“Sir, stay low! Don’t move from that X!” Thorne barked, pointing to a spot on the floor where two maintenance hatches crossed.

A silent, armor-piercing round punched through the concrete above, missing the President by inches. Thorne didn’t think. He acted .

Thorne had no gun. No time. No plan.

He looked at the tablet one last time. The pixelated President on the screen was waddling toward an exit. But a final, red enemy had spawned right behind him. In the game, the only way to win was to take the bullet.

The main door exploded inward.

“Sir, the ‘Raven’s Veil’ is complete,” whispered Secret Service Agent Marcus Thorne, his jaw clenched tight. “Sixteen confirmed hostiles. They’ve taken the lower levels. They’re coming up.”

He launched himself forward, a final, desperate lunge. The bullet meant for the President’s skull tore through Thorne’s right thigh instead. He crashed to the floor, a heap of blood and Kevlar.