Hospital Debauchery

The night air of Geneva slipped cool through the slightly cracked window of the limo, carrying the faint tang of lake water and the promise of rain on the horizon.

Devon sank into the plush leather seat, his black suit was rumpled now, a dull ache spreading from a bruise on his arm where he'd braced himself during the egg challenge. Blood still pulsed in his ears, not just from the competition but from the system's warning looping like a siren in his mind: Survive the next 24 hours. Assassination attempt on your life.

It clung to him, turning every flicker outside the tinted windows into a threat every parked car a hiding spot, every pedestrian a potential killer.

He rubbed his temple, trying to ease the knot in his stomach, but it tightened with each quiet turn of the road.

Claudia sat beside him, her fingers moving silent and swift across her phone screen, the blue glow casting sharp angles on her face. Her silver-streaked hair stayed perfect in its tight bun, her blazer crisp as if the packed exhibition hall hadn't touched her.

Markus filled the driver's seat up front, his broad shoulders steady, hands loose on the wheel as the limo glided through Geneva's quiet streets, the engine purring like a stalking panther. He hummed a low tune, some old folk song, its rhythm steady enough to cut through the tension.

The city lights streaked by yellow glows and white neon blursmixing with the dark glint of the lake to their right, the mountains looming like silent sentinels in the distance.

Claudia glanced up, her voice cool and even. "Yvonne will be pleased, you did very good today sir. I already sent her a prelim report." Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching Markus's quick nod, a silent check-in between them.

Devon opened his mouth to respond, maybe to laugh off the blindfolds as a stunt, but the words never came.

A low rumble erupted from nowhere, swelling fast into a feral roar like a beast charging from the shadows. A massive black truck exploded out of a side street, its headlights blazing like twin suns, its grille a snarling wall of chrome. It hurtled toward them, no swerve, no brake, tires screaming on the pavement like a banshee's wail.

Markus swore sharp, yanking the wheel hard left, but it was too late the truck slammed into the limo's passenger side with a bone-shattering crunch. Metal twisted immediately, the impact hurling Devon against the door, glass cracking in a jagged web, the world spinning into a blur of motion and pain. The limo skidded wildly, tires burning rubber in a cloud of acrid smoke, sparks flying from the grinding frame as it scraped along the road.

Claudia's phone flew from her hand, clattering under the seat, her body slamming against the opposite door. Markus gripped the wheel white-knuckled, his massive frame braced, shouting, "Hold on!" The truck rammed again, a second brutal hit that crumpled the hood like tinfoil, smoke pouring from the engine, the cabin flooding with the hot stink of oil, metal, and burned rubber.

Devon's head smacked the window, stars bursting in his vision, a sharp pain blooming on his forehead as the seatbelt dug into his chest like a steel band, stealing his breath. The limo spun, screeching, and slammed into the guardrail with a final groan, tilting on the pavement, engine hissing, lights flickering like dying fireflies. The night fell strangely silent, broken only by the distant wail of horns and the creak of settling wreckage.

Devon gasped, his vision swimming, ears ringing like a struck gong. Blood trickled warm from a cut above his brow, stinging his eye, dust and glass shards coating his suit like grim snow. His hands shook as he fumbled with the seatbelt, the system's warning screaming louder now, This is it.

Claudia was already moving, her hand diving into her jacket, pulling a sleek pistol with a click, her voice razor-sharp: "Markus, status! We need to move!" Markus groaned, blood dripping from a split lip, his head shaking off the daze. "Alive," he grunted, kicking his door open with a heavy thud. Devon pushed at his door, the handle jammed, his mind racing, this was no accident, not with the system's alert burning in his skull. The truck loomed ahead, its front battered but engine still growling, headlights glaring like predator eyes through the smoke.

Tires screeched behind them two black SUVs that had trailed at a distance roared up, Yvonne's security team spilling out like a pack of wolves. They were hardened pros, clad in dark tactical gear, vests thick with plates, faces set under balaclavas, pistols and submachine guns gleaming in their hands. "Protect Dr Devon!" the lead guard barked, a burly man with a jagged scar slicing his cheek, his voice rough as gravel over the chaos. They fanned out fast, boots pounding, taking cover behind their SUVs, weapons trained on the truck. "Form a perimeter! Lock it down!" a woman guard shouted, her short hair tucked under a cap, dropping to a knee and aiming her submachine gun with steady hands, her breath calm despite the wreckage.

But before they could close the gap, the truck's rear boot flew open with a metallic clang that echoed like a gunshot, and out poured armored men, black from helmet to boots, their gear gleaming under the streetlights like obsidian armor. Thick vests bulged with ammo pouches, assault rifles gripped tight in gloved hands, visors hiding their faces, movements sharp and deadly as a strike team.

They hit the pavement heavy, boots thudding like war drums, fanning out in a disciplined wave. "Take him alive!" one growled, voice muffled but cold as ice through the helmet, his rifle snapping up. Bullets erupted in a storm, the night exploding in muzzle flashes, crack-crack-crack splitting the air like thunder gone mad. Lead tore into the security SUVs, glass shattering in glittering showers, bullets pinging off metal with sparks that lit the dark like fireflies on a rampage.

The security guards fired back instantly, their guns barking loud in a ferocious counterattack, bullets whizzing toward the armored men in a storm of defiance. The scarred lead guard ducked behind his SUV door, popping up to unleash four shots, bam bam bam bam slamming into an armored vest, the man stumbling back with a grunt but returning fire, his rifle chattering relentlessly.

"Kill them!" the woman guard yelled, rolling left with catlike speed, her submachine gun rattling as she laid down cover, bullets stitching across an armored man's thigh, dropping him with a howl as blood sprayed dark on the pavement.

But the armored men surged forward, fearless, their rifles roaring like dragons, bullets shredding an SUV's windshield in a shower of glass, another grazing the lead guard's arm, blood blooming as he cursed but kept firing, his pistol kicking hard in his hand.

It was gunshot for gunshot, a heart-pounding, chaotic dance of destruction that turned Geneva's quiet street into a war zone under the pale moon. An armored man charged like a bull, rifle blazing, bullets chewing up asphalt in puffs of dust, forcing a guard to dive behind a wheel, his body slamming the ground.

The guard fired from the dirt, clipping the man's shoulder, spinning him with a spray of blood, but the armored figure rolled, popping up to fire back, pinning two guards with a hail of lead. "Suppress them!" another armored voice barked, their line advancing, boots stomping in unison, guns spitting fire like a coordinated assault.

A security guard lobbed a flashbang, the explosion blinding and loud, white light searing the night as three armored men staggered, firing wild into the smoke, one bullet zipping past Claudia's head as she crouched by the limo's door. She fired back, her pistol popping sharp, pop pop hitting an armored vest dead center, the man grunting but pushing forward like a machine.

Markus burst from the driver's side, his massive frame a wall of muscle, gun in hand, firing steady, bam bam dropping an armored man with a headshot that shattered the visor, the body crumpling like a marionette with cut strings.

The fight roared on, relentless and insane, a symphony of chaos where every move was life or death. The air choked with gunpowder stink, the copper tang of blood, and the hot reek of burned rubber, shouts and shots blending into a deafening cacophony.

An armored man vaulted over an SUV hood, rifle chattering, bullets raking a guard's leg, the man screaming as he fell but still firing, his shot catching the attacker in the neck, blood spurting like a fountain as the armored body collapsed.

The woman guard flanked right, her submachine gun rattling like a chainsaw, dropping two with precise bursts to the knees, their bodies jerking like broken toys. But the armored men were unstoppable, their numbers overwhelming, twenty, maybe thirty, pouring from the truck like a black tide. Their rifles chewed through ammo, bullets flying like a swarm of angry hornets, one slamming into a guard's chest, his vest saving him but knocking him flat, gasping like a fish out of water.

"Hold the line!" the scarred lead guard roared, tossing a smoke grenade that billowed thick gray clouds, turning the street into a foggy battlefield, shots and shouts echoing like ghosts in a storm.

The armored men pressed through the smoke, guns blazing with no hint of fear, as if death was just a minor inconvenience. One took a bullet to the arm, blood dripping dark, but kept firing, his rifle spitting rounds that shattered an SUV's tire with a loud pop, rubber flapping useless.

Another tackled a guard to the ground, the two rolling in a brutal tangle, fists and boots flying, the guard landing a hard knee to the gut, the armored man headbutting back with a crack that split the guard's brow, blood streaming. Bullets zipped everywhere, ricocheting off cars with sparks that lit the night, shattering a streetlamp in a shower of glass that rained down like jagged snow, slicing skin where it landed.

The security team fought like cornered lions, their training razor-sharp, ducking low, covering each other, firing in disciplined bursts but the armored men's gear gave them the edge. Their vests soaked up hits, turning bullets into bruises, their rifles outgunning the guards pistols and subs, their numbers a relentless wave.

Claudia leaned out from the limo, her pistol popping with deadly precision, her shots forcing an armored man back, his vest sparking as bullets hit. Blood trickled from her shoulder now, a graze from a stray round, but her face stayed hard, eyes narrowed like a predator's.

Markus roared forward, his big body charging, tackling an armored man with a crunch that echoed, the two crashing to the pavement in a heap. Markus pounded a fist into the man's ribs, the armored vest creaking, but the man swung back, his elbow cracking against Markus's jaw with a sickening thud, blood spraying from a cut lip.

Another guard, a wiry guy with a buzzcut, flanked left, his submachine gun blazing, dropping an armored man with a burst to the leg, the man howling as he fell, clutching his thigh. But two more armored figures covered him, their rifles chattering, pinning the guard down as bullets shredded his cover, glass and metal flying.

The chaos surged, a relentless storm of violence. A security guard lobbed another flashbang, the blast searing the night, blinding four armored men who stumbled, their shots going wild, one bullet smashing a shop window across the street, alarms wailing into the night.

The woman guard sprinted through the smoke, her gun barking, taking down another armored man with a shot to the knee, his scream piercing as he fell. But a bullet caught her leg, blood blooming dark as she dropped, rolling to cover but still firing, her face twisted in pain and defiance. The scarred lead guard charged, his pistol blazing like a storm, dropping an armored man with a headshot that cracked the visor, blood spraying like paint.

"Push them back!" he bellowed, but the armored men kept coming, their fire unrelenting, bullets tearing through the air like a swarm of death.

In the heart of the madness, Devon shoved at his jammed door, the metal groaning from the crash. Dust coated him like ash, bruises pulsing hot on his arms, chest, and ribs, a deep cut on his forehead leaking blood that stung his eyes and blurred his vision.

He kicked the door hard, the hinges giving with a screech, and he stumbled out, coughing in the thick smoke, the night air cold but choked with the stench of burned rubber, oil, and gunpowder. The street glowed with muzzle flashes, a strobe-light nightmare of chaos, bullets whizzing past like angry wasps. One pinged off the limo's hood inches from his face, sparks flying bright, the metal denting with a clang. "Get back!" Claudia shouted from the other side, her pistol popping as she fired at a looming armored shape, her voice sharp over the din. Markus roared from the front, "Devon, stay down!" He yelled as he dropped another attacker, the body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.