Michael's finger hovered over the trigger, poised and ready. A wide grin stretched across his face.
"Heh. Gotcha."
He squeezed the trigger. The round left the sniper barrel, silent, lethal, and impossibly fast, striking the masked woman and taking her down instantly.
The woman hit the pavement, stiff as a board. Suddenly, a swarm of her masked colleagues poured out of the alleyways, surrounding the body. One member of the group scanned the area frantically, head snapping back and forth as if hunting for something specific.
A moment later, she froze. She locked eyes with Michael and raised her pistol.
"Sh*t..."
Michael pulled away from the scope. But a split second later, a bullet clipped his glasses, snapping the frame and knocking them off his face.
The rest of the masked group spotted him. They opened fire immediately. Michael threw himself flat against the roof as bullets chewed up the ledge above him, shattering the windows of the headquarters behind him.
He reached out, grabbing his broken glasses.
"Mora, heads up! They're hitting the building right now!" Michael shouted into the Oxy glasses he was clutching.
"Yeah, I'm trying to seal the windows. You need to distract them so they don't target the com-" The group below shifted their fire toward the small tower on the roof. "F*c-" Mora's voice cut out in a wash of static. The signal was gone.
Michael tossed the useless glasses onto the floor.
He spun around, grabbing a grappling gun from his right pocket and slamming the round button on his wristwatch.
His boots flared with a bright, intense light. Slowly, he pushed himself up, then broke into a dead sprint toward the edge of the roof. The gunfire from below tracked him, kicking up debris at his heels. Mid-air, Michael aimed the grappling gun at the peak of the building across the street and pulled the trigger. The line caught, and his momentum swung him violently but controllably toward the opposite rooftop.
He landed hard, sprinting around to the back of the building while reeling in his grapple.
Automatic fire continued to shred the windows behind him. acting fast, Michael pressed a button hidden inside his jacket. Instantly, he vanished from sight. His watch began a countdown: 30 minutes.
He rotated the bezel of his watch, and a blade snapped out from each of his wrists. He flicked a switch on the grappling gun, setting the hook to flexible mode.
He anchored the hook to the rooftop railing and wrapped the line around his torso.
Michael stepped over the edge, planting his feet against the glass facade. He wobbled for a second, but the mag-boots held firm against the windowpane. He scanned left and right, looking for a flush section of the building.
Finding a smooth spot, he offered a thin smile and pushed off. He fell into a freefall. The wind whipped his suit and hair back, straightening every strand.
The ground rushed up to meet him. Just before impact, the line around his body snapped taut, jerking him to a sudden halt.
Michael scanned the street. Empty. He twisted around, sliced the rope, and dropped to the sidewalk, executing a perfect combat roll.
He tapped his watch. The glow on his boots faded to black.
A fresh volley of gunfire echoed nearby. Michael took off, circling the building.
When the group of masked women came into view, he slowed his pace. They were fixated on shooting out the windows of the Indi(e)go building, though thick steel shutters were already sliding into place to block them.
One of the women pointed toward a side alley. The others immediately rushed toward it.
Michael crept closer. His footsteps were silent, completely unnoticed.
Until... crinkle.
Michael stepped on a piece of stray paper. The sound was sharp enough to break their focus. They spun around, weapons raised, scanning the empty air where he stood.
Michael froze, swallowing hard.
A woman jogged out of the alley lugging an RPG. She handed it off to the leader who had pointed her there.
"Serious? These wh*res have an RPG?" Michael muttered.
The woman popped the cover and loaded the rocket.
Michael abandoned stealth. He sprinted at them, striking the nearest member. She dropped instantly.
The others snapped into defensive stances, eyes darting around, trying to find the invisible threat.
They leveled their heavy weapons and started spraying fire in random directions.
Michael danced through the hail of bullets. One by one, he slashed at them with his wrist blades.
Screams of pain erupted from the group, but their panic just made the gunfire more chaotic. Michael was forced to scramble, leaping over obstacles and diving behind hard cover.
He slid behind a sturdy concrete barrier, chest heaving. A glance at his watch showed the countdown.
"Sh*t, three minutes left?!"
He retracted the blades, vaulted over the concrete, and hurled throwing knives with deadly precision.
Two more went down, knives finding their marks. That left three, all armed with heavy weapons. One of them grabbed a smoke grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it forward.
Thick grey smoke billowed out, swallowing the street and blinding Michael. He coughed, checking his watch again. 1 minute.
He ran forward blindly, scanning left and right. Nothing but abandoned cars.
Michael stopped in the center of the fog. He closed his eyes, centering himself. He tuned out his own breathing, letting his body relax.
A faint footstep. Soft, but there. The sound grew clearer.
Louder...
Distinct.
Michael snapped his eyes open. He caught the arm of a masked figure appearing out of the smoke and swept her legs, stomping on her thighs with brutal force.
She screamed. Michael grabbed her head with both hands and swiftly ended it.
Suddenly, two women emerged from the fog, flanking him. Gun barrels leveled at his head. Michael slowly raised his hands.
"Face in the dirt! Now!" one screamed.
Michael dropped to his stomach, feigning defeat. His eyes looked heavy, bored. The smoke was beginning to clear.
From the distance, a low hum grew into a buzz.
Five drones swooped in, strafing the two women and slicing into their skin. They cried out, distracted.
One of the drones dropped a pair of Mark I Oxy glasses. Michael snatched them up.
"Sorry for the delay," Mora's voice crackled in his ear. "Technical difficulties."
Michael chuckled.
"Next time, try to be faster. You almost got me killed."
He ripped a heavy weapon from the hands of one of the dazed women. They glared at him, wincing as the drones continued to harass them. Michael pressed the gun barrel against one of their foreheads.
"Any last words before you go to hell?"
The woman grabbed the muzzle, pulling it tighter against her own head.
"If it wasn't for that psycho b*tch obsessed with your d*ck, I wouldn't be doing this sh*t. Kill me! JUST F*CKING KILL ME!!!"
She broke down sobbing. Michael swallowed, his gaze cold.
"Well, you asked for it."
He put a single round through her forehead. She collapsed.
Michael raised his hand, signaling the drones to back off the final survivor. The woman dropped her weapon. Michael walked up to her; her head hung low, silent.
He ripped the mask off her face.
Blonde hair tumbled out. A disheveled face stared at the asphalt in resignation.
"Louvrine?!"
Michael's eyes went wide. Louvrine looked up and smirked. Suddenly, she lunged, grabbing his neck and planting a forceful, aggressive kiss on his mouth.
Michael shoved her back violently.
"You sl*t! The hell was that?"
Louvrine wiped her mouth, running her tongue over her lips. She gave him a wicked smile.
"No wonder she's obsessed with you. Tasty lips. Built like a real man, too. But those lips are dry... you've never f*cked a woman, have you?"
Michael frown. "Who is 'she'?"
"Ha... I'm not telling. Figure it out yourself," Louvrine said, dropping to her knees. She grabbed the barrel of the gun Michael was holding and guided it to her temple.
"You're going to kill me anyway, right? Come on, do it, darling... but before that, let me-"
Louvrine's hand slid lower, brushing against something concealed beneath Michael's black pants. Michael snapped his gaze toward her face, his finger settling on the trigger of the heavy weapon in his grip.
"Huge. What a sad, pathetic... never been used. What a waste..."
Michael glared at her. He pulled the trigger. The shot was deafening, and Louvrine fell.
Michael tossed the weapon aside and walked away, touching the frame of his glasses.
"Mora, can you pick me up?"
"Yeah, hang tight. My car is almost there."
Waiting for the ride, Michael looked around. Black smoke drifted through the air, trash cans were overturned, shop windows shattered, and blood pooled on the street.
He walked over to the RPG the group had used. Picking it up, he noticed a graffiti tag on the side: Wizzies.
He unscrewed the ammunition casing and rotated it. Scrawled on the side were the words: F*ck April!
Michael raised an eyebrow. His eyes widened.
"April?"