Anyone that reads my work knows I have an affinity for beating on Piers Nivans. Well this is nothing new, enjoy the mayhem. One of those all time low points for him coming in the second chapter, so please turn back now if you are one of those people saddened by my horrible proclivities.
Piers Nivans was 'the man who never misses a shot,' the man who was suppose to be prepared for everything. Chris Redfield's partner. How had this happened to him, how had he managed to fall so far? Literally fall so damn far. His head was spinning and the com-set that clung to his ear was knocked loose. His fingers drifted over the dips in his flak jacket, wincing at the pain that lanced through him with jarring pain just from the briefest touches before retracting it away. At least four ribs were cracked from that fall. Swallowing down the growing lump in his throat, Piers shook away the feeling of defeat, and replaced it with his usual surety that he patronized Chris with. Peeling away the strap holding the B.S.A.A.'s standard issue 9-0-9 in it's holster. Holding the gun tight to his body with both hands, bent at the elbow so he could almost kiss the muzzle, tipping it out against his shoulder. He needed to get back up top, get a bird's eye view, get back his rifle.
Swallowing the dryness in his throat, pain stretching across his collar bone causing his jaw to clench. He slipped silently through the alleyway, eyes darting from one corner to the next, nothing in his eagle eyes telling him to worry about and no sounds to be heard apart from the explosive noises from streets where his men were. They were waiting for a sign that the coast was clear, he needed to clear the path, that's what the sniper was there for. Chris depended on him for this mission, it was planned to the very second. He couldn't afford to be down. Through the side door, Piers methodically worked his way up, checking his sights around every corner before committing fully, the blueprints to the building still trapped in his skull from the hours spent examining this place. Exhaling, he let the pain slip away before holstering his sidearm. Third floor was the trouble, there was a hole in the hall that led to the next flight of stairs that stretched longer than two men laying down. He'd need both his hands and luck for this the first time, this was going to be more difficult.
Wincing, he stepped back to the wall, putting his weight backward into his heels and hands pushing off against the wall before darting across the floor boards to jump the gap in the floor, throwing himself over the expanse in the floor that yawned open like a sore. "Shit.." Piers stifled the gasp of pain as he rolled head over heels onto the floor, splayed out for a brief moment from the gripping arch of pain biting into his side. It had to be his collar bone too, probably from the fall. His adrenaline was blocking most everything for the passed few hours, but he needed to get upstairs, he couldn't lie here. Not with Chris waiting and having no com-set. And there was still at least a handful of j'avo up there from last time, the reason he'd taken the gosh-forsaken fall. He'd had to jump, thanks to that bastard with a rocket launcher, but he hadn't had any intentions of falling like that. Hoisting his body off the ground, he braced himself on one knee, hands still stuck to the floor boards to push himself up.
Three minutes, three minutes and his job would be completely botched. Huffing out, he gripped the 9-0-9 pushing himself up and off the floor toward the roof. One more floor and he needed to clear the street before his men walked themselves clear into a street full of gun wielding, rocket launcher toting j'avo. Shoving the door open he shook his head, taking aim carefully and quickly to meet rocket launcher boy's head. One shot, two, three, fourth head, fifth. Roof clear. Wincing, his eyes scanned for the rifle he'd dropped, lip curling into a smirk when they rest on his signature weapon. Surprising they'd left it where he'd dropped it. Kneeling, setting himself up at the broken debris and mortar of the lip of the rooftop facing east, he set to completing the mission at hand. Two minutes, ten seconds. Eyes flutter shut just briefly, laying prone on the rooftop, his lips parted ever so slightly to release a calm slow exhale, before hazel flickered open, narrowing and taking aim. He knew Chris would hear the shot, his rifle made an unmistakable sound that resonated off the buildings around them. The trigger felt tight in his hand, perfect as he watched brain matter slather the street from the first shot, as the second already rang out before the body hit the ground, taking another with it.
The shots would be heard not just by Chris, but any other manner of j'avo and mercenaries, so he had to be fast, he promised he'd meet them at rendezvous point 'B,' in twenty minutes after he'd cleared the street. Eight more subsequent bodies hit the ground concurrently before the deafening roar of his rifle shuttered out, taking out the last of their gunners on the street, pulling the pin from a flash grenade and tossing it out on the street for anything there that was hidden in the shadows. Three seconds, two, one. He spotted Chris and the rest of his team emerge from the building down the street. He grabbed his pistol, a shot ringing out singularly as a method of getting his attention. Once he caught brown eyes in a gaze he signaled once to his ear before slashing across his throat with his hand, designating his lost com-piece. A set of quick gestures and he stood, watching them go before starting his own traverse back to the rendezvous point. He couldn't push too much longer without making a go at patching himself up, but he'd already let Chris know he was fine and clear. He at least had enough in him to get that far safely. Move out soldier. Catching his breath, his body hesitated to make the jump across, but in a few minutes he was going to have this building flooded from his rifle resounding of the buildings, so it was time to move on. That had been the plan, strategically pull sound to one place while they retreated and left the building empty. Once they were clear HQ would take out the building.
Clasping his rifle into place across his shoulder, Piers stepped back, biting down on his lip before heading out across the rooftops. By the third roof he was fighting the urge to vomit, the pain lancing up his half broken ribs screaming at him to stop despite reason telling him there was no time. Reason had no place in a body's defense system, people had to learn to fight that, but by the sixth roof top he had already switched to plan B. There was an iron stairwell inside the maintenance hanger on the seventh rooftop that would lead down to the street level. It was more risky to do considering men would be swarming to the previous building by way of the streets; multiplied by the fact that he was doing this without cover. He'd gotten Chris to agree to this only by assuring him he had a clean escape prepared. Tucking his body as he rolled, Piers gasped for air using the wall of the maintenance hut to serve as a stop his roll, gasping for air. Get up and go.
Pulling his weight up the wall by shoving his weight with his outer foot he slid up the side of the wall, clinging to his side with the arm that was starting to feel nothing at all but numb. Damn adrenaline was wearing off. Turning on his heel, he popped the lock off with his 9-0-9 and spun to kick open the door from its hinges, his gun already poised. Fingers clenched the grip guard as he slipped inside, four flights down and he'd be clear to go street level. Wincing, he ran the back of his sleeve against his sweat soaked brow, the clank of his foot falls echoing down the stairwell and back to his own ears. Whatever happened, it happened fast enough that he hadn't had time to react.
The shot was all he heard, a multitude of them that rang out inaccurately, one tore clean through his tissue and muscle before dropping backward onto the steps, blacking out. His body arched when his senses came back to him in the form of his head hitting the stairs, one after another, his body being dragged by his left foot, with arms dragging over his head. Wincing he pulled his head off the stairs, his eyes still blurry from the pain his ribs were causing with every drop. The moment he moved though there were shouts in three different directions in God only knew what language, the butt of his own rifle coming down against his forehead, bouncing off iron and into darkness again. He didn't know how much time had passed the second time he woke up, but he was painfully aware this time where the bullet had hit. His arm was refusing to even move on its own accord and while his senses started to slowly come back to him the distant sound of an overhead light hummed in his ears, or it was the ringing from the bullet.