1984
Officer John Sims swallowed hard as he crouched in the office holding his service revolver tightly. The guy in the motorcycle jacket was out there and he had just drove a fucking car right through the front of the police station and had knocked out the electricity somehow, as well. Another cop whose name completely slipped Sims' mind was laying nearby coughing, blood running down his cheek and a gaping shotgun wound in his belly. Sims had managed to put himself in the line of fire to drag him to safety when the tall, imposing shooter had turned his back briefly to fire at another cop.
"This . . . " The wounded guy paused to cough some more blood. "This isn't the sort of guy that has just gone nuts and decides to shoot up our fucking precinct. He's got a purpose here . . . Must be that new gal giving a statement . . . Connor . . . " He checked the load in his own revolver with fumbling fingers as the booted footsteps of the shooter approached up the hallway. The wounded guy took as deep a breath he could and fixed his gaze on Sims. "Get the fuck out of here. You rescued me, so you shouldn't die, man. I'm a goner anyway. I'll distract the son of a bitch while you get away."
Sims started to argue, but the shooter was already peering into the office the two cops were sheltering inside. The guy was massive and he was holding a military-style assault rifle in one hand and a shotgun in the other. He raised the assault rifle, aiming the weapon directly at Sims . . . until two shots banged out from the wounded cop's service revolver, impacting with the shooter's chest, and he stopped temporarily and for a moment Sims thought the guy was going to keel over dead. He cheered loudly for the bravery of the wounded officer, because now the shooter wasn't a scary big guy brandishing an assault rifle, he was a dying perp.
Then, the shooter turned and shot from the hip with the assault rifle, this time aiming for the wounded cop. Sims watched in horror as his comrade's body jerked wildly as it was peppered by bullets and then layed still. He got up without another thought and started running through the office and toward the door leading out into another hallway.
He heard the shotgun cocking behind him and closed his eyes tightly but kept running towards the door with a feeble hope of making it. But the shooter seemed so accurate . . . Almost not human . . . And when he aimed at someone, he hit them nearly every time. The same went for Sims when the 'man' shot him in the back from twelve feet away with the shotgun. Sims toppled through the half-open door and rolled out into the hallway, howling in pain. He blacked out seconds afterward. The last sight he saw before losing unconsciousness was the blurry view of the emotionless-faced shooter that would kill seventeen cops that night stepping past his face into the hallway and firing the rifle and the last sound he heard were the horrified, pained screams of other police officers.