There was a frustrated growl in their ears. There was little either person could say, but that didn't mean the man in the snow bank didn't see what was happening. "Just say when."
The booming of the proud business man was much louder. "My guests, I had more faith in you. I thought you, of all peoples, would understand the value of my information. Well, perhaps you did." He sneered, gloating. "My security caught this particular individual snooping through my business plans and blueprints. I think it's fair that I demonstrate to him what I was building. After all, it is what he was he was sent to find, wasn't it?"
"Miss Paulin'! Truckie!" the Sniper hissed. "Call the shot!"
Neither could speak. No one could sneak away from the nervous glances of the audience members and from the raptor's eyes on stage. Miss Pauling massaged her ear. It was all she could do to acknowledge the Sniper's barking. That only made the frustrated assassin more anxious. There was another snarl on the other end of their line. "Heavy. Get up here. Tell me when you're in position."
"Da," came a short reply.
Both Miss Pauling and the Engineer were transfixed with the showman on stage, much like the rest of the crowd. He had brought up the black gun, caressing its barrel with his fingertips. The action was perverse. He was taking too much pleasure in setting up the Spy's assassination. As bad as that was, having the Spy disappear and respawn elsewhere would be worse. The last thing the world needed to know about was a way to cheat death.
"This, my fellow audience members, is the DMND-BK nine millimeter. I call her the Diamondback," Tanner Maroon waxed on about his product. "I wouldn't go quail hunting with her. Observe."
He made his point with a fine little shot through the Spy's right shoulder. The Frenchman cried out. Both butlers held him upright as he rode through the pain. Miss Pauling's eyes narrowed, her gut clamping. It wasn't a fatal shot. He'd make it out, if he didn't bleed out before his rescue. There were some shrieks from unprepared escorts, but most everyone else held their cool. In fact, some seemed hungry for the Spy's bleeding flesh.
Mister Maroon shrugged off the shot. "See what I mean? It makes its point, but it's not likely to be much of a deterrent. Now, the ammo is cheap and plentiful for such a gun, making it perfect for civilian use. But, for the man looking for a powerful punch at a reduced price? That's where we turn to our friend, Mister Electricity."
The weapons dealer jammed the base of the Diamondback into the black box on the stage's table. Instantly, the weapon flashed bright blue. There was a peculiar whirring as coils inside of the weapon charged with power. When it reached maximum power, the gun hummed with an unearthly chord. Tanner drew it from its charger, then pointed it towards the ballroom windows.
"Now? I wouldn't leave the comfort of my bedroom without this," Mister Maroon snarled. "Observe."
When he opened fire, it sounded like he had ripped through the clouds of heaven itself. A blue charge tore over the heads of the audience. It blasted through the rounded glass windows, shattering panes and mulching the frames to pulp. A terrified yelp in the Engineer and Miss Pauling's ears caught them off guard. Even the Sniper had not expected such an explosion from that.
Tanner seemed pleased with himself. "Much more powerful, don't you think? Now, it's always hard to find time to charge this piece up, so I've implemented some solar technology in its base for the man on the go." He paused, then smirked. "Oh! I almost forgot. You haven't seen what this does to all organic tissue."
More screaming went up as Mister Maroon spun on his heels to face the Spy. Even his butlers backed away from the firing range. The businessman lowered his gun, then took aim. "Now, I wouldn't recommend doing this in your home. This is going to make quite a mess."
A gunshot rang out, but it wasn't from the prototype. The gun burst in its owner's hand, its energy discharging in a massive blue ball. There was little left of Tanner's right hand, other than two mangled bones from his forearms. Miss Pauling and the Engineer were the only two amongst the crowd who weren't now in a complete panic. That shot was a familiar sound—the fast, sharp blast of a bolt-action rifle.
They could barely catch the Sniper's voice in their ears as people began screaming. "Would you wankers get moving before they—bloody he—"
The rest of the Sniper's coherent words were replaced with swearing and shouting. Pops were coming from outside of the mansion. Miss Pauling chewed on her lip. Mister Maroon's security had found him! She snapped back to the Engineer's face, then pinched her nose. So much for a quiet operation.
There were more thunks onstage. The Spy had tried to squirm his way free, but was caught up once more by Tanner's guards. The man of the hour was hardly conscious. He kept cradling the stump that was once his hand, stunned by the lack of his fingers. He hadn't even begun to pick at the shrapnel sticking out of his chest. As men carried him away, more began guarding the doors and herding the audience members together. Nobody was getting out of this situation, if they had anything to do with it.
"In position," the Heavy grunted. "Now what?"
The Sniper's ragged breathing came through. "I'm pinned down, mates. I'll try to rendezvous when I can, but—crikey!" The rest of his thoughts were lost in gunfire.
Miss Pauling started formulating a plan while people ran around her. She stared upwards, trying to think straight while admiring the ornate chandeliers. Three objectives were at hand. One, she and the Engineer had to escape. Two, the Spy needed to be rescued and hauled out. Three, the Sniper had to evade his pursuers. All three objectives had to be concluded by moving towards the Heavy's position. Even he would not wait long before coming into the mansion and start tearing everything apart. She had to get them organized before three problems turned into four.
"Mister Conagher," Miss Pauling addressed the Engineer. "You can carry the Spy out, correct?"
The Engineer nodded. "Can do. Just get me to him without getting us torn apart."
She put a hand to her ear. "Mister Mundy—when you get a chance, aim for the ballroom again. Cut the lights. Heavy? Hold position. Only attack if you are under duress."
Looking around her, Miss Pauling found her friend from the bathroom. She was standing around with her mouth gaped open, her purse similarly undone. Contents flew every which way as she was bustled about. The little bottle of perfume fell to the ground, rolling away unnoticed by the crowd. Miss Pauling snatched it up before it could be crushed under panicked feet. Even something so small could be an effective weapon. She didn't take two steps before tripping on her dress again. This high-heeled thing just wasn't going to work in combat. She knelt down, careful not to bend over. With two little kicks, she took off her elaborate shoes.
Miss Pauling offered one to the Engineer. "Projectile?"
"Thank you, Cinderella," the Engineer chuckled.
A heavy snap came from above and behind the duo. More people shrieked as a glass and brass chandelier began swinging. It was lopsided, tearing away at its own supports. The Sniper's mark was true to form, as always. The damaged chandelier swung forward and caught another fixture before crashing to the ground. The massive forces waved through the rest of the lights, ripping and tearing as it went. It wasn't long before the room was coated in blue moonlight, white snow, and deceptive shadows.
The Engineer took the opportunity to strike. With one quick spin, he hurled Miss Pauling's right shoe on stage. It struck one of the butlers holding the Spy hostage in the head. The man faltered long enough for the Spy to thrash. He banged his injury shoulder into the butler, sending him crashing off stage. The other one pulled him back as he yelled in pain. The last butler grinned as he grabbed onto the hapless Spy's wrists, dragging him away with his brethren and wounded employer.
He hadn't expected a women as petite as Miss Pauling to attack him with the heel of her discarded shoe.
Her sash's fabric caught on the stairs onto the stage, ripping as she leapt onto her target. She landed on him with a clumsy grip, but held on all the same. Taking the back of her shoe, she gouged the guard in the right cheek. He threw the Spy aside, then tossed the little woman over his shoulder. She kicked upwards once. Her sharp strike hit home. Another kick knocked the butler onto his back. He lay there with eyes and mouth wide open as the Engineer came rushing up behind her. With one punch from his mechanical hand, he knocked the butler straight into Dreamland.
Miss Pauling scrambled to help the injured Spy. She tugged the gag from his mouth, then picked at the bindings around his feet. "We've got to run."
"So I've noticed," the Spy winced. He took in a sharp breath, then wriggled as Miss Pauling freed his legs.
The Engineer plucked the Spy upright. With one yank, he undid the binding around the assassin's arms. "Can you run?"
"I think so," the Spy replied. He was weak on his knees. The blood loss was starting to get to his head. "They will track me through the snow. I'm…not well."
"Everybody else? How are we doing?" Miss Pauling asked.
The Heavy's voice returned quickly. "Still in position. Much popping."
"No go here, Miss Paulin'," the Sniper huffed. "Buncha dogs. Men with rifles. I think—" There was an awkward yelp, and then a pained groan. "Nnngh—Pinned down here!"
Crap. One problem solved, another building. Miss Pauling turned back to the Spy, then gave him a quick order. "Give me your watch."
The Spy raised an eyebrow, but complied. He extended his left arm, and she undid the golden watch's clasps. As she slapped it onto her left wrist, the Engineer became concerned. "Miss Paulin'?"
"Get him out of here," Miss Pauling ordered. "Take my stole from the coat closet. Cover his wounds. I'm going to help the Sniper."
There was little time to argue. Butlers and guards were fighting against guests that were beyond their breaking points. Fistfights had broken out between overconfident poindexters and security personnel with little tolerance for this attack. Men were moving in waves outside, looking for the bastard that had wounded their employer. If they didn't act now, the Sniper was going to be ripped to shreds. If there was anything that got the Engineer moving, it was an impending threat against his teammates.
The Texan gave up. He gave one pat on Miss Pauling's shoulders before running off. "Good luck, darlin'."
A wise woman would have never run past broken windows and into the snow with no shoes. There was little else Miss Pauling could do in this situation. She had to abandon them, if she was going to gain any speed. Flipping on the watch, she darted through the frosted gardens and up to the Sniper's position. She crawled over hedges and through bushes, her dress tangling and snaring as she ran. Snow began precipitating onto her invisible face, her face pinker beneath the invisible veil than any blush.
There was a wild howl as two black shapes came bounding over white hills. Dogs. Handsome, dangerous German Shepherds. The last thing she wanted to face tonight was two well-trained dogs that were out for her blood. They stared at her, wondering about the strange shade that was moving through the snowfall. Both sniffed the air, trying to figure out what she exactly was.
Miss Pauling didn't have time to deal with them. She fished the perfume out of her dress, then threw it over the bush. It shattered on a cement sidewalk. Both dogs barked, then went after the sound. She sighed, then continued running. Hopefully, that strong scent would keep them confused for just a little while.
She pressed on through silver woods. "Mister Mundy? Status."
The howling winds answered her.
She kept rushing east, turning slightly south in her hunt. New clues brought her on his path. Boots. Blood. Her feet were freezing in his tracks, skin too soft and tender for this pursuit. The only thing keeping her from completely losing her toes was the thin layer of silky stockings around her legs. Even that was nothing compared to the brutality of the cold mountains.
Mounds that used to be men littered the forest. All screaming and popping were gone. She felt lost in a swirling wind, like a scared princess in the snarled grasp of jealous, fearsome oaks. Even nature punished her. Her feet finally began to bleed and crack. She stopped for a moment, only to rob a corpse of his boots. His shoes were massive against her tiny feet, his socks loose around her ankles, but it was all she could do to keep going.
In the swirling maelstrom of snow, within the dark heart of the woods, Miss Pauling came upon the last of Maroon's guards. Most lay still in a spiral around an ancient tree. One last, massive shadow was at its base, fists clenched around the shirt of a slumped, motionless man. Broken glasses caught a faint glimmer of moonlight. They were buried next to a splintered, bent rifle, a limp hand inches away from seeking its only salvation.
The blood in the snow set fire in her veins.
Miss Pauling reached for another guard's body, taking his pistol. It felt good, full. She strode through the blizzard's winds, snowflakes catching on her silvery disguise. The guard raised its head at the sound of oncoming crunching. He balked, then yelled. The oncoming ghost raised her gun. She fired once, peeling back into the visible realm with a creeping wave of color as a scarlet splash soaked the remaining hem of her dress.
When she was certain the man was dead, Miss Pauling pushed the guard's corpse aside. Beneath his body was the last of her men. He was pale, snow frosting his dark hair. There was an open wound in his thigh, tenderness in his face. She felt his forehead for any signs of life, then patted his cheeks. When he started patting her back, she smiled.
Miss Pauling wasted no time. As she dressed his leg wound with his scarf, she called for her men. "I have Mister Mundy. How are we doing?"
"Little men are with me," the Heavy replied.
"Think I stopped the Spy's bleedin'," the Engineer said. "Mundy? Are you okay?"
"Yeah," the Sniper called back. He coughed as cold air hit his lungs.
"Go east, and get to the south," Miss Pauling ordered as she helped pull the Sniper onto his feet. "We'll be coming from the trees."
Slowly, carefully, the little lady and the huntsman went to meet their teammates. She kept tapping on the watch, only stopping when it failed. The Sniper was eager to press on, even when his body was fighting against him. With an awkward slide, they came down a hill and into a ditch. They struggled towards the highway, coated in clumps of wet snow. There waited a vehicle with a door popped open, catching the duo off guard with bright light and warmth.
As soon as both the little assistant and the Sniper were seated, the Heavy rocketed away from the disastrous party. The Sniper slumped, his eyelids too burdened to keep open. The Spy was similarly checked out. He was buried in white, bloody fur, keeping him warm and safe. The Engineer reached back to check on the weary Miss Pauling. His smile waned when he saw the tears and blood on her dress, but it returned when he saw her shoes.
"Don't think they quite match," the Engineer joked.
Miss Pauling sighed. "I'm done being pretty tonight."
/***/
A broken man wandered the ruins of his ballroom. What was left of his hand was wrapped in thick gauze. The boisterous fire within himself was snuffed out with the blowing snow and winds. Guests had left all sorts of garbage in his home—overturned tables, broken jewelry, torn jackets. He didn't have it within himself to even frown. All he could do was stare at the ruins and wonder what in the hell had hit him.
His guards and butlers had come back from searching the area. There were tracks leading every which way. His dogs stunk of perfume. More bodies were in the woods. His mind was empty. What could he do—call the cops? There would be just as many people asking him why he had been about to assassinate an intruder in front of an audience. No, this was his own mess.
One he wasn't sure he could ever recover from.
A butler approached the crestfallen Maroon. His face had a rough gouge cut into his cheek. He would need to see a doctor, as his attempts at mending his wounds were pitiful at best. He extended his hands, then passed two small high heeled shoes to his employer. They were clear, open-toed, three inches in the back, splattered with blood.
"The woman who attacked me…" the butler said. "She wore these."
Mister Maroon took the shoes with his one good hand. They were so small. His mind began to broil as he thought about what had happened. This woman that had attacked his staff—she must have been the one that had brought that spy into his home. The one that ruined his inventions, his career, his life. His fingers clenched onto the shoes, fingernails cutting moons into their soft pads.
He nodded to himself. "I will find her."
/***/
Author's Notes
Okay, now you can stop reading.
This was for a TF2PromptFest prompt I received ("Don't try this in heels"). The story ran very long in its entirety, so I split it here in case you needed to take a breather.
I really had a blast writing this. At first, I was afraid it would come out a bit too much like the beginning of "True Lies", but I think it kind of slipped into "Cinderella" territory towards the end. Weird as that sounds. And yeah, I pretty much ripped the dress right off the Enchanted Evening Barbie doll. But, you've gotta admit—that is one beautiful dress.
Hope you enjoyed!