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“Hey, guys,” the pale man with red hair said, thumbing the safety switch on his shotgun, and lowering it. His tone was hushed. The assassins in front of him turned around.
“Matt,” Brian acknowledged with relief, relaxing his body and aiming his gun at the floor.
While Matt approached them, Bill secured his weapon. All three of the killers explained their circumstances and agreed on a plan.
The woman in tight leather lay on her stomach on the floor, behind a cluster of rotting cardboard and wooden boxes. Looking for her partner, she fleetingly glanced at the room across the hall. She couldn’t find him, but saw his gun on the cracked floorboards close to the door. The doorway and door were stained by blood spatter. A trail of scarlet drops led to a section of the room that she couldn’t see. Her partner’s weapon reminded her to grab her own from a few feet away. The recurring hammer of gunfire was interrupted by a similar sound from somewhere nearby. The mercenaries abruptly stopped firing.
Other killers were caught by surprise as they approached John and Michael. They were shorn apart like blades of grass being cut by the sharpened blades of a lawnmower on a hot summer day. Their attackers decimated them with unstoppable force, appearing surreptitiously out of the room on their left. They were like ghosts in the darkness. Many mercenaries were murdered instantly, but the ones who had time to react returned fire. Their last ditch effort was futile because Michael and John jumped back behind cover before their enemies could retaliate.