02-06-2014, 03:26 PM
Hood crossed the space to his pistol in a flash, and was already spinning towards the door with the large revolver in hand as it began to swing open. The door opened with the wall immediately to it's right, and the room opened out to the left, meaning the first man through the door stepped in and had to spin to face the room proper, his gaze immediately locked onto the view of Spectra. A black balaclava hid his features, and a compact SMG was tucked neatly into the man's shoulder, the barrel slowly raising towards her instead of checking the room for threats.
Off the same bar as his revolver, Hood plucked a crystal decanter of high end scotch, which was sent flying towards the door even as his weapon snapped up. One loud bark and the first gunman's throat erupted in red, painting the wall behind him. He was still falling as the second man stepped in, spinning to bring his own weapon up to bear on Hood, only to catch the decanter in the face. Cartilage crunched and blood quickly stained the man's mask, and he staggered and tripped over his dead comrade.
The third man was smarter, and a burst of small-arms fire tore through the wall by the door in Hood's general direction, punching holes through furniture and expensive art to embed into bookcases lined with likely rare and interesting tomes. The holes appearing in the wall started at chest level and lowered as the man in the hallway knelt, and Hood put two rounds through the wall in return.
There was a brief moment of silence. Hood wore an all-too-casual grin, his revolver held up and at the ready as he took a step sideways to start bringing the door and hallway beyond into view. He was painfully aware that Spectra hadn't listened to his instructions; the woman was just standing there, watching. And, apparently, enjoying the show. She was a cold one. His grin deepened slightly; once this mess was dealt with, however many damn hours that was going to take, he wasn't going to waste any more time with teasing.
Sounds of movement in the hallway caused him to pause; two men, barely whispering, the sound of a fresh magazine being loaded into a weapon. Rather then focusing on the still open door, he looked to the holes in the wall; no lite came through most, simply due to how the drywall and insulation had settled, but a few shown with the lights of the hallway. Some of those went dark as someone in the hallway moved, and Hood put two more rounds through the wall accordingly; cursing and the dull thud of a body hitting the floor, and Hood let out a pleased chuckle.
With only one round left in his revolver, he started towards the door before the remaining man could collect himself, glancing briefly to size up the man he had clocked in the face with the decanter; breathing but not moving. Unconscious. Perfect.
A fresh burst of gunfire tore through the wall towards where Hood had been standing when the distraction had begun, and only stopped when Hood stepped into the open door, leveling his revolver on the remaining gunman. The man barely had a chance to register what was happening before Hood fired, and the man's body violently slumped to the side. Hood glanced down the length of the hallway as he flicked open the cylinder of his pistol and poured the spent cartridges into his hand.
It was then the remaining man, who had taken the decanter to the face, sat up, swinging his SMG around to level at Hood's back. His movement was sluggish, but fast enough to have caught Hood with his pants down, so to speak.
Off the same bar as his revolver, Hood plucked a crystal decanter of high end scotch, which was sent flying towards the door even as his weapon snapped up. One loud bark and the first gunman's throat erupted in red, painting the wall behind him. He was still falling as the second man stepped in, spinning to bring his own weapon up to bear on Hood, only to catch the decanter in the face. Cartilage crunched and blood quickly stained the man's mask, and he staggered and tripped over his dead comrade.
The third man was smarter, and a burst of small-arms fire tore through the wall by the door in Hood's general direction, punching holes through furniture and expensive art to embed into bookcases lined with likely rare and interesting tomes. The holes appearing in the wall started at chest level and lowered as the man in the hallway knelt, and Hood put two rounds through the wall in return.
There was a brief moment of silence. Hood wore an all-too-casual grin, his revolver held up and at the ready as he took a step sideways to start bringing the door and hallway beyond into view. He was painfully aware that Spectra hadn't listened to his instructions; the woman was just standing there, watching. And, apparently, enjoying the show. She was a cold one. His grin deepened slightly; once this mess was dealt with, however many damn hours that was going to take, he wasn't going to waste any more time with teasing.
Sounds of movement in the hallway caused him to pause; two men, barely whispering, the sound of a fresh magazine being loaded into a weapon. Rather then focusing on the still open door, he looked to the holes in the wall; no lite came through most, simply due to how the drywall and insulation had settled, but a few shown with the lights of the hallway. Some of those went dark as someone in the hallway moved, and Hood put two more rounds through the wall accordingly; cursing and the dull thud of a body hitting the floor, and Hood let out a pleased chuckle.
With only one round left in his revolver, he started towards the door before the remaining man could collect himself, glancing briefly to size up the man he had clocked in the face with the decanter; breathing but not moving. Unconscious. Perfect.
A fresh burst of gunfire tore through the wall towards where Hood had been standing when the distraction had begun, and only stopped when Hood stepped into the open door, leveling his revolver on the remaining gunman. The man barely had a chance to register what was happening before Hood fired, and the man's body violently slumped to the side. Hood glanced down the length of the hallway as he flicked open the cylinder of his pistol and poured the spent cartridges into his hand.
It was then the remaining man, who had taken the decanter to the face, sat up, swinging his SMG around to level at Hood's back. His movement was sluggish, but fast enough to have caught Hood with his pants down, so to speak.