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- Jensen James - 05-31-2014
The little boy was easily coaxed out by Connor's gentle demeanor. Jensen could not decide if the child's faith in others was praiseworthy or sad. It was likely such trust that saw him in the hands of his captors.
They could come to learn the child's name was Jatinder, and that he did not know his last name, if he even had one. Connor's promise to return him to his parents lit his face with hope, but the lump in Jensen's throat fell hard into his stomach. Fulfilling such a promise to one child, let alone all of those present, was going to be near impossible. Yet hope flickered like a candle in the dark. Perhaps Connor had a plan Jensen lacked.
While Connor checked the hall, Jensen took the moment to investigate each and every child. They likely all had hurts of some sort, and he would see to them if it was the last thing he did. For now, he searched for anyone in grave need of health.
Connor put forth a rudimentary plan about the time Jensen decided everyone was well-enough to walk out on their own two legs. “Ok.”
He closed the door. “I’m going to see if I can take care of that guard. Then maybe we can sneak out that back way."
They exchanged a look, though for Jensen's part, it was hidden behind his visor shield. Connor had no such mask to protect himself, and Jensen silently prayed Baronej hadn't looked at the man too closely. These traffickers were likely to want revenge. I shouldn't have asked him to come. Heat clenched the back of his throat. I made a mistake.
Connor slipped out the door before Jensen could voice his regret. It was too late, anyway, and there were now a gaggle of young people clustered around him. Some of the older girls were almost as tall as he was.
He turned to one who looked the oldest, though it was hard to tell. She had pale skin and long black hair pulled into a braid. She wore cut-off shorts and a tank top. In fact, her clothes made Jensen scan the other kids more closely. They would freeze to death outside, and he had no way of knowing how long they might be out there. He pulled two of the older girls aside, and kept his voice low.
"Girls, when we leave, we will leave quickly. You see to the little ones and make sure they have shoes and as warm of clothes as you can find for them to wear. You send everyone in here to me and tell them they must remain absolutely silent. When we leave, I'm counting on you two to help make sure everyone makes it."
The Chinese girl in cut-offs nodded emphatically, while the other girl, Indian, Jensen thought, pressed her lips tight. Each went off to do as he asked, and Jensen hoped that second girl wouldn't sprint off the second she saw the chance to escape.
The little boy, Jatinder, tugged on his hand. Jensen knelt. "I need you to stop telling everyone i'm a superhero."
His eyes flared wide, "But!"
His protest made Jensen smile. "Because we need everyone to stay calm right now, and telling them that might get them too excited. Does that make sense?"
He wanted to squeeze the lad on the arms. Jatinder was about Gabriel's age, and behind the visor, his eyes cringed to fight back angry tears. Please be in Colorado with your mother. A flash of Gabriel teaching Malachi tricks on his younger brother's first snowboard nearly overwhelmed him, until a finger tapped him on the back.
He twisted around. The girls were back. The one in shorts and a tank top had put on a jean jacket and leggings. It wasn't winter wear, but least her skin was covered. The other girl had a scarf dangling around her neck that looked ready to be pulled over her ears. There were six others behind them. The four from the room next door, plus the girl with the scarf who said she was called Shri made five Indians. The Chinese girl with the braid was Pao Hai-xia. Two other very young faces were with her. Including Jatinder, that made nine children.
Pao had said there were dozens here. Jensen's heart pounded, overwhelmed. Connor. I pray you find the rest.
Jensen held up a hand that everyone stay quiet, and he peered into the hall.
Nobody was out there. Connor where are you?
He looked at the room of girls, and Jatinder, all staring at him, anxious and frozen to act. Jensen empathized. "Stay here. I'm going to check on my friend. Remember what I said. Be ready to flee at a moment's notice."
Pao nodded, her jaw set with determination. Shri looked scared to death.
Jensen slipped into the hall after Connor, frequently checking over his shoulder and wincing at every creak of the boards underfoot. Each and every door was silent, likely stocked with sleeping (he hoped) children, but as he came closer to one in particular, noise erupted behind it. Thuds, gruntings, pounding.
Jensen gasped and flung himself into the room. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.
- Marcus DuBois - 05-31-2014
delete
Edited by Marcus DuBois, May 31 2014, 06:22 PM.
- Connor Kent - 05-31-2014
Connor turned the handle and opened the door slowly. He was glad the door didn't announce his presence. Because what he saw...his mind reeled with the force of it, trying to process everything. A seven year old girl. A mass of red hair. Ayden's face flashed in his mind. Ayden as a little girl. Face twisted in crying. Mouth turned down. Sobs coming from mouth. Terror stricken eyes. Looks up through tears. Cheeks wet. Red hand print brightly visible. The man...what he was doing. Connor lost it.
He ran to the man and grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled with every ounce of his strength, slamming the man into the wall head first. The man's pants around his ankles tripped Pony-tail up as he fell. All Connor could see was what the man had been doing to little Ayden. He kicked the man hard in the ribs and felt them give. He got down and punched the man, again and again, in the face, again and again and again and again. He couldn't feel his hands, as nose crumpled and eyes bled. He saw the man's leer in his mind, laughing at how he hurt this little girl, enjoying the feel of her, dominating her, taking pleasure in her pain. Connor got up and kicked the man in the groin, his exposed genitals laying there impotently. Again and again and again he kicked. He wanted this man to never be able violate a little girl again. He wanted this man to be in pain, to know that he had lost his ability, to know that you can't do things like that to kids and get away with it. Again and again and again he kicked. This man would know, he would never forget, he would always remember...
Connor stopped. The man's face was a ruin, his groin a mass of bloody ruined red meat. He wasn't moving. Connor was shaking still, fists clenched, every muscle of his tight, breathe coming in deep drafts. I killed him, he thought. The words skittered across his mind, head was so clouded with emotion and rage that the magnitude of thought was lost. He turned to look at the girl. She was hiding in a corner, fear plastered across her face. It tore at him to have her look at him that way.
"I'm sorry. I didn't....".
He looked at his hands, covered in blood. They started to ache now. He looked at the little girl and put his hands down, kneeled down and gently he said, "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm here to help, to get you kids out of here."
Just then the door opened and he saw Jensen.
Edited by Connor Kent, May 31 2014, 09:01 PM.
- Jensen James - 06-01-2014
His eyes were glued upon the scene.
Connor was suppose to be finding other children. Not.. Not this.
By all appearances, Jensen's reaction was to be frozen in place. His helmet hid the pasty white shock that painted his face. His bike jacket obscured the heaving of his chest. His eyes shifted to the huddling child then returned to the body sprawled on the floor. The tangle of his pants, the crying child, and Connor in between them both. Jensen dare not fathom what had happened.
"Connor,"
he breathed and the sound of his own voice sparked him into movement.
He fled to the man's side where he tore his helmet from his head and dropped it alongside. His hair was a mass of wet ringlets, cascading like dark tears from his brow. Sharp aches addled his kneecaps with pain from dropping too swiftly upon the floor, but the break of his heart hurt all the worse.
He lay shaking hands upon the man, one at his brow, the other at his shoulder, and bowed his head, eyes pressed tight.
A few moments later, a broken-hearted man peered up at Connor with child-like disbelief. "What have you done?"
He pulled his hands away and went to unsteady feet. He met Connor eye-to-eye, man-to-man. "You killed him?"
The Gift swarmed through his mind, and with it, stench of blood and urine, sweat and other bodily fluids flooded his stomach with upheaval.
The paralysis continued despite the robotic movement to the little girl. She was a tangle of limbs and fiery red hair, and withdrew from Jensen, frightened, but too traumatized to run.
He brushed her hair from her forehead and soothed her with a voice gentle as a lullaby. His focus caught in the avalanche of emotions, however, and the threat of majesty nearly swept him away. Every coil of power was torturous to design, and he was soon aware his eyes burned dry. His heart began to pound in his ears, joined with an orchestra of drumming he could not discern. Connor's voice joined the turbulence, but Jensen did not know what he said. He was breathing hard in all effort to withstand the clamor beating at his walls. Every pore leaked sweat, and time stretched painfully slow. When the pivotal moment came he sensed the little girl's wounds, her aches became his, and overwhelming sensation of needles jabbed at his groin. How could she stand it? Even then, the thought was succumbed by the storm of power roaring through his body.
The healing lay upon her flesh and Jensen withdrew, exhausted and panting from where he sat on the floor. Stars danced his vision like flickering lightning bugs. His head pounded with the force of their distant light until even that was finally dissolved into nothingness.
The little girl was suddenly in his arms and burrowing her face in his neck. Jensen wrapped her into a hug but only to weakly set her aside. "Can you hand me my helmet?"
She did, and he pulled it back over his head. His gaze caught a glimpse of the body that felled his head under the weight. If only he could have helped that man.
Connor helped him stand, which Jensen needed. Once upon his feet, the fatigue seemed to drain somewhat. He made himself look at the body, but he spoke softly to Connor. Or perhaps, it was to himself he truly spoke. "We all deserve his death. Me more than most. I would have helped.."
Emotion noosed his throat, but it was the little girl that really cut him off.
A terrible scowl came over her face: a demonic twist of hatred and quiet rage. With it, she kicked the man in the stomach. The scene, a tiny child, wailing on the corpse of her terrorizer, it was horrible. Please stop. Please, stop. But the words failed him. This child took her revenge and reveled in it when she should be too young to have much sense in right and wrong, let alone succumb to the siren call of vengeance.
"We need to get out of here as quickly as possible."
He said when she stopped, desperation thinning his words with need.
An injurious plea pierced their ears, and Jensen ran to the hall in time to witness Shri darting the other way. Pao chased after her, but the older girl was too late. Shri disappeared, and Pao came running to them.
"She's gone to tell! I tried to stop her!"
The cold grip of fear took hold.
"Oh no."
- Connor Kent - 06-02-2014
Connor couldn't see Jensen's eyes, but from the way he stood frozen, helmet swinging from the body to rest on him made it clear that he was shocked. Now that the blood-lust had left his body- or rather, had expressed itself on Pony-tail’s body- Connor himself felt shocked, numb.
“Connor,”
Jensen breathed. He quickly moved to the Pony-tail’s side, ripping his helmet off, dropping to the floor and putting his hands on the man’s body. Connor wondered what he was trying to do. Could he heal? Connor shook his head. It was one thing to know there was magic, but it was something else to see it used.
He thought of Ayden. Now, more than ever, he wished he was with her. She was at home, sleeping on the couch. It was only 2 days and yet already he felt that she was his home. Instead he was in this place, this pit of suffering, having just killed a man for abusing a little girl. He looked at the girl, really saw her, and his heart broke. His rage was still in the background. But now, now he saw the pain inflicted on her little body. But more than that, he realized the pain he had caused her. He had beaten a man to death in front of her. How was he any different? He had given in to his own desires and just vented, not thinking about the affect it would have on her. He wasn’t sorry the man was dead- the man deserved to die a thousand times over- but he was deeply ashamed at adding to this little girl’s suffering and emotional abuse.
Jensen looked up at him and that shame flooded him. Jensen looked like a child that had seen his parents do something horrific and struggled to process it. “You killed him?”
Jensen got up, moved listlessly to the girl. Connor struggled to find the words. Jensen gently laid his hands on her, eyes closed. He looked pained.
Connor finally spoke desperately. “What he was doing, Jensen…what I saw.”
His lip curled in disgust, shame lessening. “You can’t tell me you’d not have done the same. He was slapping her and forcing her to…”
He trailed off, trying to get the image out of his mind. He needed him to understand. He remembered Jensen seeking comfort in the Bible. “’But whoso shall offend one of these little ones… it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.’”
But Jensen’s face was concentrating and he appeared not to hear anything. Suddenly, the little girl threw her arms around Jensen’s neck, fiercely hugging him. Jensen let her go and put his helmet back on. Again, Connor wondered why he was wearing it.
And then Jensen said something that provoked the little girl and Connor felt that shame all over again. The little girl’s face- she was so very young- twisted into one of hatred and she went over to the man and kicked him in the stomach, appearing to relish it. Connor’s stomach twisted too, and he went to the girl, tried to stop her. What have I done? he thought.
"We need to get out of here as quickly as possible,"
said Jensen, voice muffled through the helmet. Connor nodded. Just then he heard a commotion and both of them ran to the door to the hallway. One of the girls was running to the other end of the hall and opened the door.
"She's gone to tell! I tried to stop her!"
said the other girl.
“Oh no,”
said Jensen flatly. Connor's heart sunk. So much for sneaking them out. Any moment the man guarding the other side of the door would come out, gun in hand. Connor turned around and saw the semi-automatic gun on the floor next to the cot. He grabbed at it.
“Jensen, you have to get the kids together! Get them to the exit! NOW!”
This was happening all too fast. He wasn’t this kind of guy. He had fired guns many times- what kid in the southwest didn’t grow up hunting and shooting. But this was different. But there wasn’t time to dicker. What are we doing? But they had to get the kids out. “Now Jensen! Get the kids to the exit. I’ll try to hold them off.”
Gah! I'm such an idiot! Like he was some action movie star. He was terrified. But if gave into it, they’d be dead and then these kids would go back to being abused and tortured. And killed, he thought. He knew how things worked, what often happened. His resolve hardened. He ran to the end of the hall where the girl had gone.
He had to keep them on that side of the door. There were too many guys. He struggled to remember how many he had seen. 4? 5? He fired a couple rounds from the semi-automatic into the door. If he could just keep all of them there, scared to come through the door, then Jensen and the kids would have a chance. He looked back and saw bedlam in the halls, as kids ran screaming, the older girls from before trying to herd them. He didn’t have to time to do more than glance, as a suddenly bullets riddled the door from the other side. It splintered but no bullets came through. Soviet era doors, he thought thankfully. It would hold. For now. This was going to be bad though. He thought of Ayden. He really wished he was home with her.
- Jensen James - 06-02-2014
A final look, and the two men parted ways. For his part, Jensen ran the short distance with Pao keeping stride. True to her word, what kids were there were bundled in extra layers, the smallest of them wrapped with scarves.
"It's time to go,"
his own voice surprised him. It was steady, and despite the muffle of his helmet, firm. It was his preaching voice, and from the pulpit Jensen's orations had once moved thousands.
He flinched at the first pop of gunfire, and suddenly a half-dozen little people were pressed up behind him. Fear crept along the curves of his ribs until he thought his chest would collapse beneath the strain. Have faith, he told himself, yet wished his faith was not the only thing shielding the innocents behind him.
Connor, the brave man, barricaded himself at the end of the corridor while Jensen ushered kids out. "Pao! Take them! When you get down there, hide, and wait for one of us!"
She nodded, made the kids hold hands, and they filed past the empty guard chair and out of sight. They moved too fast to count.
Everyone departed. All but Jatinder! "You have to go too!"
The little boy ran to him and threw his arms around Jensen's knee, clutching at his hand, crying.
A heavy frown and Jensen picked the little boy up and peeked into the vacated room. Empty.
He spun about, "Connor!"
he yelled as signal they were ready. Jatinder was planted against his chest. "I won't let you go."
He said to him, hand behind the boy's head.
He made sure Connor heard him then he ran for the stairwell, Jatinder clutched in his arms.
His feet pounded down the stairs, but he thought his heart was pounding the louder. One level. Two.
He threw his shoulder against the door and stumbled into the night air.
And met gunfire.
Something slammed against his chest. A scream, but not his own. Jatinder! Falling. No! Somehow, he managed to land beneath the child, a human cushion, but the weight in his arms was limp. The crack of his helmet against the ground rang bells in his ears, and it was all Jensen could do to scramble away from the chaos.
Edited by Jensen James, Jun 2 2014, 01:00 PM.
- Hood - 06-03-2014
The arrival of the man on the motorcycle was acknowledged somewhere in the back of Hood's mind; the man was seen, and watched, but Hood didn't actually pay him any conscious attention, focused instead on the various hidden cameras and his drone. The battery life on the civilian model toy was impressive.
His disinterest in the biker ended when he followed one of the men from the apartment block to the parking lot outside the coffee shop. The slaver approached and spoke briefly with the biker, and then the two returned to the apartment.
And with his interest peaked, he pondered the man's business. Most of the clientele that visited the apartment block were on the lower end of society; the product housed there wasn't broken in, and were often wasted on drugs. Dirty, broken. Not the sort that well off men with fancy bikes would usually waste their money on sampling. So maybe he was working for someone else?
If that were the case, then it opened a whole new angle with which he could chase the bastards out of his neck of the woods. Hood set his paper aside, and indicated to the barista that he was stepping outside for a smoke. Which was partly true; he could still watch his cameras from outside, fed to his Landwarriors as they were. And he could feign interest in the man's parked bike without drawing too much attention.
Hood crossed to where it sat unattended, and knelt as if admiring it. And by admire it, he of course meant to get a good look at the license plate, and more importantly, engraved registration number, saving the image in his glasses. With that, and a few hours work, he could track it back to it's owner, or if he were very lucky, track it if it had a built in anti-theft tracking signature.
He savoured a cigar as was his excuse to wander outside, and many minutes later wandered back inside to return to his coffee and cake. Minutes passed as he tracked the pair's return to the apartment building, and then their movement within. Eventually, the fellow was shown into a room with some of the captured children and left to his own devices. And, unsurprisingly, went to the smallest body in the room.
And then things turned odd. The biker lingered in the room without any of the usual activities going on. Time passed, the goons sticking to their card game, the others complaining about the cold in their van, and nothing seemed to change.
And then another man showed up at the building, let himself in, and was shown to the same room as the biker. They lingered there for a time, moving to an adjacent room, to more of the captured kids. Perhaps the second man was the biker's boss? Unusual, considering the fellow had arrived on foot, and alone to boot. More likely then they were just a pair of sickos who liked to get their kicks together.
Probably spent the entire time looking into each other's eyes, dreaming of doing the very same acts to their comrade as a child. Brothers maybe, with some pedophile father figure? Eh, who cared. If he got the chance, and had some spare time, maybe he'd deal with them. Probably not...there'd been no shortage of work lately.
So Hood sat. And watched. And pondered. Until things took a turn in a direction he really didn't want to deal with. The two, the biker and his boyfriend, gathered a group of the kids, then moved to an adjacent room. The one where one of the slavers was breaking in some new product. Aggressively, from what he could tell. The thermal imager wasn't the best he'd ever used, but for a black market acquisition, it was better then he could have hoped.
And then there was a fight. And then one of the kids darted. And a moment later his audio from under the van had something interesting to say. Trouble stirring in the apartment block. Two men were trying to bust out the product.
Hood sighed, setting his paper aside after folding it neatly. He stood, and threw back the last of his coffee, then shrugged into his jacket and headed for the door, offering the usual pleasantries to the late night barista before he went. The place wasn't exactly bustling at so late an hour.
He left the coffee shop and moved into an adjacent alley, stopping to drag a dumpster out from the wall, and dug a dufflebag out from behind it. It was soaked with garbage juice; how was it there was always garbage juice, even in the dead of a Moscovite winter?
The van was already on the move, barreling towards the apartment block. Hood took control of the little RC car that had been seated beneath it, and boogied the toy into a pile of trash to be picked up later. And the drone was landed on the roof of the apartment building in question; he hadn't the bot programs to keep the thing running on it's own without his constant attention.
He dug through the bag and ditched his jacket to shrug into a vest, then pulled the coat back on before walking towards the apartment building. The two trouble makers had stirred things up. His entire plan had hinged on the slavers realizing it was a good idea to pull pin and move to another part of the city. Now there was going to be a bunch of shooting. And bodies. And that would lead to police.
So if the cops were going to get involved anyway, he may as well have some fun with it.
-----
The van pulled into the dilapidated apartment building's parking lot, and the sliding door was pulled open. Four men piled out counting the driver, and each pulled AK103s (a mid-90's variant of the classic AK47). Gang punks at heart, they hadn't anything by way of a plan, asides 'find the trouble makers and make them pay.' Of a one track mind, they paid little attention to their surroundings; these weren't cops they were dealing with so they weren't worried about being caught with their pants down in the parking lot of their own turf.
With their comrades on the west side of the building, the four men rushed for the east side entrance, and were ready when the door was flung open. Jensen emerged, and one of them opened fire before the other three could stop him; Jensen had the product with him, and while it was easy to get more, their bosses wouldn't be happy to find out any had been killed for such a stupid reason. It was only one guy, unarmed, and a bunch of stupid kids.
They didn't notice Hood. He'd stopped to pull a few toys from the dufflebag he was carrying, a delay that had worked to his advantage as he didn't have to work too hard to take the reinforcements by surprise.
He crossed the open parking lot towards the four men, and leveled an old Israeli-made Uzi PRO as he walked. The compact weapon was tucked tightly into his shoulder, and looked almost comical for the overly large silencer that was screwed to the barrel. It was a bit of a moot point, considering they had already opened up with the AK103s, but he wasn't in the mood to bother unscrewing the thing. It was a throw-away anyway.
The weapon chattered; it was still loud, weapon silencers had seen plenty of advancements in the past many years, but at the end of the day, it was a still a damn challenge to totally silence a barrage of tiny explosions. Short, controlled bursts peppered the four armed men before they could bring any more violence upon Jensen and the rescued kids.
Two were killed instantly, 9mm rounds peppering one man's back and opening an artery in a second's thigh. He bled out quickly and painfully; the round had entered his thigh and exited somewhere in his crotch, as the police would later find.
The other two spun, and a third was dropped by yet another burst of fire, and the last lost his cool upon realizing his three friends were already dead. He brought his weapon up and tried to fire, only to find the safety was still engaged. He panicked, throwing the weapon aside and tried to run, but Hood dropped the empty Uzi and pulled a pistol.
He fired twice, one round catching the fleeing man in the knee, more by fluke then intent, while the second punched into the sidewall of the van he had been running for.
The man dropped to the ground screaming in pain as Hood walked over to him, paying Jensen and the kids no mind. He holstered the pistol and drew a knife, a rather unpleasant looking kukri, and kicked the man onto his back before grabbing him by the hair and tugged him up. The man unwisely grabbed at Hood's hand, trying to pull some of the tension off his scalp, screaming and begging, and only realized the rise and fall of Hood's other arm when it was too late.
The blade of the kukri easily pierced the man's flesh between two ribs, burying a good four inches of black steel into the man's torso. Then he dragged it free, slicing him open from back to front before wiping it clean on the still screaming man's clean pant leg. As an afterthought, he rolled the dying man onto his bad side, eliciting a fresh round of screams as flesh tore and punctured organs shifted, and dug the man's wallet out before it got soaked in blood.
That done, he left the dying fellow and walked towards the west entrance, tossing the wallet to one of the cowering children as he went. "Grab the other three, kid. Or don't."
Jensen was left with the dead boy and the crowd of terrified kids, and Hood walked into the building's west entrance where he was met with the ongoing sounds of gunfire from above. For once he decided to show some degree of interest in the situation, and took the stairs at a jog, passing a few of the building's inhabitants as they had wisely chosen now as a great time to go for a walk. Not all had decided to leave, but a few were smart enough to not want to be around when the police showed up.
He reached the third floor quickly and passed the room the guards had been playing cards in. The next room held a woman, calm despite the gunfire and talking on her Wallet, likely to their boss. Hood paused to eye the woman, who after a moment realized he was there and looked at him in confusion then alarm, before dropping her Wallet and quickly moved to her computer, trying to enter a code to wipe the computer of it's data.
He frowned at her a moment, then pulled his pistol and shot her, before continuing on to the hallway. The smart ones were always the most dangerous; who knew what sort of trouble she could have caused had he let her live.
The hallway was long and not terribly wide, and he was quickly met with the backs of those very guards, all pushing towards a closed door at the end of the hallway, presumably where the biker's boyfriend was trying to escape out the east exit.
With them distracted, again (Hood could appreciate the bout of good luck, but it certainly made things boring for him), he pulled kukri and pistol and walked up behind the rear most man, whom had apparently stopped to check into a few of the rooms and let his comrades have the fun of being shot at.
He had hung out a bit back from the others, his weapon held almost casually, and only managed to turn his head before Hood was on him, having taken a moment to realize that that one gunshot was from behind him, not ahead. The kukri met the man's eye, and the curve of the blade gave Hood the balance and fulcrum point he needed to hook it deeply into his skull and pull him to the ground, leaving him to convulse and die with the blade embedded in his skull.
He pulled a pistol and sawed off double-barrel shotgun from a sling tucked under his arm and now casually shrugged off. Up came the pistol, the weapon barking loudly in the narrow hallway as he planted three rounds into the next man's back. That one died with a surprised yell, drawing the attention of the remaining four. They glanced back, and three spun to meet him with the barrels of their guns.
The sawed off barked far louder then the pistol had, and buckshot peppered the walls and anyone ahead of him in the hallway with equal measure. It wasn't nearly enough to kill a man, but it was certainly enough to get yelps of pain and force them into cover; they ducked into adjacent doorways, and one bolted into the east stairwell, apparently where the biker's boyfriend had made his escape in the confusion.
The sawed-off was dropped next; it was a showy weapon, but took two hands to reload, and he hadn't the patience or interest to do so. When the three remaining slavers looked into the hallway, realizing none of them were dying, just very sore and bloody, there was no sign of Hood. And alarmingly, the body of their boss was minus the wicked knife that had been dug into his face.
They shared a glance, then after some bickering one of them stepped into the hallway and walked carefully towards their dead boss, his rifle held closely to his side at the hip, rather then at the shoulder as should have been proper.
The man edged forward, glanced back at his friends, then stepped over his dead boss and peeked into the closest open door. Hood grabbed the barrel of the man's weapon, tugging it into the open doorway and dug the kukri into the man's stomach, wrenching the blade to hook it onto his ribs. Using the knife as a handle, he tugged the man's rapidly failing body around as a shield and stepped partly into the hallway, aiming over the dying man's shoulder with his revolver this time.
The dying man's slaver friends let out angry curses and brought their weapons up, but Hood fired first. They had the benefit of cover, hiding part way in doorways, but Hood wasn't firing standard rounds from his favorite handcannon. Cop killers, of the 2045 variety, made short work of the cheap interior building materials, punching through 2x4 and plywood with ease. Flesh and bone were no trouble, and the man dropped to the ground as a second and third round found their mark in his torso.
He dropped to the ground, weapon firing madly, scattering rounds across the hallway and, most importantly, into the exposed flank of his remaining friend, bullets ripping the man's flesh, but he managed to put one shot down the hallway. It flew true, striking the dying man Hood had used as a shield, punching through the man's sternum and spine only to meet a far less yielding surface in Hood's bodyarmour.
He grunted in annoyance as the heavy round punched the wind out of him, then dropped the corpse that had served to soften the impact, wrenching the blade free of his torso and again wiping it clean on the dead man's clothes before tucking it away. He took a few experimental breaths to make sure nothing was broken, not that there was much he could have done had it been, then he picked up his dropped sawed-off and it's sling.
He glanced in a few of the rooms to make sure the place was empty, then pushed open the tattered door that led to the east stairwell. There was still one slaver left, and of course the loving couple of would-be rescuers to be dealt with.
- Jensen James - 06-04-2014
Jensen's breastbone ached terribly but distantly behind the ache of realization. Jatinder was lifeless in his arms, but Jensen scrambled to lay the child aside and do something. He lay the child on his back and shielded him from the bark of gunfire. Screams howled through the alley, cries of terror and pain that would interrupt many restless sleeps in the weeks to come. Jensen hovered over Jatinder like his presence might shield the child from the worst of it, but the worst was already done. The streaming tears clouded his visor with humidity so that Jensen tore the helmet from his head as the executioner of violence passed by him. Jensen sat, shielding Jatinder from him, and watched behind the tendrils of hair curtained across his eyes while the man darted up the stairwell.
Connor! But panic over his ally upstairs faded when Pao came to him. She held up the wallet that'd been tossed to her, but Jensen couldn't respond, all he could do was squeeze the child's shoulders and beg that he was wrong. It was wrong to ignore children that needed his guidance for the sake of one, but Jensen squeezed wet eyes and wrangled with the Gift until it bent to his will. Nothing responded to his push for life. I won't let you go! I won't! A superhero, remember? Please, son, please. The tears dripped from his jaw, but were all but invisible in the darkness crouching around the alley. Even prayer was forgotten in his sorrow. The Gift reached for a void, worthless, and Jensen stopped trying.
Pao had directed other, older girls to collect Wallets and money from the dead. They were far less squeamish than he would have been. These were their slavers, men that captured them, were cruel to them: escorts of horrors that burned away the innocence of childhood.
A few individuals rushed out the stairwell, people who lived there, he guessed. One had a toddler in tow. Jensen watched without moving, and they paid him no attention. Did you know what was going on around you?
Pao had not seen his face yet. Jensen realized as much when he looked back to her. Her expression was grim and drawn, but she pushed hair from his eyes with an overly soothing hand. The grace of a child abounded despite torture. It melted the sorrow from his heart, and he found the means to act. "Can I see the wallet?"
She handed it to him. He punched in a mark on the city, the church that was going to shelter the children until the authorities were forced to respond. The youth pastor said his wife was a reporter, and she'd be there as well to ensure the public learned about the event. Given enough press and the CCD couldn't ignore the situation. "This is where you need to go. Take them, please, Pao, I have to return for my friend."
The sounds of gunfire exploded from the stairwell door. Jensen flinched into place in front of Pao, but the sound was only an echo. He needed to move fast.
"I will take them."
Fear thinned her voice, but determination remained.
"God bless you, child."
He wiped his face clean and returned his helmet to his head, if only to not have to carry it. At this point, anonymity was no longer a priority.
Life was the only priority.
"Will I see you again?"
She asked.
Jensen thought for a brief moment, "I hope so."
The response was truthful.
Accepting of the hope, Pao and the other children abandoned the scene of violence and Jensen watched for as long as he could see them before sprinting upstairs himself.
The Gift was securely in his grasp, but his heart pounded afraid of what he would find on the third floor. If it were death and carnage, it would have been brought there by his actions this night. The exact opposite of what he wanted. He'd meant to save people, not see them destroyed.
- Connor Kent - 06-04-2014
The door jamb dug into Connor’s back as he pressed against it and watched the door. They would come through any moment- they or their bullets. Only peripherally was he aware of the commotion behind him, the scrambling and sounds of crying and whining children, Jensen’s voice giving commands. It all only barely passed through the fog of fear and adrenaline that clouded his mind. They’re coming. 5 or 6 guys. Semi-autos. He looked down at the gun he had in his hand. He didn’t know how many rounds he had left. He knew it wasn’t like the movies, where he could spray the door and men coming through it indiscriminately. So there he was, trapped. He looked down the now empty hallway. An image of himself turning and running for the door, bullets suddenly striking him from the back before he made it played in his mind. He breathed heavily. This was bad.
He heard more shooting on the other side of the door and screams. He had no idea what it meant, but it finally forced his frozen limbs to movement. Carefully, he backed his way along the corridor, pressing himself against the door-insets, always watching the door carefully. He risked a glance back to the exit door. Still a ways away. Damn! Suddenly the door in front burst open and a man stumbled out, curiously turned around and facing the other way. But that lasted less than a second. He turned and saw Connor and brought his weapon up firing. Connor zagged across the corridor, trying to get to the exit. Bullets ricocheted around him and his heart was in his throat. He slammed into the exit door and nearly fell as he run down the stairs to the first landing. Just then he heard the sound of the door above opening and more bullets were flying. He was already heading down the next flight, but the pings of ringing metal and thuds of wall and concrete being hit echoed in the stairwell.
The last flight and then the exit beckoned. Suddenly the exit door was being peppered with bullets and Connor threw himself back to below the flight of stairs. The man was coming and his exit was blocked! He pulled open the door onto the first floor corridor and saw people in flight, running this way and that, all streaming for the exits. It was chaos and the man was coming. One room door was open and Connor hurled himself into it.
He looked around. There wasn’t much to protect him. The windows were dark, but he could see the bars. No way out that way. The sound in the hallway died down and soon he only heard the thud of his heart. He stood against the side wall, where he could see if the door opened and maybe get a shot off first. His heart thundering in his ears, he stood there, anxiously poised, ears straining for the slightest sound. He waited. And he waited. Gradually, the tension started to build. He didn’t like feeling trapped. There were a lot of guys out there and here he was, stuck in this room. Finally, trying to calm down, he crept to the door and listened. Nothing. He put his hand on the handle. Am I really going back out there? After a moment, he turned it slowly, hoping it didn’t make any noise. He pulled the door open just a crack and looked out. He could see only a small sliver of corridor but there was no one there. That just means they could be in my massive blind spot, seeing this door open and waiting for me to come out.
He widened the sliver. Still nothing. He lowered himself to the ground, gun at the ready. If they were there, they’d shoot high and maybe he’d have a chance. He carefully let his gun and head peak out, finger on trigger. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the hall was empty. Looked like everyone had fled. He stood up and moved quietly and carefully anyway. There was another exit just ahead, one that let out in the center of the building instead of the east and west ends. It was the closest and he just wanted out, wanted to make sure Jensen and the kids were ok. And maybe, just maybe he’d be able to get home to Ayden. He heart twisted at the thought of her. He could lose her tonight. Could’ve lost her with his stupid need to jump into things. But he thought of those kids. What had they lost? It tore at him, this need. It always seemed to make sense at the time. But Ayden…
He opened the exit carefully and the rush of freezing winter air hit him in the face. It was dark. He hadn’t realized he was covered in sweat until the cold wind froze it. It was quiet here, though pops and shots and screams sounded in the distance. Carefully, he worked his way forward, listening intently, hearing only the crunch of his boots on the snow covered ground. He got maybe 20 feet from the building when something made him turn around- and there a man stood, gun raising, about to fire.
This is it, he thought. This is how I die. Time slowed to a stop as everything became clear, bracing for the impact of bullets into his chest. He saw his son in his mind. Hayden. Did I do all right, bud? Did you see your dad? And then Ayden’s face. I’m sorry. I'm sorry. I wanted to be with you…
A bullet slammed into him throwing him forward onto the ground. His back screamed in pain and then his chest. He felt the blood pouring out the holes in his body, burning, taste of blood in his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs wouldn’t fill. I can't breathe!! His mind was in panic. Gradually, his senses began to close off. Sounds, smells, sight…it all faded away….
Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 4 2014, 11:29 AM.
- Ayden - 06-04-2014
Gun shots fired inside. Automatic weapons fire meant Ayden had to take out her man and do it fast before trouble found her.
Ayden blinked the infrared away from her contacts, she needed to see faces. The distances lit up each different target she focused on. But none of those exiting or surrounding the building were her mark. The man had to be here, his phone said he was here.
Ayden dropped her view to the cars parked near by. Sure enough her mark was cowering in the driver seat window. The gun fire had caught his attention too, but he didn't run. Ayden caught a glimpse of something in his car, a camera or something of that nature. Ayden didn't think. She took aim and the power brought everything into a pristine focus, there was no way she'd miss. she never missed.
In all the confusion going out at the place, one more stray bullet would hardly be noticed. A tiny squeeze of her trigger finger and the bullet sailed in near silence towards it mark. The glass shattered on the drivers side door and in the power Ayden heard the distinct sound of a bullet crunching through the skull.
Ayden looked up to clear her sights, the power still raw inside her. Ayden blinked, Connor? WTF! Ayden waited, it was only moments, but it took that long to register. A man behind Connor, a gun. There was little time for thought. Two days in and Ayden was ready to risk a second shot from her location to save him. Worry, confusion, anger all registered but were pushed aside by her training. The key was to stay calm in all things, even when a loved one was in danger.
There was little time, she reloaded as quickly as possible. The man grew closer as Ayden performed the task methodically. Little time left. Ayden knew the man would fire at any moment, but Connor was too close, she couldn't wait too long. The world slowed, time nearly stopped as Ayden waited, almost too long. She squeezed the trigger ever so slightly and the bullet flew...
Connor turned around, a moment too soon, and stepped into the line Ayden had marked. The bullet pierced Connor's back , Ayden watched in horror as it slowed and made final impact in the man now in front of Connor. Ayden loaded again. The man saw her, Ayden was only slightly aware of him starting to train his automatic weapon on her position. A rain of bullets flew over her head and into the ground in front of her. Ayden hated firefights. She cursed under her breathe as she waited for the hail of bullets to stop.
Quickly, A third shot, Ayden didn't have time to gauge much of anything before she pulled the trigger a third time. The gift guided her, she relied on it and not the specs in her contacts. The bullet landed, pierced the skull of the man whom she had targeted.
Connor! The immediate threat over and Ayden grabbed her things, and ran towards the dilapidated building. She could see and smell the wound long before she got to him. She knelt in her black wig and dark clothing above Connor and wished to god he had not been here. He his lungs filled with blood, the wound bled. Ayden drew upon her gift, she didn't know how to do what she'd done before. She let the gift guide the weaves. Like it was second nature, but no matter what she did, the wound only barely closed. New blood stopped flowing into his lungs, but that was about all she could do for him. Ayden knew that he was out of danger, but his life was still hanging in a precarious balance.
A fire burned inside. She looked at the building with pure hatred and fury. Her skin burned with the emotions boiling inside her. Revenge, guilt, hate, anger burned through her.
Ayden walked into the building, she would extract revenge on those who made it happen. It was her fault Connor was lying near death on the cold hard ground. But it was their fault for bringing him here. The minor healing she had done on Connor had weakened her, she could feel the strain of holding the power. But she didn't care, she pulled on the power, almost to the point at which she knew she'd burn with it. She wove fire and earth and pulled the building down. Fire erupted in ever crevice Ayden could see. The heat grew to an inferno with in matter of seconds. Ayden fueled the fire with her own power. It grew, encompassed everything.
Ayden felt the flames touch her skin. The fire bird awoke inside. She'd never seen it, only heard the rumors. The majestic bird hiding Ayden as she walked out of the flaming inferno.
Outside the power drained away. Ayden nearly fell to the ground, but she forced herself to walk, to move, to keep going.