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Even though he understood that the mercenaries were his targets, the long-haired assassin hesitated. He didn’t know who was assaulting them. If he helped the anonymous shooters kill the rapidly decimated men, the survivors might launch their onslaught at him instead of their opponents. Why would anyone go up against multiple attackers when they could easily pick off a lone straggler first?
These thoughts went through the mind of the man in a silver suit in half a second. His tactical experience made assessing situations take very little time. He decided that there were more pros to interfering than cons. But before he acted, the lethal chunks of metal that were being pumped into the men in front of him stopped. They moved inside the room that the bombardment came from in retaliation. This confirmed the thoughts of the man in the silver suit. He aimed his black Core-15 TAC III at the mercenaries, firing a torrent of bullets at them.
The killers aggressively approached triumph, itching to murder Michael and John. Wrath hung over them like a dark veil. It was so overpowering that it skewered their focus, decreasing accuracy. Before the first of them found their elusive prey, their efforts were interrupted. An avalanche of piercing shells perforated them, shredding apart many assassins in the hallway. They looked like rag dolls that were having violent and bloody seizures as the bullets blasted through them. Limbs flew apart as the deadly slugs bored into their bodies. The mercenaries’ convulsions made stuttering gushes of crimson explode from their wounds, splattering the surroundings.
At the moment that Bill, Brian, and Matt jumped into the hallway, gunfire came from the opposite end, muzzles flashing in the darkness. They shuffled back around the wall to avoid stray bullets. Surprise played through their emotions. Their targets were quickly falling to the floor lifelessly. Aware that the metal death instruments were not meant for them, they silently agreed to help the unidentified shooter. Brian sprinted across the corridor to the opposite corner. The three of them were about to bombard the mercenaries with further carnage before a new person stepped into view.
The woman in tight black leather realized that jumping into the hallway was a mistake immediately after she did it. Aiming her gun at the moving killers, she didn’t fire because she noticed that someone else was already attacking them. Many were shorn apart, inertly falling to the floor. The bullets emanated from the far shadows of the expansive hallway. A distorted figure took shape as he approached his victims.
As the woman began stepping back into the room that she had left, her motion was interrupted by whispering tones that beckoned her. She turned around, and was intrigued by what she saw.
Ensuring that his weapon was ready, the man with greased-back hair turned around, crawling back to the desk. This would give him the best vantage point for a final resistance. His shirt stuck to his abdomen like a wet suit, the dark red stain from the bullet holes increasingly saturated by sticky blood. Sensing that he was about black out from blood loss, he sat for a few moments. Then he was jolted back into semi-coherence. Voices quietly called out to his partner across the hall. He didn’t know if this was actually happening, or if it was caused by delirium. But he decided to get the attention of these people. Using every last shred of his willpower, he let out a tiny hoarse whisper. He slipped out of consciousness before anyone could reply.
Michael and John looked at each other, and nodded in taciturn determination. As they stood up, their movement was interrupted. They snapped back behind cover to avoid the gunfire from the end of the hallway. John peeked out from behind the box that he leaned against. He bobbed his head at his partner. Michael snaked his neck around the corner of the wood, seeing that the few remaining mercenaries weren’t looking in their direction. They were hugging the wall and glancing at the mayhem outside the room. Their partners in the hallway were being assaulted by a shower of scorching metal. Limbs burst into pieces and the assassin’s bodies juddered, blood spurting everywhere.
John and Michael jumped out from behind the boxes, littering the floor with shells that bounced off of the rotting wood. Adrenaline injected furious vehemence into their guns.
The man in a black t-shirt and a skullcap ran toward the battle, arriving at an open area to one side of the long hallway. Approaching the man in the silver suit with long hair, he recognized him once he came into clearer view. He speedily tiptoed to the corner opposite the killer, and whispered at him.