Chapter 3 – Brussels Counterattack
⚔️ Na Fianna Nua HQ – Dublin Docklands, 19:22
The rain hammered down on the reinforced glass of Salty’s rooftop command centre. Below, the Liffey rolled black and cold under flickering city lights. Inside, tactical maps and drone feeds flickered across massive screens.
Sarah stood beside him, arms folded, studying satellite footage of Omega supply convoys assembling near Liège.
“They’re regrouping faster than expected,” she said softly.
Salty nodded, his jaw tightening. “They’ve lost Rahmani, but Omega has backers everywhere.”
💥 The Strike Begins
Suddenly, the alarms blared. The HQ shook under distant explosions as reports screamed over comms:
“HQ under attack! Omega exo-rig shock troops inbound – ETA sixty seconds!”
Ye Olde Large Lad barrelled into the command centre, M249 slung over his massive chest, a half-eaten sausage roll still in his mouth.
“Bastards interrupted me dinner!”
Winky sprinted in behind him, holding three bricks of C4. “Where do ya want these, boss?”
“Not up me arse, that’s for sure,” Ye Olde Large Lad grunted.
🦾 The Exo-Rig Troopers
Outside, heavy footfalls thundered across the dock tarmac. Through the rain, shapes emerged: towering Omega exo-rig troopers, each clad in black titanium alloy with glowing blue visors. Miniguns whirred as they advanced in perfect formation, bullets sparking off armoured shipping containers.
Funji flicked his tanto blades open, eyes narrowing.
“Big targets. Easier to stab.”
Sarah chambered her AR-15 with a smile. “Just don’t get stepped on.”
🎯 Squallshy’s Sniper Cover
High above, perched in the shattered window frame of an old Guinness silo, Squallshy lined up his Barrett .50.
BOOM!
The first exo-rig trooper’s head exploded like a watermelon, sparks and brain matter spraying the cobblestones.
BOOM!
Another fell backwards, crushing an Omega comms operative beneath half a ton of alloy and meat.
Squallshy chuckled softly. “Big lads… small brains.”
🔫 Winky’s Humourous Explosives
Winky ran into the outer foyer, slapping C4 onto pillars and crates. As he primed the final charge, an exo-rig turned its glowing visor towards him.
The massive trooper growled through external speakers:
“DROP YOUR DETONATOR, PADDY.”
Winky raised it with a grin. “Sure, here ya go.”
BOOM!
The entire corridor erupted in a cloud of flame, shattered concrete, and Omega body parts. Winky staggered out, covered in soot, eyebrows singed clean off.
“Me hair’s gone!” he screamed.
Ye Olde Large Lad patted his head as he stomped past. “Don’t worry, lad. It’ll grow back. Maybe.”
⚡ Tactical Twist – Betrayal
Back in the command room, Funji approached Salty, his tanto blades dripping blood. He spoke softly:
“We have a problem. Intel leak. Someone on our side called in their attack.”
Salty’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Funji handed him a data stick, eyes grim. On screen flashed the intercepted comm logs.
Sarah gasped softly. “It’s… Niamh.”
Salty’s expression turned to stone as he chambered a fresh magazine.
“Find her. Bring her to me alive.”
🦅 The Final Push
Outside, Ye Olde Large Lad charged the remaining exo-rig troopers, swinging his sledgehammer with unstoppable fury. Steel plates dented under his blows, visors shattered, Omega troopers collapsing in twitching heaps.
“Don’t interrupt me dinner ever again!” he roared, smashing the last exo-rig’s chest plate into its spine with a deafening crunch.
💪 Aftermath
As the last gunfire faded and the HQ smouldered with ruin, Salty gathered his bloodied, exhausted team in the wrecked foyer.
“Omega thinks it can break Ireland’s will. They’ve just made the worst mistake of their lives.”
Sarah wiped blood from her cheek. “What’s next?”
Salty’s eyes burned like cold blue flames.
“We’re taking the fight to Brussels. No mercy.”
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