his breath.
He knew... he knew the moment he noticed the sudden change in Hunk.
Time itself seemed to have frozen, his fist tightened on the seat he was on, and if it hadn't been for his mask, Hunk would have noticed the color fade from his face. His chest tightened as if a knife had been plunged into his heart and the words he wanted to say were stuck in the air.
Unable to say anything, he lowered his head slightly, tilted his torso forward and rested his arms on his thighs, just above his knees. His fists were clenched tightly.
His mind raced with thousands of thoughts, his body tensed with thousands of lived situations running vividly across his skin. For the first time in a long time, he felt a chilling wave of despair rise up inside him, taking over, threatening to drown him.
"... When?" He asked, his voice hoarse, the words trembling, a cold, threatening whisper, demonstrating the real extent of the conflict inside his body.
"Five hours, approximately." Hunk replied, noticing his partner's reaction, sympathizing with him.
Ghost's hands began to shake, and little by little, that excruciating feeling of despair gave way to anger.
If it hadn't been for the glove, Hunk would have seen his knuckles turn white from the force.
"... Who?" His tone was louder, more authoritative, accompanied by a hopeful sigh, a futile attempt to calm down.
"The suspect is the same. The focus isn't on him, they're doing what they can to trace your family." Hunk said, and Ghost clucked his tongue in disgust. He could do nothing but wait, not only because he was still in that helicopter in full flight, but also because they hadn't even found out where they had been taken.
"... Try not to do anything rash." That's all Hunk said, before walking away. He didn't really have anything he could say to Ghost, and even if he did, he knew he wouldn't listen. He sympathized with his friend's anger, and wanted something to be done.
However, at the moment, unfortunately, they had big problems to solve.
Getting up slowly when Hunk was focused on treating his man, he walked to the helicopter cabin, catching the pilot's eye as he picked up the headset from the co-pilot's seat.
"Is there a problem, sir?" He asked, and Ghost looked at him with cold eyes.
"When we land... leave the keys." He simply said, removing the headset and placing it back on the co-pilot's seat, walking away without letting the pilot ask any questions.
The way back took some time, just a few hours for some, but long and excruciating for others. Ghost couldn't wait for them to arrive so soon. At all times during the journey, he didn't speak to anyone, didn't look at anyone, didn't say a word or show any reaction. He remained in the same position the whole time.
When they finally arrived at the BSAA base, he didn't even hear when the group around him started talking, or when Falcone thanked him for everything and apologized for being dead weight, or when Hunk called him to get off the helicopter.
Nothing, just flashes, like a few slides from a presentation.
He stood up and looked out of the helicopter. Chris and Jill were already far away escorting Parker to the medical ward. Hunk was going with his men to treat Falcone, saying something over the radio. Probably alerting Walter that they had arrived.
Ghost sighed heavily a few times, turned and walked to the helicopter cabin. Just as he had asked, the pilot left the keys.
Ghost started up the helicopter again, and in a matter of some time, it was already taking off, ignoring any logical thought that crossed his mind.
He could wait, but by the time they managed to track them down, they could be dead. Considering that Simmons was the closest and one of the most powerful men in the country, he would say that the chances of it being him were high, almost certain. Why should he wait if he could go to him and ask in person?
"Ghost, what are you doing?" He heard Hunk's voice through his communicator. No matter what his partner said, he wouldn't change his mind.
"I won't wait. I'm going to ask the man personally." He replied, now at a considerable height.
"Don't do something you might regret later! Wait!" Hunk said, and Ghost snorted.
"Would you wait?" Ghost asked, and waited for an answer, which was slow in coming.
"This isn't about me! Damn it, agent, I understand you, but now is not the time to lose your head!" Hunk replied after a while, and Ghost laughed with a certain contempt.
"That's what I thought." He said, changing the channel on his communicator.
"Ayala, do you copy?" Ghost asked, waiting for the woman's reply.
"Ghost! Good to hear from you, Walter was with Hunk on the line just now and-"
"Simmons' location." He interrupted her in a cold voice, and the woman remained silent for a few brief moments, much to the agent's irritation.
"Ghost, we can't mobilize resources to go after him. We're trying to trace your family." The woman replied, and Ghost shook his head.
"But we don't have many resources, and I'm not going to wait." He replied.
"That's not the only problem, the kidnapping was very well carried out. They covered their tracks and used advanced devices. Whoever did it had control of all the cameras around, maybe even control of the whole block. If we had all our equipment, that wouldn't be a problem, but believe me when I say there's almost nothing." Ayala said, and Ghost snorted.
"It must have cost a lot. Simmons' location." He asked again, his voice laden with a little more impatience.
"Ghost, listen, Simmons has filed a complaint against the BSAA and that's already attracted some attention. If you go after him now, rumors will start that it wasn't just a coincidence. After all, the BSAA could be hurt in this." Ghost took another deep breath.
"Ayala... Simmons' location."
"Don't you think that if you go after Simmons the others will be afraid and might publish your file to the world?! They'll do anything to-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, his patience completely exhausted. His face, his body, his heart, everything was contorted in pure rage. "You're going to do your fucking job and I'm going to do mine! Now, for the LAST fucking time! Give. Me. Simmons. Location!"
The line went silent, the noise of the helicopter consumed the cabin, cut only by the sound of the agent's heavy breathing.
Ayala, on the other end, was shocked, a little surprised, but frightened and even offended. That was the first time he had shouted at her, or anyone from that organization, in all those years. The first time she had heard his truly angry voice, and she couldn't help feeling a little threatened.
"... He's going to the town hall in two hours, together with the president. They've been using the place for meetings since the White House was destroyed." Ayala said, and that was all Ghost needed to hear before he changed course in his helicopter.
The vehicle was too big, so he would have to leave it somewhere outside the city. Near the military camp set up after the attack would be a good option, since no one would question a military helicopter in the vicinity.
It would be a while before he reached the town hall, but considering that Simmons would be there in another two hours, he hoped he would make it in time. And especially, he was counting on arriving at night.
The security would be tight, since the president would also be there. In other words, getting in without being seen, once inside, would be easy.
All he needed now was a car.
The hours passed quickly, the night came with an icy air, and heavy clouds could be seen on the horizon.
Ghost landed on the roof of a nearby building and looked up at the town hall. In his hand, his hookshot, was how he had moved through the streets over the last hour.
The outside of the town hall was a mixture of shadowy nooks and areas dimly lit by streetlamps.
Raising his hookshot, he shot up to the side of the town hall roof and felt himself being pulled up there, rising with a certain grace to the spot, using the darkness of the night as camouflage.
There were a few black cars and vans parked around the place, as well as a high number of security guards around and inside.
His eyes focused on a skylight ahead, and with quick but silent steps, he approached the skylight, which opened with an almost inaudible creak, and the agent stepped gracefully through the skylight, landing in what appeared to be a small empty office.
Silently, he moved to the door and opened it, examining the corridor before starting to move. The sound of his boots, soft, was not audible enough to attract the attention of the security guards patrolling the corridors.
Moving quickly, Ghost arrived at an intersection, glancing at the building plans displayed on a compact holographic device. On a quick analysis, he chose to move through the ventilation ducts, forcing his way through the bars after seeing that there were no security guards around.
The cold metal path stretched out before him and Ghost crept silently towards the room where the meeting was currently taking place. In the distance, he could hear muffled voices, snatches of conversation.
Apparently, it was just an ordinary meeting of what the national security advisor was supposed to be doing, plotting security plans and projects with the latest attack in mind, as well as reporting on his latest work in conjunction with Terrasave.
Peering through a discreet ventilation grille, Ghost identified the room below. It was dimly lit, the occupants unaware of the shadowy figure watching them from above.
There was Simmons, sitting on a sofa opposite the president, who was standing next to a blonde figure. His daughter. Funny, he didn't know he could take his daughter to meetings.
Was he planning for her to take his place?
Doesn't matter.
Among them was a table with a laptop and some files scattered around.
Joining them in the room were two members of the president's personal security team. Highly trained agents, they accompanied him to each and every meeting.
He would have to eliminate those two first, be quick enough so that neither of them fled the room and eliminate the security guards behind that door.
It seemed simple enough.
From his tactical vest, he took out an EMP device and pressed the button. The device emitted a strong electromagnetic pulse, the communicators in the area were destroyed, interrupted or damaged throughout that area. Great, no backup now.
The light in the room went out, and it was at that moment that Ghost climbed down from the ventilation duct.
The sound of the grille falling to the ground startled the people inside, and at great speed, Ghost ran up to the agents responsible for the president's security. At the first, he landed a powerful punch to the agent's face, right on the chin, knocking him out immediately.
Turning his body to take advantage of the momentum of his movement, he landed a back kick to the head of the second agent, sending him violently to the ground, and the agent quickly ran towards the entrance.
The door was opened by security guards with flashlights illuminating the area. The first security guard was greeted by a strong kick to his chin. The second, surprised and frightened, tried to react by raising his pistol. However, Ghost grabbed his forearm, punched him in the jaw, followed by a kick to the side of his left leg, which sent him to his knees, and finally a knee to the face, knocking him out.
The agent quickly turned around, the room now illuminated by the dim light of the emergency light. His gun was pointed directly at Simmons' head, who, unlike the president, was standing and staring at him.
His eyes stared at him with an effervescent heat. His once cold eyes were burning with an intense blue glow, capable of consuming even the strongest of men.
"What's the meaning of this?!" Simmons asked, trying to mask his fear with anger, trying to be something he wasn't, a fighter.
Ghost approached with long, heavy, fast strides, and in one strong movement, hit a man with a side punch, causing him to turn violently, and then, he grabbed Simmons by the back of the head and threw him against the table, the thud startling the president and his daughter.
"Where are they?" He asked, his low but frightening voice piercing the minds and souls of everyone in the room. They had no idea how much he was holding back from ripping Simmons' head off with his bare hand.
"What the... fuck are you talking-" Simmons was interrupted by another punch to the face, leaving him disoriented.
"I don't have time for this shit." Ghost muttered, more to himself than to Simmons, and taking advantage of the fact that the man was dazed, he turned him around, grabbed his arm and in one precise movement broke it, grabbing Simmons' mouth with his other hand, preventing him from screaming.
The man, in turn, struggled violently, screamed and grunted, all of which was muffled by Ghost's strong grip on him.
He couldn't do anything... the agent was many times stronger than him.
"Where are they?" Ghost asked again, raising his gun to the president as he saw him move out of the corner of his eye. "You stay right there, Mr. President. My problem is not with you."
Simmons gasped as Ghost loosened his grip.
"Why do you think I'd tell you? Huh?! And why do you think they're still alive?! One word from me and they-" Ghost covered his mouth with his hand again and, with his knife, cut off two of Simmons' fingers.
The man screamed and struggled even harder than before. His heart beating harder and harder as the blood left his body, staining the gray carpet red.
"You're going to tell me, whether you like it or not. And trust me when I say that it's better for you that they're not dead." Ghost said again, letting go of the man, who grunted and gasped loudly a few times.
"You think I'm afraid of you?! Do you think threats will do any good?!" Ghost slowly crouched down, without taking his eyes off Simmons, showing the national security advisor that the most dangerous thing in that room was none other than the agent in front of him.
"... You don't need to fear me for yourself... but, who knows... maybe you should fear me for other people. What about your family?" Simmons' eyes widened slightly, his trembling hand clutching his wounded arm, his eyes staring with a certain disbelief and fear at the skull mask in front of him.
"What about your sweet Alice? Your wife who goes for a run every day at six in the morning, who occasionally goes to the gym with her neighbor. Who leaves the house every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday at one in the afternoon for work and returns at six." Ghost stood up slowly, starting to play with the bloody knife in his hands.
His tone of voice, his look, his body language... he was serious.
"What about your dear Isaac? Who leaves for school from six until noon. Who goes out to play ball with his friends in the afternoon and comes back just before dark. Every Saturday he goes to his colleague Everett's house and they spend the day together. Don't you fear for them?" Simmons breathed heavily, gritted his teeth and trembled at the threat. His face contorted in a mixture of fear, pain and worry.
"... You wouldn't do that... they have nothing to do with it! You... you don't kill innocent people!" Simmons said, and Ghost laughed scornfully, laughed debauchedly, spitting in Simmons' face, who felt cowed by the laughter.
"My family had nothing to do with it either. You say I don't kill innocent people... look at my eyes..." Ghost said, crouching down again and moving closer, maintaining eye contact at all times, without blinking, without looking away. His cold eyes seemed to freeze Simmons in place. "Do you really want to find out?"
Simmons swallowed some saliva, his body even shakier than before. The pain forgotten now, the fear taking over his body, his being, his thoughts. He found himself tied down, and his pride was desperately trying to get back on its feet.
"What would be the point of it all... huh? To go after innocent people! A child! You're no better than me! You're no better than Umbrella, or Wesker! You're just like every terrorist who's ever set foot on this earth!" Simmons spat out these words, desperately trying to cause some damage, to hit the agent in some way.
However, the worst thing that could happen did happen. Ghost's eyes remained the same, showing no reaction.
"I never said I was better than them, or you. You're right, but there is one thing that makes me different." Ghost held up just one finger. "I can be worse than all of you. So, if you want to see your family alive... if you want to do something good for the first time in your pitiful life, do as I say. For the last time... Where. Are. They?" Ghost asked for the last time, feeling the last remnants of his patience running out.
Simmons made an expression of defeat, his body protesting against his stubborn mind... his mind might try to trick him, but his body wouldn't lie... he was afraid, he was frightened, full of terror.
So, for the first time in a long time, he gave up.
"... They're in a facility... thirty-seven kilometers from Pittsburgh. It's my site, I use it as a security research center... they're alive. The men aren't mine, they're mercenaries I hired in conjunction with the vice-president of Nigeria and South Africa." He confessed, and Ghost clicked his tongue, shaking his head slightly.
"... Good choice." Ghost said, putting his knife back in its sheath, grabbing Simmons once again, by the back of his neck. "Now... I'm not going to kill you." The words surprised the man, who widened his eyes.
"You're more useful when you're alive. Listen carefully. Tomorrow, before the end of the day, you're going to reveal all your corrupt friends. Everyone who took part in hiring Ada Wong, everyone connected to the black market, everyone you've ever been involved with, all the files and illegal operations, everything. I don't care how you do it, internet, television, fuck it... just do it, but don't say anything about yourself. Keep your secrets a secret. And three days from now, at ten o'clock at night, sharp, I'm going to find you." Ghost said, standing up slowly as he faced the man on the ground.
Simmons, still panting, nodded, lowering his gaze, relieved, thanking any being that would listen that he was still alive.
Ghost's angry eyes rose to the president and his offspring. The man hugged the girl, who couldn't help but face the situation head on, despite her fear.
"Be very careful who you trust, President Graham." Ghost said, and the man stared at him with big frightened eyes. "One mistake... I'll come after you, and I'll make you remember that there are much bigger people than you out there." Ghost said, turning and walking out of the place, leaving before security showed up.
Now that he had his family's location in mind, he contacted HQ on his way out of the town hall.
"Ghost to purgatory." He said, firing his hookshot up to the roof of a building across the street, and moving through the darkness towards his helicopter.
"Purgatory here." Ayala's voice echoed over his radio.
"I found them." Ghost said, feeling the first raindrops hit his body.
Ghost remained crouched behind the dense vegetation, observing the installation ahead. The site was surrounded by a high fence with barbed wire.
Navigating in the darkness, he scanned the area, noting the positions of the guards and possible entry points.
Simmons had sent new orders to the mercenaries, perhaps this would make things a little easier, he just needed to act at the right time.
With his Hookshot, he fired at a metal walkway that connected two doors on the second floor of the facility, and landed with a velvety thud, his silenced rifle raised in a matter of moments.
Walking to the front door, he entered the facility, running his eyes down the corridor quickly and moving on when he didn't see any of the mercenaries.
In the center of the corridor, he looked over the railing beside him and saw two mercenaries below, both responsible for guarding the entrance, smoking inside because of the rain.
With his knife, he leapt over the railing, landing with his blade already in the neck of the first mercenary. Drawing his blade to himself quickly, he lunges forward and stabs the other mercenary in the neck as well, throwing his body forward.
Looking around, he checks to see if anyone is around, and after making sure no one has seen, he crouches down and takes an access card from one of his pockets, turning around and walking into the facility.
Hearing footsteps ahead, he raises his hookshot and moves upwards, balancing himself on a beam just below the ceiling, and waiting patiently for the mercenaries to pass and turn right, before they can see the bodies lying on the ground.
Jumping down again, he continues on his way. As he approached the heart of the facility, he came across a high-security entrance guarded by biometric scanners. Using the access card he had stolen, he passed through the scanners, advancing into the corridors of that labyrinth.
The low hum of the electronic equipment guided him towards the cells. He moved carefully through the corridors, avoiding the surveillance cameras and bypassing the alarms.
Until he came to an intersection. His eyes scanned the area with a certain intensity. To his left, the path led through the facility, and to his right, the corridor led through a metal grate gate, down into a dimly lit area that looked more like a basement.
In a choice of moments, he took the right, descending the stairs with quick but silent steps, and after a second or two, he heard some muffled voices ahead.
Descending a few more steps, his eyes focused on the room ahead.
The corridor led to a single room with an open metal door. It was a kind of prison, used for interrogation, simple apprehension or whatever else Simmons did.
He saw some mercenaries in front of him, apparently in each corner of the room. In the center were three people he knew well, even after all these years.
Grabbing the EMP device from his tactical vest, the lights went out and he advanced at great speed, hearing the grunts and surprised voices of the mercenaries ahead.
There were four in total. The first, Ghost, punched him in the face and cut his throat with his knife. The second fired at his silhouette, and he used the first mercenary's body as a shield, pushing his body towards his attacker.
The shots were probably heard throughout the facility, meaning there was no point in being stealthy.
Raising his Desert Eagle, he fired in the direction of the second mercenary, hitting him square in the head, practically exploding his skull.
The emergency light came on, and the last two mercenaries focused their eyes on the agent.
The third mercenary raised his rifle in his direction, only to be hit by two Desert Eagle shots, one in his neck, the other in the side of his head.
The last mercenary advanced towards Ghost, trying to stop him from raising the Desert Eagle. Ghost grunted slightly as he felt his arm being grabbed, and his eyes widened slightly as he saw the man try to punch him in the face.
The agent quickly ducked and countered with a punch to the stomach, causing the man to bend over from the force of the blow. With his knife, the agent slit the mercenary's throat in a deep cut, causing a large amount of blood to spurt from the wound.
The mercenary's body fell to the ground and lay motionless in a pool of blood.
The agent sighed heavily, put his knife back in its sheath, and finally faced the three bound people.
He swallowed some saliva... it had been so long, and at the same time that they had changed so much, they were so similar.
His father was still the same, despite looking a little more tired. The years hadn't treated him badly; his hair was still the same light color, despite the gray that now filled the sides.
His mother was the same, her hair was shorter than he remembered, there were a few more wrinkles on her face, her eyes a little deeper, just like his father's.
But it was his sister who had changed the most. She had grown a lot in those years, perhaps she was the same height as their father. Her hair was longer, her features more mature... she had become a beautiful woman.
The thing that bothered him most wasn't the gags in their mouths, or the ropes that tied them to those chairs. What bothered him most were their eyes, full of fear, terrified, their desperate features looking at him as if he were the devil himself.
Well, at least they didn't look hurt.
He approached with some hesitation, picking up his knife again, trying to ignore the pain in his chest as he saw them cowering in the chair.
"... I came here to help you." He said quietly, cutting the ropes that bound his father, then moving to do the same to his mother, and finally his sister.
He stowed his blade in the sheath on his shoulder and checked the corridor leading to the room they were in, avoiding looking at them for too long.
"I hope you can move... we need to go. Stay behind me, stay calm and I promise I'll get you out of here." He said, turning and looking at them over his shoulder. Crouching down, he picked up the rifle from one of the mercenaries on the ground and held it out towards his father.
He wasn't a cop, nor did he have military training, but he knew how to shoot a gun. Ever since they were rescued decades ago, he had made a point of learning to shoot and arm himself with different types of weapons.
"What the fuck... is going on?" His father asked, and Ghost gritted his teeth, controlling his feelings as he felt his body shiver. It had been so long since he had heard his voice.
"I'll explain later..." He said, and his father took the rifle from his hand.
He would never let anything happen to them while he was there, but he felt a little more at ease with him armed.
And with that in mind, he advanced down the corridor, hearing the footsteps of the mercenaries approaching ahead.