The mercenary moves cautiously. It’s quiet, eerily so. Whatever’s on the other side of that door better be worth it.
He grabs the cold steel knob, twists, then bursts into the room, handgun drawn, to find… nothing. An empty room.
He closes his eyes, exhales. His worst fears now a reality.
He turns. The once empty hallway is filled with a well-armed battalion, assault rifles at the ready. He doesn’t wait for instructions, but instead gently places his gun on the ground, then slowly drops to his knees, interlocking his fingers behind his head.
A setup, right from the beginning.
The Weekday One Hundred 