Trina's second shot caught Falner in the shoulder, spinning him against the wall, but instead of going down, he launched himself across the desk with surprising speed. His tackle drove them both to the floor. The gun skittered away as they crashed into a filing cabinet.
Falner's fist connected with Trina's wounded side, sending waves of agony through her body. She countered with an elbow strike to his throat, but he barely seemed to feel it.
"I'm going to enjoy this," he growled, wrapping his hands around her neck.
Trina bucked and thrashed, but his weight pinned her down. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision as his thumbs dug into her windpipe. She clawed at his face, but he just squeezed harder.
Her hand found a loose piece of metal on the floor, part of a broken chair. She swung it desperately, catching him in the temple. His grip loosened for a split second.
That was all she needed. Trina drove her thumb deep into his eye socket. Falner screamed, rearing back. She planted her foot against his chest and kicked hard, sending him stumbling backward. Before he could recover, she tackled him into a support beam. His head cracked against the steel with a sickening thud.
They grappled on the floor, trading savage blows. Falner fought like a cornered animal, all technique abandoned in favor of raw brutality. He caught her with a wild punch that split her lip. She answered by driving her knee into his groin.
Rolling away from another grab attempt, Trina snatched up her dropped handcuffs. When Falner lunged again, she caught his arm and used his momentum to flip him. The cuffs snapped around his wrist before he could pull free.
"You're finished," she panted, securing the other cuff to an exposed furnace pipe.
"You stupid—" His words were cut off as she slammed his head against the pipe.
"Shut up." Trina wiped blood from her mouth and activated the body camera clipped to her vest. The red light blinked, indicating it was streaming live.
Falner thrashed against the cuffs, spitting curses. His eye was swollen shut where she'd gouged it, and blood ran down his face from a gash on his forehead.
Trina looked directly into the camera lens. Her voice was raw, but unwavering. "This is who your heroes really are."
In the distance, police sirens began to wail. Orange flames reflected off the office windows as the fire spread through the lower levels of the plant.
"You hear those sirens, Falner?" Trina's words carried clearly on the video feed. "That's the sound of your empire burning down. Every trafficking route, every dirty cop, every piece of evidence you tried to bury... it's all coming to light."
He lunged at her again, the cuffs clanking against the pipe. "I'll kill you for this!"
"No." She stood over him, eyes hard. "You'll rot in a federal prison, knowing a Black female agent brought down your whole operation. And that's going to hurt worse than anything I could do to you."
The sirens grew louder, multiple units converging on the plant. Through the window, emergency lights painted the smoke-filled sky in strobing red and blue.
Fire alarms shrieked through the smoke-filled corridors of the meatpacking plant. Trina stood over Falner, her body camera still streaming while emergency lights painted the office in surreal flashes of red.
"Those girls you tried to sell—" she pressed her boot against his shoulder, making him wince "—they're going home to their families. But you... you're never seeing daylight again."
The building trembled as another explosion rocked the lower levels. Smoke poured through the vents, thick and acrid. Outside, a police helicopter spotlight swept across the windows, and dozens of voices shouted commands through bullhorns: "FBI! This is a federal operation! All units, hold position!"
Trina grabbed Falner's keys and unlocked the cuffs from the pipe, quickly resecuring them behind his back. "On your feet," she ordered, hauling him up.
"We're walking out of here."
"You're dead," he snarled through bloody teeth. "You hear me? Dead."
She shoved him toward the door. "Keep talking. The whole country's watching your meltdown live."
They emerged into the hallway as state police in tactical gear rushed up the stairs, weapons raised.
"Federal agent," Trina called out, holding up her backup badge. "I have 12 victims secured in my truck outside. They need immediate medical attention."
"Ma'am, we've got ambulances standing by," one officer responded, training his rifle on Falner. "The building's about to go up. We need to evacuate now."
Trina pushed Falner forward, keeping pressure on his wounded shoulder. The stairwell was filling with smoke, making visibility poor. She could hear the girls coughing in her truck outside, scared voices carrying through broken windows.
They reached the ground floor as federal marshals burst through the main entrance. Fire crews attacked the blaze with high-pressure hoses, creating a wall of steam and smoke. Trina's legs trembled from blood loss, but she maintained her grip on Falner.
"Get those girls out first," she shouted to the rescue teams. "My truck's parked against the north wall."
Medics rushed past with stretchers and oxygen tanks. The girls emerged one by one, wrapped in emergency blankets, some barely conscious from the cold of the storage unit. Others clung to each other, sobbing as paramedics guided them to waiting ambulances.
Falner tried to twist away in the chaos, but Trina drove her knee into the back of his leg. "Don't even think about it," she growled.