The Villa. Master Bedroom.
Kevin Snod was deep in a dream about expanding his hospital empire when the frantic pounding on the door shattered his peace.
"Honey? What is it?" his wife, Martha, mumbled, pulling the silk sheets over her head.
"I'll check," Kevin growled, his voice thick with sleep and irritation.
He marched to the door, ready to chew out whichever incompetent guard dared to wake him at midnight. He paid $3 million a year for security; he expected peace and quiet.
He threw the door open.
A bodyguard in a black suit stood there, his face pale. Another guard was positioned down the hallway, assault rifle raised, scanning the shadows.
Kevin's anger evaporated instantly.
"What's happening?"
"Sir, you and Mrs. Snod need to get to the panic room. Now," the guard said, his voice tight. "We have intruders on the grounds. Four of the perimeter team are non-responsive."
Kevin felt the blood drain from his face.
The Snod family fortune was built on healthcare, but Kevin's personal power came from his network. He rubbed shoulders with senators, tech moguls, and movie stars. He had enemies—jealous rivals, disgruntled patients, maybe even a scorned lover.
But an assault team?
"Did you call for backup?" Kevin demanded, his hands trembling.
"Yes, sir. The security company has dispatched a QRF (Quick Reaction Force). ETA 20 minutes."
"Twenty minutes?" Kevin squeaked. "We could be dead in five!"
"That's why we need to move, sir. The panic room is secure. Reinforced concrete and steel. Independent air supply. Nothing short of military-grade explosives can breach it."
Kevin nodded frantically. He rushed back into the bedroom.
"Martha! Get up! Now!"
He grabbed his wife's arm, shaking her violently.
"Intruders! We have to go!"
Martha blinked, still half-asleep. "Kevin? What are you talking about?"
BANG!
A gunshot echoed from downstairs. Then another.
"Sir! They're inside!" the guard shouted from the doorway. "We have to move!"
Kevin tugged at Martha, but his soft, pampered hands slipped. She was dead weight, confused and slow.
He looked at the door. Then at his wife.
Self-preservation kicked in.
"I'm sorry, honey," Kevin muttered.
He turned and ran out of the room, leaving his wife sitting on the bed in her nightgown.
"Go! Go!" Kevin screamed at the guards.
The two bodyguards flanked him, shielding him with their bodies as they hurried toward the elevator at the end of the hall. The panic room was in the basement. If they could just reach the elevator...
They moved tactically, checking corners.
As they rounded the bend toward the elevator bank, a small, dark object arched through the air, landing with a metallic clink at their feet.
The lead bodyguard looked down.
"Flashba—!"
BANG!
A blinding white light seared their retinas. The concussive blast slammed into them like a physical wall, rupturing eardrums and scrambling their equilibrium.
"AHHH!"
Kevin screamed, clutching his eyes. He stumbled blindly, crashing into the wall. The bodyguards fired wildly into the hallway, their shots tearing chunks out of the plaster and expensive artwork.
Pfft. Pfft.
Two suppressed shots cut through the chaos. The bodyguards dropped mid-spray.
Kevin slid down the wall, weeping, blinded, and deafened. He felt a presence looming over him.
The shooting stopped.
Silence descended on the hallway.
Kevin curled into a ball, waiting for the end.
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