by Joe Jarvis
On the top floor the operations room had shut and locked with most employees inside, including Mr. Atlas. From there, operations of all AP units and patrols were controlled, and every camera, automatic door, and other defense mechanism of the building could be accessed and manipulated.
The employees that were not able to get to the safe control room hid in their offices. The security guards on the first floor had been taken by surprise, one killed when riddled with bullets from the submachine gun, the other dying slowly after taking a burst of shotgun pellets to the chest. The first floor secretary managed to slip out a side door unnoticed after sounding the alarm. The two partner gunmen with pistols disappeared somewhere in the building after slipping into the stairwell. As they climbed the stairs, they took out all the cameras in sight, and quietly exited the stairwell onto the roof.
The shotgun-wielding gunman was finding every window or glass doored office and surveying it for any unlucky employees. The first one he peppered was an employee who went down, but was not seriously wounded. She laid still under her desk as he moved on to the next glass-encased office.
Here, he pumped a few shells in the direction of the desk a man was hiding behind. When he got to the next office though, bullets came flying out at him before he could get a shot off. The gunman with the shotgun took two rounds to the chest and one to the forehead, collapsing against a wall and sliding down, smearing blood as he slid. His head wobbled back and forth before resting on his right shoulder.
The man with the submachine gun saw this happen, and emptied his magazine in that general direction, while keeping a safe distance. He didn’t see or hear movement, so he decided to move on; he wasn’t going to get close enough to find out more. As he got to the second floor, everything was very quiet. He poked his head into the hallway, but didn’t see any employees, or anything else of much interest. He figured the higher the floor, the more damage could probably be done, so he continued onto the third.
There were no people in sight, but on the right the gunman saw a lot of expensive looking high tech equipment. He tossed a grenade down the hallway, sending shrapnel into computers, tablets, telescreens, cameras, and a couple gadgets he could not recognize. Smoke started pouring out of a few of the machines, so he took a left down the hallway, blazing away at anything that looked like an expensive target, since there were not any human targets in sight.
As he turned the corner at the opposite end of the hall a .50 caliber gun smoothly and abruptly descended from the ceiling, turned rapidly with a slight whining sound, toggled onto the target, and sent three rounds in quick succession into the center of the submachine gun-wielding pirate-like man. BA-BA-BOOM.
As the bullets tore into him they took chunks out of his torso, leaving gaping holes and sweeping him off his feet, sending him flying into a glass window, which immediately shattered, having cracked from the bullets, allowing his body to exit the building and plummet three floors to slam into the sidewalk below in front of the building. The time from the gun descending from the ceiling to the thug hitting the pavement could not have been more than four seconds.
Agent White watched the body fall, back first, and thud onto the pavement, hearing the unmistakable sound of snapping bones and wet sploosh like a water balloon popping.
"I think that’s our cue," joked White dryly to the thug who would accompany him inside. The thug swallowed hard, much more nervous than he felt a few minutes ago. "Send me a message if a unit arrives," White said to the remaining two gunmen on the sidewalk.
In the secured operations room the .50 cal operator who wore a slight smirk and could have been a Spartan warrior if he was born at the right time, turned to a serious Mr. Atlas who was standing behind him arms crossed, and quipped, "In retrospect, we probably should have put that .50 cal in a hallway with a better backstop than a window."
Mr. Atlas gave an uncomfortable chuckle as he shook his head. Turning to another operator, he said, "Let’s try to funnel them to other defenses, lock all A1 doors and unlock all D1’s and D2’s. Where’s our responding unit?"
"Six blocks out sir, but they are making a detour, NESA has set up a roadblock."
"What? We don’t have a skyship in the area?" Atlas spat.
"No sir, three are out of commission, and the closest one in engaged with NESA troops 26 kilometers out."
"Well tell them to disengage; that can wait. We need backup ASAP!"
Six floors below, Agent White and the nervous thug with him had shattered the glass on the front door, and ducked into the building. They stepped over the dead guards, and White peered around the corner to see the shotgun-wielding thug dead and slumped up against the wall. Momentarily bullets came flying in White’s direction, exploding a fire extinguisher on the wall. He ducked back, and motioned for the nervous thug to lay down cover fire. As he did, White safely rolled to the stairwell, followed by his accomplice. The first flight they climbed with White aiming his gun up, and the young thug making sure no one followed from the first floor. The second floor door was locked, so they continued to the third, which was open.
White glanced into the hallway, where to the right something had been smoldering, but was now doused with white foam sprayed down from a knob in the ceiling. To the left there was shattered glass and White understood this to be the window that the pirate-y thug was slammed through by bullets. And guessing that there wasn’t an employee running around with a handheld cannon, White decided not to risk going down that hallway. Instead they continued to the fourth floor, which was locked, and then the fifth floor, which was not. Agent White sent the other thug first through this door.
The thug walked into the hallway and looked around. He tried to open the door to the right, but it was locked. White motioned for him to continue down the hallway to the left, and followed a good 3 meters behind him. Before rounding the corner, the thug looked back at White like a scared child first riding a bike, begging his parents not to let go. White said nothing and made no movement, instead standing with knees bent, gun extended in a combat position. Swallowing hard, the thug turned and prepared himself to take the step around the corner.
But before he stepped into the other hallway, a pop was heard above him like a firecracker, and a cloud of red mist shot from the ceiling billowing out to form a reverse mushroom cloud as it hit the floor. It completely engulfed the thug and he let out a shrill scream, yelling "My eyes!" as he dropped his gun, and fell to the ground on his knees, hands over his face. "My eyes!" he repeated as he started to sob, his voice cracking. "I’m blind. Help me!" he yelled, but Agent White said nothing, just cautiously backed up. As Agent White doubled back to the stairwell the mist wafted down the hall.
He could hear gurgling and choking sounds coming from the hallway as he slammed the door, allowing the slightest mist to enter the stairwell, as the thug left behind continued to beg for White to help him. It was only a form of pepper spray, but even the bit that managed to escape into the stairwell with White made his eyes water like he was cutting onions and had touched his eyes with the juice. Agent White had to collect himself before continuing to the sixth floor. He could only imagine how much it stung for the thug he had abandoned, given the small amount White had come into contact with had such a strong effect.
As White suspected, the heavy steel door on the sixth floor was locked, so he took out the two sticky explosives he had brought, and placed them about where he thought the hinges were, on the other side. White descended the stairs a couple of flights, checking first to make sure the employee with a gun on the first floor hadn’t come up behind. Then he toggled the detonator on his sunglasses, and set off the explosives. It was a deafening roar, not the least of which included the twisting screeching metal of the door. Bits of debris wafted down the middle of the stairwell past White. He waited a few moments for the smoke to clear.
By the time White ascended back to the top floor, white foam was already leaking through from behind the twisted metal door, sprayed from the other side. Not
sure if this was automatic or a human that sprayed the fire retardant, for good measure Agent White pushed the twisted metal which had been the door aside just enough to roll a flashbang through. It exploded, and as White’s ears rang for a moment he pushed the bottom half of the door open enough to squeeze into the sixth floor hallway. The top of the door had not come off its hinge, so only the bottom right corner could be pried open enough to make it through. The jagged metal of the door ripped White’s shirt as he crawled through, and scraped his back deeply, drawing blood. There was no one on the other side, and the hallway was dark, with only a flickering exit sign lighting a small area where White crouched.
There were no other signs that the first wave of gunmen had entered this floor yet, and White wondered where the partners had gone. His sunglasses lit up with an alert. A responding AP unit had arrived on the scene, and moments later he heard an exchange of gunfire erupt outside. Before it ended, he decided he needed to make his move. White couldn’t decide whether to get out now, or to first attempt to inflict more damage on the building, and possibly kill Atlas in the process, which would substantially increase his pay. Just when he decided to look for a back exit, White heard the muffled sound of something heavy clunking against thin metal, followed by an explosion. Then he heard another object clunking against metal, followed by a small pop, and the distant and muted sound of steam escaping.
A commotion quickly ensued from one hallway over on the same floor White was on; the top story. There was coughing and yelling, and then another clunking sound, followed by another hissing gas sound. On the roof, the two partner thugs were tossing their tear gas canisters into the vents which had been opened up by a grenade to ensure they would sufficiently leak the tear gas into the offices and command center.
In the secure control room, the tear gas was leaking out of the vents and enveloping the operators. Atlas was yelling to remain calm, as people dropped to the ground coughing. A sliding metal sound told White that someone was unlocking the secure room, and a man came running around the corner coughing, fleeing the gas. Agent White fired, and he thought he hit the man, who fell back bending at the knees and catching himself with his hands, before doing a crab-like walk to drag himself out of the line of fire. The woman who came immediately behind the first man gasped, and threw herself backwards avoiding another bullet sent by White toward the terrified Atlas Protection employees.
White heard a couple whispers, a click, and then something the size of a baseball flew from around the corner where the employees had come from, hit against the wall, and started rolling toward Agent White. White dove back through the twisted remnants of the door, but his right leg got caught on the jagged strip that had cut his back, and now dug into his calf, keeping his leg in the hallway as the flashbang exploded just inches away. As his vision went white for a second, he felt searing pain shoot up his shin. His ears rang worse than before, and his head throbbed more painfully than the most intense hangover. Yelling expletives White yanked his foot into the stairwell to find his left leg had been badly burnt below the knee to the point where blisters abounded, and one flap of skin appeared to be dangling and melted. His calf was bleeding from the jagged door’s puncture wound, but it didn’t look like anything major had been severed.
Agent White could hardly focus on anything but his agonizing injuries, until he heard the footsteps of someone quickly climbing the stairs a few floors below. Not quite sure what his next move would be, White buried the pain, and jumped to his feet, limping, looking around for the method used by the partner thugs to get to the roof. If they didn’t have a plan of how to escape off the roof, White still liked his chances there better than trying to storm out the front door with Atlas units waiting outside.
White had to jump to reach the metal ladder which ascended through a vertical shaft toward the roof. It was usually blocked by a metal cage at the bottom, but this was left open by the others’ bullets. Looking up, White was happy to see the roof hatch likewise left open, so he pulled himself up, and began to climb, babying his throbbing right leg.
A lead projectile clinked on the ladder and sprayed hot fragments of metal into White’s hand a split second before he heard the gunshot from below. The footsteps had been the employee from the first floor firing up the stairwell at White. The other bullets didn’t land as close, and White sped up his climb to the roof. The employee reloaded and climbed another set of stairs as White heaved himself out of the hatch and onto the gravel-covered roof, narrowly avoiding the next barrage of bullets from a few floors below, which whizzed into the air above the building.
On the roof, Agent White rolled onto his back, and took a moment to catch his breath before looking over to the partner thugs, who apparently had come well prepared. They were strapped into harnesses with black ropes attached, hammering anchors into the top of the roof. They saw White, but didn’t bother waiting for him; their payment was in escrow and did not depend on White’s survival.
In unison, the two jumped backwards off the side of the roof, and began to repel down the wall of the building. Stumbling to his feet, White half crawled half limped to the front edge of the building, and looked over to see the bodies of the two thugs that were left outside to hold off the responding Atlas Protection unit. He could also see a group of three AP officers nursing one unit’s wounds, and NESA cars turning onto the street, sirens blaring. Officially the NESA agents were responding to the AP distress call, but really they were doing everything they could to obstruct the AP team that had arrived despite NESA’s best efforts.
Agent White did his best to run/limp to the side of the roof where the two thugs had repelled. In the distance he could make out a large white skyship drifting toward the roof. White took off his ripped bloody t-shirt, and wrapped it around one of the ropes, placing his hands around the wadded-up t-shirt. He moved to the side of the roof, and looked down, which he immediately realized was a mistake as his stomach lurched and his heart sank – he should have just taken the plunge. He gripped his t-shirt wrapped around the rope, alternating between a tight hold, and a loose grip, allowing himself to slide down the rope, guided by his feet, without the rope burning his hands.
About three or four stories above the ground level ally, the thug whose rope White had latched onto saw White, and yelled at him to get off the rope, since White’s weight on the line was destabilizing him. Agent White ignored him, but the thug started to tug at the rope, and swing it back and forth to loosen White’s hold. White’s feet slipped, and he fell three meters before being able to once again grip the rope tightly enough through the t-shirt to stop his descent. Agent White grabbed the rope with his feet again, and gritting his teeth, let go with one hand to grab the knife in his pocket.
"Get off, you piece of shit!" The thug bellowed from below, but White again ignored him, and reached down in a crouching position so that his right hand could reach below where his feet and bent knees were tightly holding the rope.
Supporting his weight mostly with his left hand and feet, White ran his blade across the rope, swinging wildly to and fro, hardly able to keep from plummeting. Three more quick slashes with the blade, and the rope snapped before the thug below realized what was even happening. The thug screamed unintelligibly as he plummeted to the ground over 13 meters, landing on his back. His partner yelled wildly, and then proceeded to descend double time down his rope toward his friend.
White was then left hanging almost four stories up from a rope which he had cut from underneath himself. He caught his breath, and looked down to see the fallen thug writhing in pain; it surprised White that he had survived the fall and was still conscious. As the thug screamed in agony, White hoped he could make it to the ground before units in front of the building heard the pitiful cries of the crippled thug, and came to investigate.
White reaffirmed his grip on the rope, and placed his feet against the building. Taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw, he ran sideways across the wall until the rope was pulled tight, and he could ru
n no further. He pushed off hard with all the might his legs could muster, reintroducing searing pain into his burnt and lacerated right leg. As he let go of the rope, he fell another three meters before reaching the intact rope of the second thug. Grabbing at that line, White slipped even further down, almost losing his grip twice as his stomach dropped with him, his hands sliding over the rope with no t-shirt to stop the burn. Flesh was ripped off his left hand, but stayed on, forming a bloody flap, as White finally stabilized himself on the rope, two floors above the ground.
The second thug was just reaching the ground and unhitching himself from the rope. He ran over to his fallen friend, and threw himself to his knees next to him, trying to help, knowing full well there was nothing he could do. Nevertheless this gave White the opportunity to descend the rest of the rope in peace, babying his torn hand, burnt bleeding leg, and sore right hand embedded with lead shrapnel from the bursting bullet spray.
White quickly surveyed his surroundings once down in the alley next to the building where the unharmed thug tended to his fallen partner. He was surprised that still no units had surrounded the building, and guessed this was due to the obstruction of NESA troops. Catching his breath, White turned away from the thugs, and walked as swiftly as he could limp to take his leave.
Agent White was a sorry sight to behold. Both hands were bleeding, the left mangled, the right embedded with lead. His shirt was gone, and there were rope burns on his chest and arms. His back was crusted in blood, with a long cut from his shoulder blade to his lower back still dripping on and off. His pants were ripped and torn, bright red flesh showing through on his right shin where the flashbang had scalded him. The same leg was still bleeding from the puncture wound in his calf from the exploded metal door.
