My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 175

Chapter 175: Zurich

[Jake’s POV]

The art storage facility in Brooklyn looked exactly like what it was supposed to be: a boring, windowless, heavily fortified concrete block designed to hold the tax-evading assets of the ultra-rich. It sat at the end of a dead-end street near the waterfront, surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire.

But as I sat in the back of the armored SUV, watching the facility through a pair of high-powered thermal binoculars, I could see the truth. The roof was lined with military-grade encrypted satellite dishes, disguised as standard HVAC units. The thermal bloom from the basement indicated a massive, industrial-scale server farm running hot. And the heat signatures of the "security guards" patrolling the perimeter moved with the crisp, overlapping precision of Tier-One mercenaries.

This wasn’t an art warehouse. This was Isabella Vane’s central nervous system for her North American operations.

"Six hostiles on the exterior," Darius rumbled from the driver’s seat, his eyes scanning the perimeter. "Likely another dozen inside. Reinforced steel doors. Biometric locks. Cameras covering every approach."

"Nia," I said, tapping my earpiece. "Can you open the front door?"

"I’m good, Jake, but I’m not magic," Nia’s voice crackled over the comms from Apex Tower. "That facility is air-gapped. I can’t hack a door that isn’t connected to the internet. You’re going to have to knock."

I lowered the binoculars. I was wearing a black tactical vest over a dark sweater, a customized assault rifle resting across my knees. I didn’t have Oracle to tell me the exact patrol routes of the guards. I didn’t have a System prompt highlighting the weak points in the concrete or predicting the enemy’s line of sight.

I just had raw, violent intent and the cold certainty that if I didn’t burn this place to the ground, Isabella would never stop coming for me.

"We don’t knock," I said, racking a round into the chamber of the rifle. "We breach."

I looked at the four men sitting in the back of the SUV with me. They were Aegis contractors, part of the private security firm I had bought out months ago. They were highly trained, heavily armed, and paid extremely well to ask zero questions.

"You four take the perimeter," I ordered, my voice leaving no room for debate. "Silenced weapons only. Drop the exterior guards before they can radio inside. Cut the power to the exterior cameras. Darius and I will take the main doors."

The contractors nodded, slipping out of the SUV and melting into the shadows of the industrial park like ghosts.

"Ready?" I asked Darius.

Darius didn’t answer with words. He reached into the passenger seat and pulled out a massive, matte-black breaching shotgun loaded with specialized door-busting slugs. He racked it with a terrifying, heavy clack.

We moved.

We crossed the empty street in absolute silence, sticking to the deep shadows cast by the flickering streetlights. Ahead of us, the faint pfft-pfft of suppressed gunfire echoed in the night. Two of Isabella’s exterior guards dropped to the pavement, neutralized before they even knew they were under attack. The red lights on the exterior security cameras blinked out one by one as the Aegis team cut the hardlines.

Darius and I reached the heavy steel loading doors at the front of the facility.

Darius stepped up to the hinges, pressing the barrel of the breaching shotgun directly against the reinforced steel. He fired twice. The deafening blasts shattered the heavy locking mechanisms, blowing the hinges completely off the frame.

I didn’t wait for the smoke to clear. I kicked the massive steel door inward and breached the facility.

The interior was a sprawling, brightly lit warehouse filled with wooden shipping crates and steel cages. But the men inside weren’t art handlers. They were heavily armed PMCs, and they were already moving to intercept.

"Contact!" a mercenary screamed from the catwalk above, raising an automatic rifle.

I brought my rifle up, relying purely on muscle memory and the raw, enhanced reflexes the System had permanently burned into my nervous system. I fired a three-round burst. The mercenary jerked backward, his weapon clattering against the metal railing as he collapsed over the side of the catwalk.

The warehouse erupted into chaos.

Gunfire tore through the air, shredding the wooden shipping crates and filling the room with a storm of splinters and dust. Darius moved like a juggernaut, stepping into the open and laying down a withering wall of suppressing fire with his MP5, forcing the mercenaries on the ground floor to dive for cover behind the steel cages.

I moved laterally, sprinting behind a row of crates. Bullets sparked off the concrete floor at my heels, chipping the stone.

I didn’t have Oracle to predict their movements, but I didn’t need it. Isabella’s men were trained to fight conventional forces. They were trained to hold angles, communicate, and wait for backup.

I wasn’t conventional.

I vaulted over a stack of wooden crates, launching myself directly into the center of their defensive line. I landed hard, rolling to my feet just as a mercenary swung his rifle toward me. I didn’t shoot him. I grabbed the barrel of his gun, forcing it upward as it fired harmlessly into the ceiling, and drove my combat knife deep into the gap between his Kevlar vest and his belt.

He gasped, dropping the rifle. I ripped the blade free, spun, and fired my own rifle one-handed, dropping a second mercenary who was trying to flank Darius.

"Clear the ground floor!" I roared over the deafening noise.

Darius advanced, moving with terrifying, methodical precision. He didn’t waste bullets. Every trigger pull was a calculated execution. Within sixty seconds, the ground floor of the warehouse was a graveyard of Isabella’s elite PMCs.

"Stairs!" Darius called out, pointing to a reinforced steel door at the back of the warehouse leading down to the basement.

"That’s the server farm," I said, ejecting my spent magazine and slamming a fresh one home. "That’s where the data is."

We stacked up on the door. Darius blew the lock with the breaching shotgun, and we descended into the subterranean levels of the facility.

The basement was freezing, the air filled with the deafening hum of massive industrial cooling fans. Rows upon rows of glowing blue server racks stretched out into the darkness. This was Isabella’s stateside brain. This was how she communicated with her proxies, how she moved her money, and how she orchestrated the Vanguard coup.

At the far end of the room, three technicians in white shirts were frantically typing at a master console, desperately trying to wipe the drives. Two heavily armed mercenaries stood between us and them, using the server racks for cover.

"Don’t let them wipe the data!" I shouted.

Darius fired, dropping one of the mercenaries instantly. The second mercenary dove behind a server rack, returning fire.

I didn’t stop to engage him. I sprinted straight down the center aisle, ignoring the bullets sparking off the metal racks around me. I closed the distance in seconds, leaping over a cooling unit and crashing directly into the three technicians.

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