The henchman never knew what hit him, literally. The side of the rocket launcher slammed into the side of his head, and he dropped like a stone.
Jack panted as he dropped the launcher and rubbed his aching arms. This was the fifth time he'd come across a grunt, and the fifth time this tactic had worked. Each one had worn ski masks over their faces and hadn't heard him coming. They were probably hired hand, not like the burly, suited men on the tower floor that kept their faces open to identification. The burly men who could hurl semis with little effort.
The sound of footsteps suddenly felt like thunder in his ears. The world around him went a little blurry, then sharpened drastically. Scents suddenly flooded through his nostrils-paint, dust, blood...there. A well-pressed suit, warm and loose from body heat. The scent of gunpowder. Caution radiating from every pore. The quiet, careful steps, so light a deer would have been hard-pressed to hear them.
And then it was over.
Jack gasped slightly, and as quietly as he could, hurried over to the opposite staircase from him. What in the All-Spark had that been?
It didn't matter now. All that mattered was what was going to happen to him if the suit caught him.
Ribs aching, he reached the staircase and opened the door, just as the sound of running came from behind.
Just wonderful. Jack scrambled into the stairwell, and closed the door until there was only a crack left ajar.
The guard came running around the corner towards the stairwell where the teen was hidden. His eye's were closed, and Jack had no doubt he was focusing on his other senses, which were doubtless enhanced.
Who were these people?
Jack held his breath as the suit came closer...closer...closer...NOW!
Jack hurled himself back and opened the door at the same time, allowing the suit's momentum to carry his bulk into the stairwell and down the stairs. Jack didn't wait to see what would happen to him. He was already slamming the door and running towards the other stairs. If the man on the expressway could survive being hit by a truck, Jack had no doubt this one could survive a little fall.
Jack examined the bank floor from behind the stairwell door. They hadn't seen him, having assumed that all people in the building were either hostages or dead. For some reason, the Hancock had been closed today, so only a few officials and some workers had been in when the attack initiated. There was blood on the floor, and a shiny shoe poking out from behind a counter. The bile rose in his throat.
How was he going to get to the bank floor and figure out the next clue without getting anyone shot? Scratch that, how was he going to avoid getting shot at, or worse, ripped apart?
He took a deep breath and began to slowly turn the handle...
Warning bells flashed in his mind, and he whipped around just in time to hit by a suited rhino and catapulted through the door.
The door burst open and Jack sent flying. For a moment, there was a peculiar sense of weightlessness as he glided through the air.
Then he hit a table and and the daydream was over.
He rolled off the cracked table just as a fist pounded the glass into pieces. The suit grunted as jagged pieces ripped into his flesh.
Jack took the moment to look around. He only had a few seconds, but Arcee's lessons had taught him that that was more than enough.
The lobby was wide and spacious, though the decor was ruined by fifteen or so people crouching with their hands over their heads. There were three other equally muscled suits by the hostages, and another four lounging around. Jack's heart sank. He'd never be able to take them.
And there was only ten minutes left.
His opponent managed to free him hand, and swung it like a club, catching Jack in the chest. As Jack slid over the floor, he thought it a miracle something hadn't broken.
The henchman seized his neck in a crushing grip and hurled him across the lobby. Jack grunted as he landed on his shoulder, rolling his body so he landed on his feet in a crouch. He stumbled slightly as he got to his feet, and his back hit the pillar behind him.
The suit rushed him again, sunglasses slightly askew, froth gathering at the corners of his lips.
Jack rolled out of the way, and the suit's head smashed into the pillar like a bull. His skull went right into the stone, and stayed lodged there as it's owner grunted and bellowed in rage and pain.
Jack stared as he caught his breath at the comical sight, an idea forming in his head.
As the grunt pulled his head free, Jack turned and sprinted towards another pillar. The thundering footsteps of the suit behind him made the floor shake. He was almost there...
Less than three feet from the pillar, Jack hurled himself to the side and rolled, once again landing in a crouch. The suit wasn't so lucky, and his momentum sent him smashing his head through the stone.
Jack was already up and moving as he heard the crumbling stone hit the floor behind him. He risked a glance over his shoulder and shuddered at the ghastly, snarling figure that raged after him, arms outstretched, head covered in blood, sunglasses gone and blood-shot eyes wide and rolling.
Jack repeated his rolling crouch move and winced at the sound of shattering stone. The suit didn't appear to be too smart, and the continual knocks in the head weren't helping.
Another hit later and and the footsteps began to slow, the breathing became labored.
Five minutes.
Another smash. Slower and slower.
Another smash. Groans of pain. One more...
CRUNCH.
Jack slowed, stopped and turned.
The suit's face was pressed into the stone-and he wasn't moving.
It was over.
Jack turned back towards the hostages, only to hit the broad chest of another suit.
The man stared down at him behind his dark sunglasses.
Jack scrambled away, readying his weary body for another fight.
"Don't be tired." The suit's voice was soft. "You're only just starting, Mr. Darby."
He handed the teen a sheet of paper. "You've proven yourself worthy for the next level. Here's your next clue. Don't worry about the hostages; they were just to get your attention. They will be freed." Indeed the other men were calmly packing up their weapons.
The suit turned away. "I'd go out the back-way if I were you. And do hurry. You have an hour and two minutes. So says Kessler."
Hey, look! This story isn't dead!
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