Inspired by Sam’s post entitled Art Form. NOT A COPY!!!!
I sneak through the warehouse, careful not to make a sound. Somewhere in here, among the alternating neat rows of shelves and random piles of stuff, are a few people that my employer thinks need to be taken care of. My silenced Glock 10mm has been in my hand since I walked through the unlocked back door.
A noise off to my left instantly grabs my attention. A man’s laughter. I raise my Glock and move slowly towards the end of the row of shelves and peer around the corner. There they are: a large, muscular, bald man; an older, thinner man with dark brown hair wearing an Armani jacket; another man, this one a blond, not much more than a teenager; and a young, very attractive woman-she reminds me a little of Lara Croft-wearing a black tank top. I’ve got the element of surprise, so I figure can take them all out before they know what hit them. Then baldy glances over towards me. We make eye contact, and from twenty feet away I can see his pupils dilate.
Baldy lunges to his feet, knocking the table over onto a very surprised Blondie. His hand reaches into his jacket and reappears holding a massive revolver, which I recognize instantly as a Magnum Research BFR Long Cylinder. (MR claims the acronym stands for “Biggest, Finest Revolver,” but everyone I know calls it by a slightly different name…) I dive behind the shelves as the massive revolver discharges, spitting an extremely large-caliber bullet (I don’t even want to think how big it might be) towards my body. Fortunately for me, he misses wide. His second shot destroys the stereo receiver on the shelf above my head, showering me with electronic components. I decide I’ve had enough of Baldy’s portable Howitzer and roll from behind my cover, double-tapping my Glock’s trigger as I clear the shelves. Baldy doesn’t even have time to react before his head is blown apart in a fountain of gore. Lara Croft screams at the gruesome sight. Yeah, 10mm hollowpoints do that.
By now, Blondie’s gotten himself out from under the table and Armani’s spotted me. Double trouble. I do a flying leap across the aisle, bullets from Blondie’s submachine gun barely missing me. I land behind a pile of what look like old car mufflers, shift into a crouch, and return fire. Unfortunately, Blondie dodges my half-dozen shots and moves out of my line of sight. I shift targets, looking for Armani. That’s when bullets start bouncing off the mufflers. I turn to see Armani charging me, a blazing pistol in each hand. I wheel around behind the pile until he stops firing, then duck out from behind cover. My four shots catch him square in the chest, ruining his thousand-dollar jacket. He falls forward, his pistols fly from his hands and land at my feet. Two gold-plated Browning 9mm Hi-Powers with ivory grips inlaid with gold, diamonds, and what looks like platinum. Who did this guy think he was, Castor Troy? I start to my feet, pause, and tuck the Brownings into my belt. What the heck, they look sweet.
Blondie and Lara have disappeared into the warehouse by now. Or at least they think they’ve disappeared; I hear what sounds like a chain rattling somewhere off to my right, so I head cautiously in that direction. My footsteps sound like thunder in the silence. I suddenly see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn just as Blondie brings his Uzi around towards me. I fire three times until my Glock’s slide locks back on an empty clip. Fortunately for me, the shots spooked Blondie into running for cover. I crouch behind a group of barrels and load a full magazine into the Glock. I can hear Blondie’s feet pounding against the warehouse’s concrete floor; he’s running clear across the building. Good, he’s not a threat right now. I stand, my eyes sweeping the warehouse for any sign of Lara.
I turn around, and there’s Lara, an M-60 braced against her hip. Her finger slides inside the trigger guard.
Definitely not good!
I dive backwards as tracer rounds tear through the space my body was occupying a nanosecond earlier. My head and shoulders impact the bottom of a pile of something hard with a thwak! I deperately roll left as Lara demolishes whatever it was I hit with her machine gun. I slide behind a row of shelves covered in large plastic cases, and a second later Lara’s heavy .30 caliber bullets try to follow me. One of the cases falls on top of me, its latches popping open as it hits. I shove the case off of me, inadvertently opening the lid, and salvation falls into my lap. Actually, it’s an HK416.
Going up against an M-60 with a pistol, even a 10mm pistol (which is more powerful than a .357 Magnum) presents me with a large problem, but the HK416 is a gas-operated, rotating bolt, selective-fire 5.56mm assault rifle capable of firing up to 900 rounds per minute. And mine’s got a loaded grenade launcher clipped under the barrel. Problem solved.
I slam a magazine into the receiver, yank back the charging handle, and flick the safety over to full auto. Lara-I’ve begun thinking of her as “Lady Rambo”- stops firing for a second, and I make my move. I leap around the corner, bring the rifle up, and there’s Lara waiting for me. We squeeze our triggers simultaneously, and I can feel her bullets whizzing past my body. Unfortunately for her, I don’t miss, and Lara goes down hard; the better part of a 30-round clip having been emptied into her chest.
I drop the magazine out of the HK and reach down for another one when I hear a shout behind me. I turn around and see Blondie standing maybe 80 feet away, his Uzi leveled at me. He yells to put my gun down, and I move to comply, when I see the barrels marked flammable right behind Blondie. Oh, this is too good to be true! I quick drop into a forward somersault, grab my spent clip, and slam it back into the receiver. Blondie’s already opened up with his Uzi, but he’s shooting over my head. I use the spent mag as a handgrip, flip the launcher’s safety off, and fire. The grenade actually passes between Blondie’s legs before it hits a barrel and detonates. Blondie’s body is instantly consumed by the resulting fireball. The shockwave knocks me off my feet a second later.
As I pick myself off the floor, I can hear distant sirens over the roar of the now-raging fire. Time to go. I put the HK416 back in it’s case, lock the lid down, and sling the case over my shoulder. I sigh as I pass Armani’s body on the way out the door. That definitely hadn’t gone as planned. Oh, well. Just another day at the office.