Defection

Defection

Bars of reflected amber light slid up and off the left lens of the man�s flare compensation glasses, cleverly disguised as designer sunglasses. His craggy, pitted features were immobile as his black sedan carved through traffic. Headlights cut through the sprawl darkness. The rest of his team was busy, leaving him the chauffeur duty. The man�s name was Harry. Harry was an extractor, one of the finest in the Boston/Atlanta sprawl. Harry had an appointment that night.

* * * * *

Amy quietly punched the elevator code. Her heart was racing as the doors closed in front of her, sec guards yelling from the other side of the reinforced steel. The numbers changed quickly on the digital display. Amy�s breath came in short gasps as she curled up on the floor, in a corner as instructed. She knew people would die to get her out of Mass-Kruup. Maybe even she would die. Mitsuhama had hired locals to get her out, part of the package deal for her to jump ship. She prayed that they were good.

The elevator hit ground floor, and the doors opened. A wall of concussive force rolled into the cage, shaking Amy to the core. The noise was deafening, a crescendo of chaos. Her eyes squeezed shut tight as sparks scorched her from a near miss. Amy screamed.

And there were hands grabbing hers, dragging her out of the elevator. Amy�s hand closed convulsively as she struggled to her feet. Her eyes were still tightly closed. She threw up a hand to shield herself and then she was running, the force of the gunfire close enough to be felt in her chest cavity as someone - a woman by the feeling of her hands- fired as she ran. Suddenly, Amy slipped. Her eyes shot open as she slipped. Around her were the bodies of several Maas-Kruup security guards. As she fell, she saw everything. A few more sec guards were holed up behind the lobby desk, firing at three people crouching behind available cover. The person dragging Amy- a woman with green hair and wiry muscles- keelhauled her across the white tile towards the exit. The blastproof glass was starred and cracked from the fierce gun battle. Amy vomited, legs collapsing, and one of the gunfighters broke from the fight and grabbed her under the armpit. He took most her weight off the woman, and they began to carry her at a run.

* * * * *

Harry was leaning on the car, watching and waiting. The extraction was up a flight of stairs and across a small corporate park. He could hear the gunfire in the distance, and it made him anxious. Then, Jack leaped the stairs, taking two at a time and screaming. Skidding to a stop, jack lay his shotgun across the hood of the car. Harry calmly walked to the trunk and popped it. Taking the FN HAR assault rifle from a set of brackets, he slapped in a clip and aimed.

The other three leaped down the stairs, dragging the target down the stairs. Halfway down, the mob of high-threat response rentacops came into view behind them. Harry and jack opened up...



First draft.

DE

don't just leave me hanging......continue

"..." aww.....

We want more!

*starts chant*

(This is collaborative fiction, right?)

. . . Harry gaged the distance of the oncoming secs. He'd have to sight it, no shooting from the hip on this one. As he brought the butt of the gun up to his shoulder, he began intoning the shootist's mantra: BASS.

Breathe. Harry's subconscious reminded him to exhale. Breathe

Aim. Harry tipped the iron front sight at the solar plexus of the closest guard in mid-stride. Aim.

Slack. Harry waiting only miliseconds, but to him it seemed like eons, as he paused for the moment of slack, the instant of body equilibrium between inhaling and exhaling. Slack.

Squeeze. Harry began to evenly apply pressure with the pad of his right forefinger to the trigger of the terrible instrument of death in his hands. He could feel the tension in the crescent of metal slowly building, as he reminded himself that the pressure on this trigger would only mount to 8 or 9 pounds of force until leaden death began ripping through the air in front of him. But suddenly

The world froze around him. A verticle silver ripple surged left-wise across his field of vision, curtained at the gound but stretching up to the infinity of the lead-colored sky. As the ripple crossed, everything in its wake stood frozen in mid-stride, like so many flies encased in amber.

[edit on 13-10-2004 by dr_strangecraft]