The first gunshot didn't raise anyone's suspicions beyond what they already knew was transpiring within the large room where the interrogation was taking place. The screams, the shouting and the light bark of the Monitor's pistol were all expected. However, the second gunshot sounded all wrong to the group standing in the hallway near the makeshift lobby of the building by the large black sedans that were trademark Triumvirate vehicles. The second gunshot rumbled out of the room, filled with more bass and power. The most observant of the group soon came to realize that the second gunshot came from a weapon very similar to the one packed in his underarm holster. He instinctively moved to draw his own Desert Eagle and launched himself down the hall. Seconds later, the rest of the group were in motion. He barked orders to the team.
"You three stay there," he shouted over his shoulder to the men outside positioned at three points around the monitor's sedan.
"The rest of you are with me! Standard infiltration pattern. Form up on my position."
They closed on the room through the twisting hallways, displaying a tactical acumen not even found in most police units. Leapfrogging each other from corner to doorway, never dropping cover, they quickly closed in on the interrogation chamber. They almost drowned in the eerie silence that seemed to be palpably emanating from inside the room. Approaching, the point man in the formation drew a closed fist up over his shoulder to signal to the rest of the group that they should slow their approach. Taking up position in a dimly lit corner of the hallway outside of the room, he motioned for two of the enforcers to take up flanking positions on either side of the door.
In a stark contrast to the predictable screams and commotion that came with a typical interrogation, the only thing that he could make out was a muted soft moaning or sobbing emanating from within. The details of what transpired hit him all at once, as if he had been slapped in the face. The muted weeping, the silence of the Monitor and his personnel from the room, as well as the muffled sounds of anguish, could only mean one thing. The Sword of Cain had escaped.
Now the cold realization that he and his team were facing one of the deadliest individuals ever forged in the fires of combat settled on him like cold fingers gripping his heart. He knew exactly what the price of rebellion exacted. The consequences of dissent and the inability to perform was well understood. He also understood the price of failure and what would happen to him if he didn't attempt to take down one of the most lethal Swords of the Triumvirate ever to exist in recent history. With that solemn awareness he took a deep, controlling breath and signaled to his team to breach. Based on their hesitation, they had come to the same slow conclusion that he had. However, like him, each of them preferred death to failure. Together, they surged, breaching the room.
Cain's mind had frozen seconds ago. He experienced a tidal wave of crushing thoughts and emotions that roiled inside him as his soul shattered like glass. For all his might and strength, he wasn't fast enough or strong enough to prevent Raylene's death. Waves of denial washed over him as he attempted to think of what he could do to bring her back. Panic slowly began to creep in as with each passing second, he knew that any hope of helping her was slowly vanishing. He could almost feel her life fading further and further away from any possibility of return. All he could do his to rock back and forth, cradling her still and limp form. His reality was slowly unraveling as he began to collapse under an immense force of grief and horror.
Strangely, he was fully aware of the group outside the room. He had expected there would be a small army attached to the Monitor if they had any hope of taking him down. He heard their soft-shelled boots grind across the floor outside the room. He routinely registered that there was no escape from the chamber save for the single door on the opposite side of the room. It was a clear testament to how entrenched his training was even in this traumatic moment. His instincts and skill were more than a system of behaviors that had been ingrained into him far before he could remember. They were part of who he was. They were also part of what had been responsible for the death of his wife and all he held dear.
However, this realization brought no comfort. In fact, it was the opposite. He wanted to die. He wondered what it would feel like if he let the assault team outside strike him down. He would leave the stark pain of an uncertain existence. He knew he didn't know how to live or survive without her. How could he possibly go on? What would his life be like without her? Her empty face still vapidly stared at him through lifeless eyes.
"Get them for me," was all that he remembered her saying.
The cadre of enforcers at the door were massing, getting ready to surge into the room. Perhaps it was the combination of what his wife had imparted to him with her dying breath, or it could have been the galvanizing force of anguish which quickly forged itself into an all-consuming anger. Whatever the core catalyst was, in this moment, Cain could only crystalize one motivation more powerful than his desire to die along with his wife. It was to make them pay. All of them.
It was as if Cain revived every biological function he suspended while he watched his wife die. His heartbeat surged, his muscles, still burning with fatigue, tensed anew and his tear-filled eyes found a burning focus. He swore that before he died and joined his wife in silent embrace of death, he would have what was rightfully his. He would have vengeance.
His blood boiled as he turned away from Raylene while gently laying her head down on the cold concrete floor. If he were to visualize the emotional and mental transition he was experiencing, it would be akin to sliding down a dark tube into a boiling pit of fury and violence.
The first pair of enforcers noisily burst through the doors to the room. In the time that it took them to pinpoint where Cain was, he had already loosed two shots at them. The loud thunderclap of the Desert Eagle echoed beyond the room into the hall. Although they were wearing Kevlar vests, they were blown off their feet and thrown to the doorframe.
In a strange air of nonchalance and calm, Cain quietly strode over to their sprawled forms. The Kevlar couldn't entirely stop the .357 round. With a cold and merciless precision, he callously emptied the magazine into their groaning and still bodies. The pooling blood that crept out from under their corpses filled him with a familiar yet cold energy. Without time to think, Cain tossed the nine-round pistol aside. The large weapon clattered noisily to the floor as three more rushed him from the dark depths of the hallway beyond the door. Using the one closest to him as a shield, he charged at them, attempting to use the threshold to stymie their breach into the room. He savagely grabbed the nearest man's throat.
"Get them for me," he heard his wife's words echo almost as clearly as she were screaming it to him from her deathly still position on the floor.
He spun the man, wrenching the gun from his hands. Cain unleashed a wave of suppression fire into the corridor. A return barrage of small arms fire screamed through the doorway. He could feel the man convulse with each round that struck him. Counting on the strength of his attacker's Kevlar to protect him, he continued firing. Rounds ripped into the dying man's form he now used for cover. Specks of blood and flesh flew as the man's ability to provide him with meaningful protection degraded. The firepower from beyond the room forced Cain to pull back and retreat farther into the interrogation chamber.
"Get them for me," he heard again as two more stormed into the small space.
Still holding a gun in his right hand, he vaulted, covering the distance between them quickly. He came down hard on the nearest assailant, whipping the attacker with the butt of the pistol's grip. The weight of the gun and the force of Cain's full body spring cracked the man's cranium. As he crumpled, Cain pulled the combat knife out of his enemy's hip sheath, ripping it free and slashing through the exposed throat tissue of the second enforcer. Slicing through his tactical communications gear and watching the blood spray sent Cain into what could only be described as a murderous rage fueled by grief, revenge and raw, unleashed anger. He wanted to continue to stab the man has he fell, over and over, but he was presented with a much more attractive target.
"Get them for me..."
Get them he did. Before the dead man fell, Cain planted a hand on his shoulder and leaped to intercept the remaining enforcers. Their fire followed him as he scrambled with a swiftness that defied their belief. He landed, rolling from a crouch to his full height, raking the closest attacker with the blade as he did so. The enforcer reeled, watching his own blood and innards spew into the air, only to be blown off his feet as Cain brought his gun into play, drilling the hapless man at point blank range. He spun on his left foot, burying his knife to the hilt into the enforcer approaching him. As the man doubled over, making gurgling and sputtering noises, Cain buried the barrel of the Desert Eagle under his chin, using it as a lever to easily flip the man over his shoulder. Without looking, he estimated where he slammed into the flooring behind him, and Cain unleashed a shot directly into the man's skull. The hollow point did its job as Cain felt the sickening spray of his enemy's innards on his back. The scene repeated itself with similar results. With unbelievable and indescribable ease, Cain, using a blood-soaked combat knife and a nine round Desert Eagle brought death to an entire Triumvirate enforcement team. His anger flowed through him freely as he exacted death and destruction on those that stood in opposition to him.
"Escort team, we need backup in the south interrogation room! Equip for heavy combat and form up on this signal immediately!"
The team's commander tried to drive the stark fear from his voice as he watched what could only be described as a demon tear through his squad of highly trained combat personnel. The remaining group of men he had flanking him pulled their spare pistols from their secondary holsters and stepped in front of him. He motioned, breaking the rules of engagement by hoarsely shouting at them.
"Don't get close to him! Keep your distance! You can't take him hand-to-hand!"
Overhearing their frantic cries, Cain quickly identified the commander of the unit from this exchange. As any commander should, he remained detached, almost motionless while his men threw their lives away against a superior foe. And, as any highly capable assassin and soldier knew, if you destroy a unit's ability to organize, chaos will ensue. The commander was well protected, and the enforcers closest to him now had adapted his strategy.
They kept their distance and barked fire at Cain's shadowy, fleeting figure. The rounds impacted with the cinderblock floors and walls, kicking up tiny clouds of dust where he stood seconds before. Rolling across the floor, Cain crossed the room laterally, collecting the combat knives from the dead. He knew that his pistol didn't have enough ammunition to take them all down. The openness of the room worked against him as he had no place to hide. Propping up the dead bodies, even with their Kevlar protection, wouldn't provide him with enough room to counter them.
It didn't stop him. It couldn't. His blood pumped, his rage flared, and his determination blossomed. It focused and steadied him, allowing Cain to react faster than his enemy. In an unexpected move, he dropped the gun. Before it clattered to the floor three of the knives struck their targets. The commander watched as the bodies of the enforcers in front of him fell to the ground with standard issue combat knives sticking out of their eye sockets, neck and skull. The remaining two couldn't track him with the speed at which he moved. Blades ripped through them as the man who bore the namesake of his weapon, Sword of Cain, took their lives from them as easily as he breathed.
The commander, now face-to-face with Cain, truly realized what it meant to fight a Sword of the Triumvirate. He respected his enemy while simultaneously wondering how he still survived. Unexpectedly, Cain seemed to pitch backwards, and the commander suddenly found himself staring at the woman lying sprawled on the floor. He wondered why the entire room seemed to be rolling along with Cain, but he soon came to realize that it was he that had fallen backwards, finding that his legs were no longer able to support his weight.
Cain had slashed through the man's tactical gear, clothing, skin and muscles, eviscerating him with an undeniable speed. He wasn't sure where else he was hurt, but soon realized that as he descended into shock, his body had shut down his ability to interpret pain signals. He watched as Cain, having dispatched a team of over fifteen highly trained specialists, gathered a wealth of weaponry, ammunition and supplies from the dead. Crouching over the last body, picking over the man's boots, tactical vest, equipment harnesses and communications gear, Cain gave a sidelong glance toward the makeshift table the Monitor was sitting at a few moments before. Now a bleeding corpse, Cain stepped over him to the slate propped up on the table.
The red light on the camera affixed to the display screen flashed indicating its activity. The software immediately captured and streamed various frames and clips from its operational time in the room. In various positions on the display surface, time indexes looped over and over again. Images of the back of the Monitor's body during his verbal tirade, a tactical team bringing in the bound and unconscious form of Cain into the room, and Cain decimating the tactical team splashed across the screen in loops.
However, despite the panoply of destruction and savagery, he was focused only on one element of the screen. The Monitor killing his wife. Over and over, he saw the shot tear through her. Through tearing eyes, he noticed a visual status indicating that the slate was streaming the video feeds in real time. With his head bowed, Cain found himself growling out a scathing and fear-inspiring tirade.
"'Fear of loss is what keeps the warrior caste in line'. That's what he said to me before he killed my wife."
His voice almost faltered but his anger powered him through it.
"Ask yourselves this. Now that you have taken her from me, how will you keep me in line?"
Cain spat at the screen. He raised his head, defiantly gazing into the camera, his eyes aglow with churning rage.
"You can't. You have taken everything... everything from me."
He paused, searching for what to say and do next.
"Get them for me," he heard his wife's voice echo in his head.
"And now I will take everything you have away from you. Your lives, your possessions, your way of life. This day, you have surrendered them all to me. After I have made you suffer, then I will take your very existence."