The Beginning

Thwack. I hit the tarmac with an audible complaint from my jeans and a scorching wave of sensation from the skin on my left side. Without stopping, I use the momentum from my fall to propel me upwards and forwards, twisting out of the bloodstained jacket as I run for the mouth of the alleyway. I round the corner just in time to dodge the bullets sent in hot pursuit by the men chasing me. I weave in and out of the streets and alleyways, keeping careful track of every change in direction; don’t want to lead them back to the others and I certainly do not wish to get myself lost and stuck in a dead-end, and least not yet. The streets are quiet three o’clock in the morning, small mercies. I slow my pace a little, careful to stay within sight but out of the line of fire of my pursuers; can’t have them heading off to find the others or trying some or other harebrained tactic to bring me down. 

One more corner and then I disappear into the shadows of an alley, the dead-end I had been running towards for the past hour. I crouch down low, and merge my consciousness with the shadows and the building, careful to slow my breathing and heart-rate. Absolute quiet reigns for a second and then the usual ambient noises return to the alley, as if there had been no disturbance. Good. The men round the corner, running right past my hiding place. Three, four, six and eight. All accounted for except the one they’d have left at the mouth of the alley, around the corner, just in case – the chaser, the one who always chases his compatriots and serves as the rear guard, in case something happens to the others. Like now. Swift and silent, I jump on the back of the closest man and break his neck before he can warn the others. I drop him silently to the ground, and as I’m straightening up I start shooting, one, two, three, four, five. I drop the gun and slam the man come at me from the right’s gun out of his hand before he can aim it at me. In one fluid motion, I twist his arm, empty of the gun now, and yank him off his feet, driving my right arm into his windpipe and tossing him to the side, twisting and kicking the last man full in the stomach, sending him sprawling onto his back. I duck, pick up number seven’s gun and shoot number eight, turn and shoot number seven with his gun. A rustle and an eddy in the air, I duck just in time to dodge the bullet fired off by the rear guard. I zigzag towards him. He’s moving in slow-motion and can’t get a shot fired at me before I’m already moving in a different direction. I slam his gun arm up, deliver a hard right into his solar plexus, throw him down on the ground while taking the gun from his listless fingers, turn and fire a single shot into his back. Nine, all accounted for. 

I drop the weapon and take a step back, watching as the mist begins to rise from their bodies, waiting until all nine of them have evaporated before I look down at the bloodstain spreading across my shirt, right where my heart was. I touch the stain and my fingers come away covered in blood. My heart rate is normal, no adrenaline pulsing through my veins and the pain I should have been feeling is barely perceptible on the periphery of my senses. My hand drops to my side, I turn my back on the alley and start running back to where I’d left the others, they’ll be worried if I don’t return quickly.