The gunshot echoed through the marble cathedral like thunder, followed in a few minutes by the explosive breach of reinforced glass as SWAT forces flooded the bank lobby. Flash-bang grenades detonated with artificial lightning that filled the space with smoke and tactical chaos.

“SWAT! Everyone down!” The lead officer commanded through his tactical mask, an assault rifle trained on the scene unfolding before them.

Jaxon had Viper pinned to the marble floor, his executive suit torn and bloodied from their struggle. Viper writhed beneath him with desperate fury, trying to reach the pistol that had skittered across polished stone after the shot.

“Suspect is down! Weapon secured!” Jaxon called out that cut through tactical communications, his hands maintaining pressure on Viper’s wrists while SWAT officers converged on their position.

“Don’t move! Hands visible!” SWAT commanded, though their rifles remained trained on Viper rather than Jaxon, whose protective stance over Addison made his allegiances clear.

From the shadows near the vault entrance, Brick emerged with massive hands raised high above his head, his military bearing evident despite surrender posture.

“I need a weapon!” Brick called out with desperate urgency that drew immediate tactical attention. “Viper’s got backup positions throughout the building!”

“Drop to your knees! Now!” multiple SWAT officers commanded, their focus shifting toward the larger threat that Brick’s size and military bearing represented.

“Check the upper floors! Multiple shooters!” Brick continued with manufactured panic that pulled tactical resources away from other areas of the bank, his voice came from genuine military experience.

While SWAT coordinated their response to Brick’s manufactured threat, a shadow moved through the chaos with liquid precision. Firebird slipped through emergency exits with the tactical invisibility that had kept her alive through countless operations, her escape facilitated by Brick’s masterful misdirection.

“Building secure! No additional threats detected!” came the all-clear from tactical teams sweeping the upper levels.

Paramedics flooded the scene with medical efficiency that transformed the marble cathedral into an emergency treatment center. Their first priority was the unconscious figure lying in an expanding pool of blood near the vault entrance.

“Critical gunshot wound! Male, approximately thirty-five, unconscious and bleeding heavily!” the lead paramedic announced with clinical precision, his team immediately surrounding Wyatt with life-saving equipment.

“We need immediate transport to the trauma center!” another medic called out while applying pressure to entry wounds that pumped arterial blood with each weakening heartbeat. “The patient is losing consciousness rapidly!”

Jaxon watched with complex emotions as they loaded Wyatt onto the stretcher, the man who had loved Addison enough to take a bullet meant for her now fighting for his life because of that same protective instinct.

“Is he going to make it?” Addison asked through tears that mixed grief with exhaustion, her voice barely audible above the medical chaos.

“We’re doing everything possible,” the paramedic replied with professional compassion. “Chicago General has the best trauma team in the city. If anyone can save him, they can.”

The stretcher disappeared through emergency exits with sirens wailing, carrying Wyatt toward medical attention that might be too little, too late.

“Ma’am, we need to examine you immediately,” another paramedic announced, approaching Addison with equipment designed for pregnancy emergencies. “Gunshot proximity and stress exposure require immediate assessment for both you and your baby.”

“I’m fine,” Addison protested weakly, though exhaustion etched lines around her eyes that told different stories.

“Eight weeks pregnant,” Jaxon declared with protective precision, his executive composure restored now that immediate danger had passed. “Any complications need immediate evaluation.”

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