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A man pulled open a front door to the warehouse. He had a few days of stubble on his face, and short blonde hair that was spiked up. Sunlight illuminated the entryway as he pointed his AK-47 inside. Seeing that the targets were not nearby, he stepped across the threshold, followed by several others.
The mercenaries were armed with large calibre weapons, and dressed in a mixture of tactical and casual clothes. Entering the building, they split into several smaller groups to cover ground as quickly as possible. The majority explored the connecting hallways and rooms on the first floor. The top level of the warehouse was searched by the rest of them.
Three men walked into a room on the bottom floor. They spread out, combing for the elusive killers. One mercenary went down the middle while the other two moved across either far side. Their flashlights revealed a diversity of dusty inanimate objects. The cautious man in the middle was farther ahead of his partners, and he couldn’t see them.
John and Michael stepped out of the concealed corner behind the open door, each of them gripping large hunting knives. Michael soundlessly made his way to the hit man moving along the right-hand wall of the room. John crept up on the man on the opposite side. They traded determined glances, nodded, and put a hand over each of their targets’ mouths, swiftly and silently cutting their throats. Blood spurted in disjointed sprays and their victims’ legs buckled, crumpling their bodies. The dying killers crackled and sputtered, alarm forming on their faces as they fell.
The third man heard the soft harmony of blades slicing through flesh, and turned around. John was throwing his knife before the criminal completed his rotation. Everything happened so fast that his weapon embedded itself in the mercenary’s eye before the other bodies hit the ground. John’s second victim didn’t register the other assassins’ presence until his life ended. His corpse joined the other two. Not a single shot was fired.
John retrieved his blade, then Michael and him cautiously moved into the adjoining hallway. They made sure that the two surrounding rooms were empty before warily exploring the rest of the warehouse.
As they entered another corridor, three more mercenaries exited a room on the left. John and Michael jumped back around each nearest corner, their knives poised to attack. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike, their targets neared the end of the hallway.
Right before their enemies reached them, John’s cell phone rang. The three attackers pointed their guns around the corners, ready to shoot. As the weapons moved toward the concealed men, they ducked, darting under the line of fire and coming up past the guns. The two unsuspecting killers were stabbed in their throats. Cold hard blades sunk deeply into their soft, warm skin, their eyes expanding in agonizing shock. When the razor-sharp steel was extracted, blood chased it out of the wounds, splattering the nearby walls.
As his partners’ carcasses fell to the floor, the surviving mercenary fired at Michael without aiming. He reflexively squeezed the trigger, backing up as swiftly as he could. Fear and anger played across his face. His effort didn’t save his life. Only a handful of bullets ejected from his gun as he raised it toward Michael, retreating a few steps. He missed, his target easily strafing to one side and out of harm’s way.
The disruptive din stemmed in half a second, and John seized the opportune moment. His movement was almost imperceptibly quick. The AK-47 began swinging his direction when he plunged his massive blade into the mercenary’s throat. The man’s eyes widened in surprised pain, and he died instantly as the knife dislodged from his neck. Crimson sprayed from the mangled perforation, covering the killer and the victim in a mottled blanket of blood.
“Fuck,” John said bitterly, wiping blood from his face. “We’re fucked now.”
“Yup,” agreed Michael, mirroring his partner’s demeanour. “What the fuck do we do now? Go out in a hail of bullets like Butch and Sundance? Because that’s probably what’ll end up happening if our reinforcements don’t get here soon.”
John pensively rubbed the back of his head. “No, I have a plan. It’s a shitty one but it’s better than nothing. We’ll just have to hide and be as evasive as possible for now, and take out these motherfuckers one by one. I know it sounds hopeless, but it’s what we have to do to survive.”
“All right,” Michael conceded, the idea not sounding promising. “I can’t think of a better plan, so if that’s what we have to do, that’s what we’ll do.”
John thumbed the safety on his M-16, bringing it up to rest against his right shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.”
Michael reloaded his gun and fell in step beside him, prepared for the worst.