Chapter 4: The Blind Spot
Chapter 4: The Blind Spot
My encrypted phone buzzed violently on the wooden table at 2:00 AM. It was a silent alert from the motion sensors at my suburban home back in the city. Richard, arrogant, impatient, and utterly predictable, had sent men to teach the old man a lesson.
I opened the encrypted video feed on my laptop. Two men in heavy tactical gear were kicking in my back door, the wood splintering loudly. They moved with the sloppy, arrogant confidence of private security, sweeping the empty living room with their flashlights, leaving their flanks completely exposed.
I tapped a sequence of keys on my laptop. Back in my empty house, a concealed speaker hidden behind a bookshelf crackled to life.
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"Gentlemen," my synthesized, distorted voice echoed through the dark house, startling the intruders on the screen. They spun around, weapons raised at the shadows. "You can tell Richard that sending rent-a-cops to do a wet-work job is a profound insult."
Before they could track the source of the audio and shoot the speaker, I triggered the failsafe. A deafening, localized stun-grenade rigged to the ceiling detonated. Even through the muted laptop speakers, the BANG was jarring. On the camera feed, a blinding flash of white light consumed the room. The men dropped their rifles, stumbling blindly out of the shattered back door, vomiting into my hydrangeas and clutching their bleeding ears. I closed the laptop, the screen going black. It was time to go on the offensive.
