Chapter 197: Going In
The pristine clarity of the micro-repeater feed lit up the interior of the luxury car, casting sharp, cool shadows across Selena’s face.
On the main console screen, the rough schematics drawn in the vault’s dust were rendered into clear geometric overlays, showing the choke points, the elevated execution stage, and the patrol routes winding through St. Jude’s Plaza.
Beneath the tactical map, a secondary window processed the real-time biometric and environmental telemetry captured by Julie’s surviving sensors before they entered the subterranean tunnels.
Nicholas leaned over the center console, one gloved hand resting against his chin, his lone visible eye fixed on the telemetry stream.
"Look at the behavioral spikes on the eastern perimeter," Selena said, pointing a slender finger at a series of erratic heat signatures that had converged on the transit station minutes earlier.
"The moment Zephyr and Jackhammer broke into a run, the Overseers didn’t track their footfalls or rely on ambient light. The beasts pivoted three blocks away, sniffing the air currents before making a direct line for the alleyway."
"It confirms what we saw," Nicholas replied in a low, measured cadence."They do not hunt like ordinary predators. They don’t care about sound or visual movement unless it’s shoved in their faces. They hunt by olfactory resonance. The lingering signature of impure blood."
"Even when the dome strips the ability, the genetic blueprint remains," Selena noted, her brow furrowing with professional intensity as she analyzed the biological data. "The body of an impure still carries trace hormonal compounds, altered cellular decay, and low-frequency bio-radiation. To those demonic hounds, an impure smells like fresh blood in open water. That is why every hero who charged through the boundary was run down in minutes."
Nicholas straightened, his expression showing neither panic nor hesitation.
"Then the problem isn’t their speed, their claws, or their numbers. The problem is the scent. If we step past that line carrying our normal biological trace, we trigger an alarm across the entire perimeter before our boots touch the second block."
"And Joan’s script will ensure we have no abilities to fight our way out once we’re swarmed," Selena said. She glanced at him, a subtle edge of doubt in her voice.
"How do you mask a biological signature that’s woven into your DNA without using an active suppression field?"
"You don’t suppress the genetics," Nicholas answered smoothly. "You confuse the receptor."
He stepped out of the vehicle and walked to the rear, popping the trunk with a soft, mechanical click.
Selena followed him to the back of the car, looking down into the reinforced storage compartment.
The space was packed with organized rows of matte-black cases, unpowered tactical gear, and a collection of nondescript, industrial glass containers wrapped in shock-absorbing foam.
Nicholas unlatched an aluminum field kit, pulling out several dark amber bottles labeled with chemical shorthand, alongside a canister of industrial solvent used in deep-sublevel heavy maintenance.
"Old contract habits," Nicholas said, setting the containers on the flat lip of the trunk. "In the field, when you’re tracking a target protected by scent-trained guard beasts or synthetic bio-hounds, standard perfumes and cover scents are useless. They just smell the perfume on top of the meat. You have to use an aggressive counter-reagent. A compound that breaks down surface skin lipids, neutralizes pheromones, and binds to airborne bio-particles."
He popped the seal on the primary solvent, releasing a sharp, pungent odor that smelled faintly of crushed wintergreen, denatured alcohol, and sulfur.
"So let me get things straight, were you some sort of hitman?"
"No, I told you before... I watched a lot of movies"
Selena rolled her eyes at him.
She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she mentally dissected the molecular chain from her years of supervisor training. "The base is an organic sulfur-binding ester. It strips the skin oils, but it’s too volatile. The moment your body heat rises from sprinting or physical combat, the evaporation rate will skyrocket. The compound will burn off in less than five minutes, leaving your natural impure scent exposed."
Nicholas glanced up, a faint, approving spark in his eye. "Which is why I brought a supervisor."
Selena did not waste a second. Reaching into the car’s emergency medical kit, she retrieved a vial of high-density medical grade gelatin and a small canister of synthetic lipid stabilizers. "Mix the ester with the lipid stabilizer at a one-to-three ratio. The stabilizer will trap the neutralizer against the dermal layer, creating a semi-permeable film. As body temperature increases, the film slowly breaks down rather than evaporating all at once. It will buy us at least forty-five minutes of total biological suppression."
"Forty-five minutes is plenty of time to clear the perimeter," Nicholas said.
Working with steady, synchronized efficiency, they combined the chemicals in a stainless steel mixing bowl. The resulting solution turned a pale, milky gray, cooling rapidly into a thin, odorless salve.
Nicholas stripped off his outer jacket, rolling up his sleeves to apply the cold paste across his forearms, neck, face, and the exposed skin beneath his collar. The sensation was bitterly cold, tightening against the pores like a thin layer of dry wax. Selena took a portion of the salve and applied it just as thoroughly, coating every inch of exposed skin before pulling her dark tactical uniform back into place.
Once the chemical masking was set, Nicholas reached back into the trunk, pulling out two heavy, unpowered weapon cases.
There were no energy channels, no impure-conductive alloys, and no flashy designs. Everything was cold, dense steel, carbon-reinforced polymers, and hardened tungsten. He selected a pair of customized semi-automatic pistols fitted with thick, multi-chambered mechanical suppressors, alongside a set of balanced, non-reflective combat blades and several spools of high-tensile monofilament wire.
He handed Selena a compact, suppressed nine-millimeter sidearm, two spare magazines, and a combat knife with a reinforced grip.
"Check the action," Nicholas instructed, his voice dropping into the quiet authority of a veteran instructor.
Selena racked the slide with a crisp, practiced motion, checking the chamber before seating the magazine with a solid slap of her palm. Her hands were steady, the drills from the underground gallery earlier that night showing their immediate worth.
"Now, the entry," Nicholas said, turning toward the shimmering amber wall of the dome that loomed fifty yards ahead across the asphalt. "The Master’s inner circle is concentrated at St. Jude’s Plaza. Hexi, Shadow, Zayx, and Sniper are maintaining the perimeter around the central stage, waiting for heroes to rush down the main avenues."
"And the Overseers?" Selena asked.
"The Overseers form a loose, circular net along the outer three districts," Nicholas explained, drawing a mental line through the city streets. "They’re stationed at the major intersections and elevated perches. The moment an intruder enters, the nearest hound catches the scent, lets out a tracking howl, and coordinates the swarm. If we engage them loud, we alert Sniper on the clock tower and tell the Master that someone has breached the wall."
He secured the suppressed pistols into their holsters, tightening the straps around his thighs.
"We won’t be using any flares or explosives. That goes for firing unsuppressed rounds," Nicholas continued, his tone chillingly precise. "We’ll also cross the boundary on foot. The masking formula makes us invisible to their noses. If an Overseer crosses our path, we eliminate it with cold steel and suppressed fire before it can alert the others. We take down the perimeter hounds one by one, clear a clean corridor straight to the central district, and link up with Julie."
Selena checked the safety on her weapon, holstering it beneath her tactical coat. She looked at the translucent barrier, where the distorted ruins of the city waited in grim silence.
"A clean, silent sweep," Selena said, exhaling a quiet, steadying breath. "No heroes. Just hitmen."
"Exactly," Nicholas said, pulling his gloves tight over his knuckles. "Let’s go to work."