I would like to say that I was in no way tempted to do exactly that. To slip away in the smoke and confusion and stick to my goal. Saving these people fell under the heading of “mission creep,” adding to the scope of work I already had. It would put me in danger. It would put Ghost in danger. We might not even succeed in saving anyone and die in the process, leaving Santoro free to destroy more lives. More families.

I watched the gun battle on the computer screen.

And for a few brittle moments, I saw my family there. Standing to one side of the barricade. Clustered together. Not watching the battle. They were all looking at me. I saw my father’s lips move as if he were talking.

To me.

But I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Dad…?” I breathed. “Dad, for god’s sake, tell me what I should do.”

He stopped talking and just looked at me. And then, one by one, they turned their backs and walked away into the smoke.

It came close to breaking me.

“Dad!” I yelled. Actually yelled it out loud.

He thinks you’re abandoning him, whispered the Darkness. They all do.

Tears, hot as acid, burned in my eyes.

I looked down at Ghost. His gaze was dark and scalpel sharp. He bared his gleaming metal teeth.

I holstered my dart gun, then released the magazine of the Sig Sauer, replacing it with a full one.

Together, we ran into hell.

CHAPTER 105

DAS VERARBEITUNGSZENTRUM

We used the smoke and confusion to move through the building, following the gunfire. We came upon one of the processing plant’s guards sprawled near another T junction. He was torn apart. Literally. Both arms and his jaw had been savagely ripped from his body. It was a hideous thing to see, and I only prayed he’d at least died quickly.

Around the corner, I found his partner. He sat against the wall with a gaping, ragged red hole where his throat should have been. It looked as if someone had taken a fistful of his windpipe and torn it out, discarding the mess by throwing it against a wall.

There’s killing in combat, and even a measure of savagery that sometimes happens in the heat of the fight, but this…? This was a kind of malicious mayhem that spoke to a pernicious delight. These Fixers were having fun. Playing with whatever faux superpowers were granted them by their armor.

Even so … it scared the absolute hell out of me.

But it also made me angry.

Really damned angry.

Ghost growled low in his chest, not looking at the corpses but glaring along the hall where bloody footprints showed the path the Fixers had taken.

“Yeah,” I told him quietly, “let’s go get some.”