“That’s the first page,” Marco said. “Now the second.”

Suddenly, a low, heavy rumble sounded in the background of Marco’s feed.

It sounded like a modified V8 engine idling outside the motel room.

Then, another engine joined it.

“Marco,” Ryker said, his body instantly tensing. “What’s that noise?”

Silence stretched over the line for three agonizing seconds.

“Headlights,” Marco whispered, his voice dropping.

“Two black SUVs just pulled into the gravel lot.”

“They’re blocking the cabin exit.”

We heard Vivian let out a sharp, terrified scream.

“They’re here!” she shrieked. “They’re going to kill me!”

“Get down!” Marco barked over the radio.

The sound of a heavy glass window shattering echoed through the speaker.

A rapid burst of automatic gunfire tore through the quiet Chicago night.

The line erupted into chaos.

Vivian was screaming.

Wood splintered and drywall cracked as bullets ripped through the motel walls.

“Marco!” Ryker yelled into the phone, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk. “Marco, report!”

There was no verbal response, only the sound of Marco firing back.

The heavy, rhythmic booms of his tactical handgun answered the rapid chatter of the automatic rifles.