The swirling sweep of red-and-blue emergency strobe lights cast a stark, glaring glow through the dirty glass windows of the old chemical plant. The heavy roar of high-capacity diesel engines thrummed wildly in the front courtyard, shuddering the cement floor where Jason lay helpless.

Out there, booming clearly through a tactical armored vehicle's external loudspeaker, a stern announcement cut through the night silence: "Attention! All unidentified personnel within the factory perimeter! This is a federal law enforcement unit! Drop your weapons and raise your hands! This area is now under quarantine!"

Leo, hiding inside the control booth alongside Jason, caught those words with a ragged breath. A small spark of hope suddenly ignited inside his chest, which moments before had been battered by overwhelming terror.

"Jason... you hear that?!" Leo cried out with a voice trembling with profound relief, staring down at Jason's pale, semi-conscious face. "That's federal law enforcement! Official backup is here! We're... we're saved!"

Jason blinked sluggishly, forcing his heavy eyelids open. Even as the agony in his right shoulder continued to scorch his entire frame, his sharp brain immediately analyzed the situation. In a city controlled by a corrupt syndicate, the sudden arrival of law enforcement in the dead of night was hardly standard procedure. Yet, given Jason's physical state teetering on death's door—losing massive amounts of blood and unable to walk unaided—they had little choice left except to gamble on that slim thread.

"Leo..." Jason's voice rasped thinly, catching in his throat. "Help... help me up. We need to get out there."

"Right! Hold on, Jason!" Leo sobbed.

Mustering every last ounce of strength in his young body, Leo threw Jason's arm over his shoulder, shouldering the heavy weight of the senior operative. Jason let out a stifled groan, enduring excruciating agony as the gunshot wound on his shoulder took fresh pressure, yet forcing his boots to drag limply out of the control booth toward the chemical plant's main courtyard.

Back in the reactor room, the Ouroboros hitmen who had been closing in on them looked visibly confused. They exchanged uncertain glances before lowering their weapons, assuming the federal unit was part of a higher-command element sent to lock down the situation.

"Hold fire! Do not shoot! That's a federal unit!" one of the hit squad field commanders barked to his subordinates, giving a sharp hand signal to fall back toward the courtyard edge.

Leo half-carried, half-dragged Jason through the drifting smoke left from the recent skirmish, pushing past the plant's main doors out into the open courtyard bathed in the harsh searchlight beams of the armored vehicles. The chill night air slammed into their skin instantly.

Before them, three pitch-black Tactical Armored Vehicles sat parked in a tight, defensive blockade formation. Atop the lead vehicle, a high-intensity spotlight blazed directly onto Jason and Leo.

The heavy rear door of the largest armored transport slowly swung open with a loud hiss of hydraulic pressure.

"Thank god... we made it..." Leo whispered, hot tears of relief streaming down his face as he propped Jason upright in the middle of the factory yard, raising his free left hand in universal surrender. "We're right here! We're the fugitives you're looking for! My friend is badly hurt, he needs medical help right now!"

From inside the dark cabin of the armored vehicle, several bulky figures stepped down one by one. They wore pitch-black tactical uniforms complete with heavy ballistic vests, modern combat helmets, and slung carbines resting across their chests.

"Drop your weapons and stay put! Medical support is inbound!" one of the uniformed men barked sternly through his ballistic mouth guard.

Leo nodded fast, feeling half his burden lift instantly. "Hurry! He took a sniper round to the shoulder! He's bleeding out!"

The lead tactical officer strode forward with a brisk, methodical stride, closing the gap toward Jason and Leo as they swayed unsteadily. Yet, as the distance closed to a mere three meters, Jason—hovering on the edge of unconsciousness—snapped onto a single, glaring anomaly.

There were no police shields or federal insignias on their sleeve patches. Instead, stamped neatly onto the fabric was a tiny circular emblem featuring a coiled serpent's eye—the exact same symbol glowing on the bounty phone screens at the start of this horrific night.

Jason's eyes blew wide in shock. His operative instincts shrieked past the pain racking his body.

"Leo... back off..." Jason hissed sharply, trying to shove the young man behind him. "That's... not backup..."

Before Leo could process the warning, the tactical officer before them halted his stride. Without uttering a single word to offer medical aid, the man raised his right hand to his face, unhooking and peeling away the black ballistic mask covering the lower half of his features.

Beneath that mask stretched a cold, horrifying, merciless smirk of absolute triumph.

That wasn't the face of a federal law enforcement officer. It was one of the elite assassination division heads from the Ouroboros syndicate—the exact man who had coordinated their manhunt from behind the city's digital security grid all along.

"Medical support?" the man's voice mocked, accompanied by a chilling, broad grin. "Sorry, Agent... our agency's budget doesn't cover healthcare for failed traitors."

In that exact heartbeat, every single tactical-clad soldier behind the commander simultaneously ripped off their masks, heaving their assault rifle barrels high, and leveling the muzzles dead at Jason and Leo's chests.

Leo's heart felt like it stopped beating. Every ounce of hope that had just flared inside his chest shattered into dust within a thousandth of a second, laying bare the brutal truth: the "backup" they had prayed for wasn't salvation at all, but the final gateway to hell, controlled directly by the iron fist of the Ouroboros syndicate.