As he turned, yet another corridor stretched out before him, its length a clear path to the rendezvous point, but one fraught with potential danger. The stark, fluorescent lighting cast harsh shadows, turning the football-field-long space into a stark tableau of light and darkness. Albino moved with purpose, his senses finely tuned to any sign of threat, his body a coiled spring ready to react.
As if on cue, a guard burst out from a room further down the corridor, his weapon raised, his intent clear. But Albino's reaction was swifter, a mere extension of his will. The Desert Eagle was in his hand in an instant, its barrel aligning with the target with practiced ease. The shot rang out, echoing off the walls, and the guard was down before he could even comprehend the source of his demise, a clean shot to the head that left no room for doubt or survival.
Albino continued his advance, his eyes scanning the corridor for the next obstacle, the next challenge. Halfway across, his keen gaze caught sight of the tiny, inch-wide button that controlled the gate sealing the exit. Understanding the precision required, Albino steadied his aim, the Desert Eagle in his hands more than a weapon—it was an instrument of exactitude. The shot that followed was a testament to his marksmanship, the bullet striking the button with pinpoint accuracy, the impact echoing in the sudden unsealing of the doorway.