Chapter 49 The Killing Scheme Fails
The first operative lost control completely.
His knee slammed into the metal frame of the folding bed.
A dull impact echoed through the second floor.
Outside the window—
The second operative froze immediately.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
No response came.
The first infiltrator had struck the back of his head against the folding bed during the fall.
Not severe trauma—
But enough to disorient him temporarily.
He struggled against the paraffin-coated floor, palms sliding repeatedly as he tried to rise.
The second operative entered through the window.
His technique was excellent.
Feet first.
Weight shifted backward.
One hand stabilizing against the frame.
Professional.
But he landed partially on the treated surface.
Half stable.
Half frictionless.
His reaction speed was fast.
Left hand shot toward the curtain rod instinctively.
Then—
A suture needle flew upward from downstairs.
Lynn stood at the base of the stairwell on the first floor.
Throw distance:
Approximately six meters.
The needle passed silently through the open vertical stairwell.
Trajectory—
Nearly perfect.
The tip pierced the second operative's right wrist near the radial artery.
Not intended to damage the artery.
The actual target—
The median nerve.
Pain exploded through the wrist instantly.
His fingers spasmed open involuntarily.
Grip lost.
His body pitched forward and crashed directly onto the first operative still struggling on the floor.
The two assassins tangled together across the paraffin-coated surface.
Neither could regain stable footing.
Lynn ignored them.
At present—
They no longer represented meaningful threats.
His attention shifted west.
Rear entrance.
Two heartbeats positioned outside the back door.
This time—
No crowbar.
Lock picks.
Quieter.
More disciplined.
The lock disengaged.
The back door opened inward slowly.
The first operative entered.
Left hand on the door.
Right hand holding a suppressed pistol below waist level.
Standard close-quarters ready stance.
Then—
His right foot stepped onto the silicone-coated floor.
Unlike paraffin powder—
Silicone lubricant produced near-total traction failure.
His leg shot forward instantly.
The operative's entire posture distorted as balance disappeared.
The pistol arm snapped upward instinctively during the fall.
Muzzle redirected toward the ceiling.
Lynn emerged from the corridor shadows.
Right hand—
Knife-edge strike.
Target:
Left carotid sinus.
Angle:
Forty-seven degrees.
Contact surface:
Approximately two centimeters along the outer edge of the palm.
Force applied:
Roughly twenty percent of available output.
Anything greater risked fatality.
The strike landed perfectly.
The carotid sinus transmitted a false hypertensive signal to the brainstem.
Physiological response:
Sudden parasympathetic overload.
Heart rate collapsed.
Blood pressure dropped instantly.
Cerebral perfusion failed.
The assassin lost consciousness immediately.
Lynn caught him before impact and lowered him silently onto the floor.
The second operative behind him heard the body drop.
Very faint.
But enough.
His reaction remained controlled.
Step backward.
Distance creation.
Right hand drawing a matte-finished combat knife.
No reflection.
No wasted movement.
He attempted visual acquisition inside the darkness.
Failed.
Then he listened for breathing.
Nothing.
Lynn's respiration had already slowed nearly beyond detection.
Combined with Black Widow's infiltration conditioning and enhanced physiology, his body became almost invisible in darkness when stationary.
The assassin began retreating cautiously.
Back against the wall.
Knife forward.
Feet inching toward the exit.
He intended to disengage.
Lynn refused to allow it.
The metal medicine shelf in the corridor—
Previously repositioned deliberately—
rested on four rolling casters.
Lynn kicked one wheel sharply.
The heavy shelf shot sideways across the corridor.
The operative heard it instantly and attempted evasion.
But the wall behind him removed lateral escape routes.
Only forward movement remained—
Directly into the shelf's path.
Impact.
The metal edge smashed into his right knee.
The joint collapsed inward.
His body pitched forward.
Lynn stepped in immediately.
Left hand seized the knife wrist.
Grip strength—
Super-Soldier Physiology enhanced by Jessica Jones's superhuman strength.
The operative's wrist locked in place like metal caught in a hydraulic press.
He tried to break free.
Couldn't.
Lynn's right elbow struck the temple.
Compact arc.
No wasted motion.
The operative dropped instantly.
Rear corridor—
Cleared.
Elapsed time from first rear operative to second incapacitation:
Nine seconds.
Almost silent.
Only two remained.
Front entrance.
Still outside.
Lynn's senses detected the change immediately.
The pair had stopped advancing.
The faint sounds from the rear corridor had transmitted through their communicators.
"Grey Falcon, no response from rear team."
"No response from second-floor team either."
Another voice answered.
Calm.
Controlled.
Grey Falcon.
"Proceed," he ordered.
"Full-force entry."
The front lock disengaged.
Two operatives burst through the entrance simultaneously.
The first held a suppressed pistol and monocular night-vision optic.
The second carried dual combat knives.
Seven seconds earlier—
Lynn had already positioned himself near the examination-room doorway.
Then he spoke.
"Your people are unconscious in the back."
The voice emerged calmly from darkness.
Through the night-vision optic, the first operative finally saw him clearly.
Dark clothing.
Gold-rimmed glasses.
Hands inside pockets.
Leaning casually against the doorway.
Like someone waiting for guests.
That calmness itself became threatening.
Inside the earpiece—
Grey Falcon's voice turned colder.
"Target is combat-capable."
"Abandon stealth."
"Engage immediately."
The order triggered movement.
The two operatives surged through the doorway.
Then—
The trap activated.
Instead of gunfire—
A dense cloud of pungent mist exploded downward from above the frame.
Medical alcohol.
Lynn had modified a compact pressurized spray mechanism and mounted it above the entrance.
Door impact triggered the release automatically.
Highly concentrated alcohol aerosol blasted directly into both operatives' faces.
Not lethal.
But devastating in confined conditions.
Their eyes ignited with burning pain instantly.
Tears flooded uncontrollably.
Nasal membranes reacted violently.
Coughing destroyed respiratory rhythm.
Vision blurred.
Weapon stability vanished.
And from beside the medicine cabinet—
A dark figure moved.
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