Apocalypse Queen: My Space, My Rules Chapter 145: The Bunker That Bites Back

Only the death-row convicts had firearms. The ragtag army of disaster refugees, ex-security guards, and bodyguards who'd joined the gang were relegated to foot-soldier duty.

They weren't trusted with guns. Black Bear didn't trust them.

When the fighting started, they were shoved to the front—cannon fodder, human shields. When supplies were divided, they were pushed to the back—scraps and leftovers.

Number Seven had been placed at the very front, holding a megaphone. "Brothers at No. 98, it's me, Number Seven! Good news—the legendary Black Bear himself is here! Open the gates, hand over Mariella, and every single one of us can join his crew. He takes care of his people. We'll be untouchable."

Inside No. 98, no one had expected Number Seven to be leading the charge.

With a megaphone, no less.

Fists clenched. Teeth ground. Everyone wanted to go out there and end him.

"This piece of trash is really pushing it."

"Serena needs more range time. It's a shame she didn't blow his kneecap off that night."

"Ms. Townsend, let us go take out the traitor!"

Mariella's face was ice. "One piece of garbage isn't worth the effort. Stay calm. Wait for the order."

...

Over a hundred men hit No. 98 from every angle.

They circled the whole perimeter and came to a realization: there was no way in.

The main gate was sealed with thick steel—ramming it was pointless, and a cannon might not even crack it. The perimeter wall was ten feet high, topped with bulletproof glass that a sledgehammer couldn't touch.

They got ladders up to the roof only to discover it had been blast-proofed. Nothing they had could break through.

After exhausting themselves, the consensus was unanimous: "This isn't a house. It's a bunker."

It got worse.

A violent crackle of electricity hit every person on the roof and the glass canopy at once.

They were cooked instantly by the high-voltage grid.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Charred bodies fell one after another. The crowd below stumbled backward, screaming.

A blackened corpse landed at Number Seven's feet. He nearly dropped the megaphone.

"It's—the electric grid! I remember now—there's a high-voltage grid on the roof!"

Black Bear had expected to crack this house open in minutes. The first wave was a disaster.

"Can't handle this? Burn it down!" He ordered.

Gasoline-soaked improvised firebombs were lobbed onto the glass canopy and the roof.

The bulletproof glass and the blast-proof roof were also fireproof. Nothing caught.

...

The Celestine Ridge homeowners were watching through binoculars and drones, blood pumping.

Why hadn't they thought to install bulletproof glass? Why hadn't they thought of an electric grid?

No. 98 was brilliant. They needed to copy everything.

...

No. 98's defenses were holding, but the mob circling outside was relentless and infuriating.

Number One volunteered. "Let me take the team up and deal with them."

Mariella nodded. "Take the ballistic shields and nail guns. Use the roof for elevation. And be careful—pull back the second anything goes wrong."

Five minutes later, the fully armed team was on the rooftop.

Ballistic shields locked into a wall. Nail guns aimed down.

The modified nail guns had an effective range of 60 feet. Every teammate had been drilling daily and had passed the monkey-swing shooting test.

Shooting from a stable rooftop was child's play compared to swinging on a rope.

The front ranks of the mob went down in waves. Panic spread. The ones behind scrambled backward.

Screaming, cursing, shoving—the formation collapsed.

Black Bear's nose was practically steaming. He shoved the women aside and climbed out of the car.

He paced in a circle, then laughed in spite of himself. "Didn't think No. 98 had some fight in it."

"Boss. This one's hard. This one bites." The brothers had gathered around him.

"I don't believe there's a place I can't take." Black Bear wasn't just brute force. His real talent was getting inside people's heads. "Bring me that bodyguard. I have a job for him."

...

Except for the injured Number Six and the sick Number Ten, the rest of the team was on the roof under Number One's command.

Shields in left hands, nail guns in right. They fired down at the mob.

Nearly every shot landed. The thugs fell back, and for a moment, a stampede almost broke out.