Update: Firstly, let me just say… holy shit. This whole thing was fourteen pages on Word. I'll probably cut most of it down now… but I'd never written anything with fourteen since then. Here's to me.
Running up a couple more flights of stairs, he stopped at a door. It led to (surprise!) another hallway. He peeked out and saw two guards standing in front of an elevator. He thought of an elaborate plan to take them out involving a distraction, darkness, and night vision… but since all he had was the "distraction" part of the plan, he decided to wing it.
He walked forward, and before they could identify him, he kicked one in the shin and threw him to the ground. Jeff darted forward and struck the other in the temple, this one crumpling easily. Jeff stabbed at the elevator call button while the other one tried to stand, until Jeff delivered another kick into his gut, forcing him back against a wall. The elevator dinged. The doors opened to reveal two surprised nurses wheeling a cart carrying a steel tray covered by cloth. Jeff smacked the guard in the side of the head and threw him to the floor of the elevator.
Jeff motioned "down" with a smile, but he noticed the file folder one was carrying had his name on it, neatly labeled "Benson, Jeff – 000". Pausing to throw the cloth aside, he saw surgical instruments and needles placed down neatly. Before he turned to leave, he overturned the tray and flipped the cart to its side.
Glancing around, he saw that he had indeed reached the medical wing.
He saw Dr. Wells standing in front of her office, her arms were crossed and her foot tapped with impatience. She glanced at her watch with an irritated look on her face. Jeff waited until she was looking in the other direction when he strode forward and tapped her on the shoulder. She was about to answer when she caught a look at his face, and he firmly ushered her into the office and shut the door behind him.
"You know, I had something really witty I was going to say to you, but since I'm in a hurry, I'll make it quick. You have something I need," Jeff said, as he nearly towered over the small woman, "and it might take too much time to resort to violence."
Wells didn't even bat an eyelash when she replied, "I don't have it. Dr. Halsey took the cube."
He snorted. "I saw her give it to you. I don't know why, but she did."
"Jeff, listen to me. I don't have anything of yours."
He paused for a moment, then slid his knife out of its sheath and said, "That's too bad, then."
Wells gripped the edge of her desk and took a step back. "You wouldn't."
"I wouldn't do a lot of things, but this isn't one of… those things." He shook his head and told her, "We can keep playing this game, where I get a finger and maybe an ear, or I can go straight for the throat and ransack the place myself until I do find it. And we both know, security in this place isn't what it used to be. So…" He moved forward and reached for her hand.
She recoiled and let out, "Okay! Fine, just take it!" Wells reached into her coat and tossed him the cube. It shimmered in light, and Jeff stared at it like it was a diamond. She could see his eyes light up with anticipation. "I thought this guy set you up anyway."
"He's not the only one who would pay for this kind of information." Jeff stuffed the data cube into a pocket.
"What you have on those files is classified information. That's treason, Jeff."
"Thanks for telling me, Doc. I sure as hell didn't know that when I broke in to steal it." Jeff turned and opened the door to her office. "You wouldn't happen to have directions to the nearest space port, would you?"
Ignoring him, she asked, "Just for the record… would you have killed me over this?"
"I was just messing with you." Jeff smiled warmly. He muttered under his breath as he left, "Sort of." And he turned around and walked out into the hallway with his stun gun held with one hand.
At the other end, two guards suddenly pointed him out and began to weave through the busy lab-coated and scrubbed men and women. Jeff whirled around and pointed the gun in the general direction and squeezed the trigger. The men saw this and dove down, but there was a beep and Jeff read the panel… empty. He looked at the gun and back at the guards who had realised what was up.
He dropped the thing and ran like hell.
Jeff broke into a sprint when he neared the entrance of the damn building. The foyer was furnished like any other corporate office, the architecture was mainly steel and glass. He pushed apart the doors and nearly ran into a group of marines. Three, dressed in combat fatigues.
They turned around when they saw him and charged up their weapons. Jeff's shoes skidded on the pavement and raised his hands with a "Don't shoot!" Heck, it was worth a try. With any luck, it was too dark to identify his looks.
"Jeff?" the one in the back walked to him and told the other two to drop lower their weapons. It was Jen! Hope rose within Jeff once again as he stilled his breath, forcing himself to look relaxed. "What are you doing here, Jeff?"
"I was just leaving." It wasn't a lie.
"State the nature of your business here, sir." One of the marines studied his face.
Jeff looked at him and said, "I sell things."
The marine, looking for more elaboration, opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Jeff. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."
The second walked up to Jeff and said, "All right, then. Something's up just inside, so someone told us to watch the doors, sir."
"Funny. Everything seemed just fine to me."
"Okay, you have a good night."
Jen stopped him and stared at him in the eyes. "Are you leaving for good?"
"I am."
"Can I find you? Or is that classified as well?"
"If all goes well, I'll look for you."
When she started to ask him why, one marine snapped his head up from listening on the radio. He stared at Jeff and began to bring up his stun gun. Benson kicked it away, ripped the man's side-arm out of its holster, and pushed him backwards into the hedge. The second marine had wandered off and turned when he heard the commotion.
Jen's eyes were wide, her hands were nearly on her stun gun. "You're the one they're looking for!? They said you were a dangerous criminal!"
"Dangerous what? That's not—" Jeff saw the second marine begin to run back. He leveled the pistol and fired off a round, catching the marine in the kneecap. With a muffled scream, he went headfirst into the concrete ground. He met Jen's stare. "…Okay, yeah. But I was very restrained. This time."
"I trusted you!"
"To be fair, you've known me for a couple days. And," Jeff leaned forward to kiss her on the lips, at the same time holding onto her arms so she wouldn't try to shoot him in the stomach. After they came apart, he said, "you still can trust me, just… because..."
He didn't even finish before he took off, seeing another detail of guards storm into the foyer. Jen raised the gun and squeezed the trigger, but the panel flashed as "deactivated". She growled and tossed the weapon aside heatedly. That bastard fiddled with the gun too.
Jeff scaled a chain-link fence and made his way down a grassy hill while the alarms blared behind him. Nearly out of breath, he finally came to an open field. The only way to get to the other side was through it… presenting himself as a big-ass moving target out in the open for anyone's shooting convenience.
As good a place as any.
Jeff saw lights rise above the forest and the rumble of a ship engine. Behind him, he heard more guards running down the hill and through the trees to catch up to him. He looked back once, then charged straight ahead, waving his arms to attract the attention of the ship, which activated a search light, scanning the ground below. There was a crackle near his head, and he knew they'd started shooting. The ship that began to touch down was a freighter… Jeff cheered inwardly as the grass around him rippled and the ramp began to lower with a whir.
He nearly leaped aboard as the rounds fired pinged off the ship's hull. Jeff grabbed onto a nearby bar once in the safety of the ship, looking back at the darkened landscape. Seeing more flashes, he raised his hand and waved to the men on the ground with a wide grin. Until there was a crack! and he felt his shoulder go numb from a stray stun round.
Jeff rattled off a string of swears and came away from the closing hatch, clutching his wound.
"Excellent save, Captain," Jeff said, once the ship had cleared atmo and was moving through space. "I'm surprised they didn't take the tracking dot off my rifle."
"I'm surprised they didn't shoot us down," the captain said gruffly. "How's that work, exactly?"
Jeff shrugged, although another member of the crew volunteered a hand. She said, "Heard bits on the same frequency… some higher-up recommended that the military didn't get involved."
"Section III?" another asked. Receiving a nod, he snorted, "ONI bastards."
The captain looked Jeff over and said, "Whatever you're carrying means a lot to Naval Intelligence, boy. Best keep safe."
Jeff nodded with a frown on his face. He didn't want to explain to them that he was the main reason they wouldn't shoot. Must have been Section III behind it all; it takes quite a bit to cook up a scheme like that… and Jeff was just stupid enough to take the bait. He wouldn't make that mistake again. And he'd find whoever came up with the notion of sending him to Reach and kick the shit out of him.
A few days later, the freighter came to a moon which had been more or less colonized. The docks were a popular place for ships, and many corporations had warehouses and manufacturing plants here to increase transportation efficiency. The ship was making a stop to refuel and re-supply at the industrial area of a city, which was by no means a border-town. In many places it was populated by socialites and wealthy citizens.
Jeff wanted to stretch his legs and breathe fresh air, even if the place smelled like exhaust fumes, engine fuel, and cigarette smoke. All around him he heard sounds of machinery whirring, snippets of conversations between dockworkers, and yells from street merchants. Authority was more or less loose in this part, and a few men were seen carrying automatic weapons as they strolled through the docks.
He preferred to be in the cleaner part of the city, but he couldn't be choosy. Not at this time, anyway. Jeff entered a bar and was immediately met with the sounds of some guy warbling into a mike while his band behind him did their thing… flip music. He'd live with that.
Jeff eyed the room. Men sat in groups, talking loudly and laughing—having a good time. A few were deep in a drinking competition, while others occupied themselves with the dart boards or at the billiard tables. Jeff ordered a beer, but didn't drink it. He saw a group of patrons involved in a poker game, and he thought of getting rid of the data cube here and now… make it somebody else's problem. Then he could disappear for good.
But… he decided to hang onto it for now, for all the trouble it might cause him. He found an empty table and sat down to look over the place. Jeff only had a couple of minutes before two suits approached his table.
These men were here to either: peddle him illegal substance or firearms; arrest him; or shoot him. The first option seemed unlikely, and he didn't fancy the other two.
They stood over him, their hands inside their jackets. If they made the slightest movement to draw their concealed weapons, Jeff would spring up and kill them within the span of three seconds. One sat down across from him, as to not arouse suspicion from the others.
"Mr. Benson?"
Jeff shook his head and replied, "He's in the washroom. You can probably catch him if you go in there now."
"You're in possession of highly classified material. Hand it over immediately. Should you attempt to evade arrest or withhold evidence, we are granted permission to use force."
Jeff nodded slowly. "You got that whole thing memorized, huh?"
The man smiled and said, "It would be in your best interest to listen."
Benson pursed his lips and made a noise of mock consideration. He concluded with a solid "No."
"Good. Now that formalities are out of the way, you'll wish you came without a… scene." The man grinned viciously, showing his teeth.
"No chance of getting out of this, then?"
"Probably not."
Jeff glanced behind him, and saw a rather large man with bulging muscles and a crew cut. His perfect distraction… Before the suits could stop him, he whipped the glass bottle in his hand at the big guy's face. Instead of smashing into and enraging him, it exploded upon impact, and he fell out of his chair, landing on the floor with a heavy thud!
He lay still.
The suits and Jeff stared at the man for a moment. Jeff made a face and looked back at the man in front of him. He said, "You know, I really thought that would work."
"Me too, actually," the first suit said, bobbing his head a little.
"Yeah, that was a good throw, though," the second added.
"Just so you know, all the exits are covered."
"Mm-hmm. But are they covered well?"
The first scrutinized Jeff's face, before he realised that the man in front of him could possibly be insane. His eyes widened and low and pained grunt escaped from his mouth… as Jeff's foot, from under the table, shot right into his groin. He let out a moan and leaned forward, and Jeff stood and shoved the table into his chest.
The second looked like he was deciding whether or not to call for backup or remove his gun and shoot. The hesitation allowed Jeff to grab his chair and throw it with all his strength at the man's head. The guy cursed and held up his hand, easily knocking the airbourne piece of furniture out of its trajectory. But the throw was just there to buy Jeff some time, and he leaped over the table and put the rest of his strength behind a right-handed swing. The suit was propelled backwards and he crashed into another table. Angry yells from patrons erupted.
The man tried to scramble to his feet, but drunken men threw themselves upon him, and at the same time began to take swings at each other. Moments later, the entire place went up with raucous noise and the sounds of fighting. Jeff watched the scene with a self-satisfied grin plastered over his face. He heard heavy footfalls behind him, and turned to see another liquor-soaked man raise a pool cue as he staggered towards him.
Jeff stepped into him quickly, taking advantage of the man's alcohol-weakened reflexes, and punched him in the gut. The drunkard let out a grunt, and for a second Jeff thought the man might vomit all over him. He ripped the pool-cue out of his hands and gave him a push backwards. Landing on the floor, the man let it all out… to Jeff's disgust.
The band had taken cover behind the counter, avoiding thrown obstacles. Jeff inched towards the door, sliding around groups of battling patrons, throwing a couple of kicks in here and there. Through the confusion, he saw three more ONI goons—two men and a woman. They were working their way through the mob, trying to find their mark or help out their friends near the back. Through the glass doors, Jeff spied two more suits running fast to get inside and help.
Keeping low and out of sight from the three, Jeff snuck to the door and stood off to the side. He held the cue in a choke, and brought it back. As the door swished open, Jeff stuck out his right foot. The first guy was still running, and tumbled to the ground with a surprised yell. The next guy stopped to grab at his firearm, but Jeff jumped out into the open and swung his weapon at the goon's pelvic region. The wood splintered as it connected, and Jeff grabbed hold of the doubled-over man and with a few steps' running start, threw him into the fray.
He looked down at tripped-guy, who was starting to rise. Jeff flexed his grip on the broken piece of pool-cue and then threw it at his head, knocking him back down and out. Unfortunately, now he had attracted the attention of the three walking goons, and they began to make their way over to him, hastily pushing their way back through the mob.
Jeff turned and booked it.
He tore through the crowds of people leaving and arriving, the goons in hot pursuit. They wouldn't draw their guns for fear of injuring anyone else, but the winding through the crowd was slowing Jeff down, and he wasn't up for starting another fight. He ducked into an open auto shop. Jeff was about to find a spot to hide, but someone noticed him and called out to him.
"Yo, buddy, front desk isn't in the garage. You need something, dude?" The guy was about twenty, had a frat-boy look to him, complete with the cap and tee. Holding a large wrench in his hand, he began to walk over to him.
"Yeah, first, I need you to shut up for a minute. Second, "Jeff took a step forward and took the wrench out of the kid's hand before he could protest. "I need this. Go stand in the corner until I say you can come back, all right?"
"Hey, I'm twenty-three, prick. I'm way tougher than you are, so don't fu—"
At this point in time, one of the goons wandered into the garage, and Jeff immediately turned on a heel and hurled the metal tool at the intruder's face. The man grunted as the wrench smacked him in the forehead with a solid thwock! It hit the concrete ground ringing.
The gun in his jacket fell to the floor as the suit crumpled to the ground, and the frat-dude slowly backed away.
"What do you want, man?" The kid was almost in hysterics. "I'll get you anything."
Jeff looked at the wrench lying next to the man's head and replied, "Something bigger."
The second goon stepped over his downed partner and raised his pistol. Jeff dove forward into a roll, scooped up the fallen gun and fired off three rounds, one hitting the man in the chest and arm. However, Jeff now discovered that these were stun rounds. And these wouldn't subdue a person by themselves.
Fine.
Jeff got back to his feet instantly and smashed the butt of the pistol into the goon's face a few times, tucked in his arm and swung his elbow into the side of his head. Almost immediately, he heard the clicking of a door on the opposite side of the shop. Before the man hit the ground, Jeff had already sprinted over to the other wall.
A hand with a gun was sticking out, hoping to catch Jeff unaware. Too late for that. He gave the heavy door a mighty kick, catching the wrist in between. There was a high-pitched yell and the gun fell out of the woman's hand. Jeff pulled open the door to reveal the last goon, clutching her injured arm with a terrified expression on her face. That ruined it for Jeff, and he wasn't being paid to kill or injure her… so he grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged her to the middle of the shop. Reaching inside her jacket, he found a pair of cuffs, which he used to secure her to the pole underneath the lift suspending a vehicle on top.
Jeff marched to the lift controls and punched a button. The motor began to hum and the car started to slowly descend. The lady shrieked and fought wildly to escape. Jeff halted the thing and stared at her coolly.
"You're from Section III?"
"I… I can't—"
The lift whirred.
"Yes!! Okay!? Yes!"
"Why are you chasing me?"
"Because… Dr. Halsey told us to."
"But why?"
"You're in possession of…"—vmmm—"What do you want from me?!"
"Somebody told you that reason. I know for a fact that ONI doesn't mess around when classified material is involved. What's with the stun rounds?"
"Please, please just let me go," she begged, her eyes welling with tears.
"I need answers."
"If I tell you, they'll kill me."
"Then it really sucks to be you. While you're still alive now, you might as well tell me, then I at least go away happy, and you get to live a while longer."
In the corner, the frat-boy quickly stood, but Jeff leveled his pistol in his direction and said, "No heroics today, dude."
From the woman's jacket, there was a beep from a chatter. Jeff ducked underneath the car and snatched it out of her pocket. It said: New text message…
"FREIGHTER 9-HOR SURROUNDED. MOVE IN AND TERMINATE CREW NOW?"
Jeff looked sharply at his captive and asked, "Who the hell are you people?"
Before he could lower the lift one more time, another message came in. "AWAITING REPLY…"
He spied a second car with a sheet of paper on its hood… the car was ready for action. Every vehicle on the roads had electronic activation and certain recognition processes… but every vehicle in the shop also needed to let down its defenses in order to be worked on by a stranger. The mechanic usually received a special bypass from the vehicle's owner.
Jeff was in front of the kid within a second. He pointed and said, "Car. Move. Now."
However, the young mechanic decided to grow a pair only now, and shook his head. "No way, man. I won't do it—"
The chatter beeped again, and Jeff lost what patience he might have had. He struck the kid across the face, and when he was down, Jeff searched all of his pockets until he found a slip of paper with a code written on it.
Jeff sat in the driver's seat and muttered, "Probably could have saved a lot of time if I thought of that earlier." He entered the string of numbers and the engine came to life. He closed the car down and floored the accelerator. He got onto a side road on the direct path back to the docks.
He reached into his pocket and looked at the chatter's vid screen. It read: "TIME IS WASTING. KILL…Y/N?"
With one hand on the wheel, Jeff hit the letter N and added "ABRT."
A reply came back as: "CLEARANCE CODEWORD?"
Jeff bit his lip and gave the car more gas.
The team leader stood outside the ship's dining area, his men fanned out around the small vessel. Inside the room was the crew backed up against the wall and his men ready to open fire once the word came.
Something must have gone wrong on their end. She wouldn't give the kill order, and now she said to abort mission? He didn't know whether to do it anyway, or get the hell out because the mission had gone south.
He typed into his disposable chatter, "STATE CODEWORD FOR MISSION ABORT."
The device chirped, and he accessed the received message. His eyes widened when he saw it.
It displayed: "F U."
Jeff spied the freighter and began to steer towards it. There were three men milling around the open hatch, each was armed with sub-machine guns, making no effort to hide them.
No time for fancy plans now. He gunned the engine at the guards, two saw the oncoming vehicle and dove out of the way. The third was less aware, and as a result, had now become something of a hood ornament.
Jeff stomped on the brakes, throwing the limp body to the ground. He unloaded his pistol through the open window, catching a guard as he rose. The man let out an oof! as a round struck him directly in the forehead—instant concussion.
The second guard took hits on his side and leg, causing him to fall back clutching his numb extremity. Jeff exited the car and violently drove the heel of his shoe into the man's face.
Benson grabbed the guard's sidearm, as the man's sub-machine gun had been misplaced and there was no time to look for it now. He removed the magazine and checked its contents—live ammunition. These guys might have been bastards, but at least they were bastards with straight intentions.
He tucked the first pistol, loaded with stun rounds, in his waistband and thumbed the safety off on the second. Jeff made his way up the loading ramp, as quickly as he could quietly and cautiously. Just as he entered the cargo bay, he found himself immediately under fire. He dropped down behind a few steel crates, the bullets pinging harmlessly off of the titanium casing (the crates were vacuum-sealed and used to carry valuable items like munitions and other unmentionables).
Jeff was at a crouch, the odd round whizzing over his head. There were at least four men scattered around the roomy bay, taking up better firing positions than his. He heard the words "flank" and "suppress" and knew it was time to go. Screw caution.
Before the suppressive fire and during the flanking, Jeff sprung up at put himself in a hard sprint straight towards a man who was busy looking for the next piece of cover. He didn't even have time to get a good grip on his weapon before Jeff tackled him to the ground, smashing the back of his head against a steel beam. Gunfire rattled for a moment then ceased, acknowledging Jeff was safe at second base.
Stealing a glance at his latest victim, blood had started to ooze out of the wound and the man had a dazed look on his face. Jeff picked him up and got him into a headlock, using his body as a makeshift shield. He popped out and surveyed the situation in less than a second, using the mercenaries' hesitation to his advantage. Without any more thought, Jeff snapped off five rounds, some more accurate than others, but all managing to render his opposition useless.
Around him, mercenaries lay on the blood-spattered deck, some with the red stuff leaking from holes punched through their heads, others were writhing on the ground, unwilling to keep shooting. He threw down his meat shield and kicked away any weaponry close to the wounded men, pausing to switch out his spent magazine. With a final visual sweep around the cargo bay, he proceeded deeper into the ship.
As soon as he heard voices flowing down the narrow corridor, he darted off to one side with his grip tightening on his weapon. The voices were quick whispers coming from the crew quarters. Jeff heard a man give a harsh order to a captive, and he knew he had reached his destination.
He peeked into the open doorway, seeing that three guards had their guns trained on the small crew. But the guards had made two mistakes if they wanted to get the job done properly: they themselves were facing the wrong way, and so were their hostages…
With only nervous glances back to the doorway, the executioners were more concerned about doing their main job than looking for an intruder. Jeff made eye contact with the captain of the vessel, and the man played it off well, making no movement that suggested Jeff was ever present. Benson gave him a nod, and stepped out into the open with a loud clump of his shoes. All three men turned around and fired at the empty doorway.
Inside the quarters, three members of the crew burst into action behind the armed men. The captain threw the chain of his cuffs over the neck of one guard, causing him to stiffen and panic, dropping his SMG. His eyes bulged and his hands grabbed at his throat. The second crewmember, hired muscle, unleashed a heavy kick at the back of the second guard's knee with almost enough force to "kneecap" the man. As he lost his balance, the crew's muscle grabbed his head, and pulled him backwards, at the same time twisting his whole body to look at the deck when he went face-first into it, breaking his nose and knocking him out.
The third, the engineer of the freighter, dropped his shoulder and rammed into the back of last guard. The gunman was thrust forward, but remained standing and momentarily forgot about shooting Jeff, whirling to face his assailant. His finger squeezed down on the trigger, sending a hail of rounds around the room. The engineer gasped as he was hit in the shoulder from a stray bullet. He staggered back as the guard brought up his weapon with two hands.
The guard was about to hose down the crew, when he felt the muzzle of a pistol on the back of his head. Before he could try anything, the front of his skull exploded, showering the ceiling with blood and bits of brain. The body slumped down, and Jeff lowered his smoking pistol.
The captain jerked his cuffed wrists, resulting in an audible snap and the final guard went limp. He separated his arms and let the man drop to the deck plates while Jeff searched the guards for a key. He tossed it to the captain, and the man set about unlocking himself and his crew.
He said to Jeff, "They're looking for you, boy. You want to explain that to me?"
"I don't. But I'll probably have to," Jeff replied, picking up the discarded submachine gun.
"Bingo."
"It'll have to wait," Jeff said. "These people aren't messing around here."
"I don't doubt that."
"Which means, in a couple of minutes, your ship is going to be crawling with more of the same." Jeff nudged a body. "How fast can you get us up?"
"They mucked with the engine in case something like this happened."
"Then how fast can your people make repairs?"
"It depends on the damage done."
Jeff took a step forward, noting the subtle shift in captain's stance. With a dark look on his face, he said, "Don't know if you realised, but I didn't mean to bring this down on you and yours."
"But you did."
"But I did. And if you don't plan on going out with a bang today, Captain, I suggest we hurry and find out."
The captain looked at his engineer, who was being patched up by another crewmember. The man gave him a thumbs-up, and said, "Just get me down to the engine room."
"Fine. Logan, help him down, then join up with the rest of us." The man nodded and knelt to lift his injured friend. As they left, to the rest of his crew he said, "Arm up and shoot anyone who tries to get in." When Jeff turned to head back to the cargo bay, he told him, "There's one more guy. Left his flunkies here when he got a call. He could be on the docks runnin' away right now, or hiding out in the hold. But I don't wanna come across him when we're in flying high, in the middle of dead space. Let me defend my own ship."
Jeff nodded, and following a second of hesitation, tossed the captain the sub-machine gun. The two brushed each other as they passed in different directions. Benson checked his pistol and silently moved down the corridor, making sweeps through each room. He heard gunfire from another part of the ship… whoever they were, they didn't want Jeff leaving.
He approached the cockpit. As he passed through the doorway, a large figure swung from the ceiling and kicked Jeff's pistol out of his hands. Pain lanced through his arm, as he staggered back and tried to see where his gun had landed. The man was dressed in a dark spec-ops-looking get up, Kevlar vest and tactical assault rifle included.
Jeff took a step forward for a swing, but his opponent snapped off a powerful sidekick, knocking him back against the wall. The man brought up his rifle, tucking in his elbow and staring down the sight. Benson ducked out of the cockpit as the man fired off a sustained burst down the corridor.
The man moved with efficiency and precision, like a trained commando. He was either military, or something else. A mercenary? Both answers didn't help him out; many mercs were ex-soldiers or just had a background with firearms and violence. But why would he be chasing him one minute, then trying to kill him the next?
There wasn't any time to finish the thought, when the man marched forward looking for his kill. Commandos usually worked in teams, covering doors and exits with fancy maneuvers. Going through an entrance without making sure it was safe first was risky… not something Jeff expected him to do. Jeff lunged forward and grabbed at the barrel, shoving the rifle away from him.
They fumbled with the weapon between the two of them, until Jeff ripped out the magazine and ejected the round in the chamber, making the gun nothing more than a bludgeoning object. Jeff threw the ammunition in his hand at the guy's head. He grinned and unclipped the assault rifle from his vest and leaped forward into Jeff, and they crashed to the ground.
Jeff hit his head on the deck, causing stars to dance across his vision. His attacker put two hard punches into Jeff's eye, until the man was thrown off by a good hard kick. They got to their feet. Benson threw a fist forward, which was knocked aside and Jeff received another blow to the face. Fighting through the pain, he grabbed both of the man's ears and squeezed his temples, then tried to swing him into the wall.
But the man spun on his heel and instead managed to smash Jeff's head into the wall. Ducking to avoid a face-shattering punch, Jeff shot forward and put his forehead into the underside of the man's jaw, hearing the cracking of teeth. As he recoiled, Jeff swung and caught the man's ear, splitting the skin. He threw a left-handed punch at Jeff, but it was easily avoided. Jeff grabbed his wrist and drove his open palm into the man's elbow, the force causing a crack! and bending it unnaturally.
The man grunted, and stomped on Jeff's toes with the heel of his boot, making him double over just a little, then stiffened his good arm and nailed him in the cheek. Jeff twisted from the blow and went down. Looking at his adversary, the man bared a bloody, toothless grin, and pulled out a seven inch combat knife from his boot.
Jeff fought to keep the knife from plunging into his body, straining to turn the blade outwards. The man drove him up against the wall with a growl, blood gurgling out of his mouth and nose.
He flipped the blade and pulled it back to thrust into his opponent, but Jeff whipped out the pistol he'd had in his back pocket, and fired two rounds at point blank at the man's chest and throat. If the stun rounds didn't stop his heart, they sure as hell winded him.
Jeff stepped forward into the man and in one quick move, wrenched the knife free, flipped it, and rammed it into his body. However, the man managed to turn, and the blade sank into the man's side. Jeff didn't have another chance, as he was hastily kicked away.
The commando tore the knife from his side with a pained howl, but turned to run down the corridor, his broken arm dangling as he took quick strides. Jeff shakily got to his feet and began to chase him down. He rounded a corner, and the man suddenly jumped at him. His knife slid into Jeff's shoulder, then punched him in the chest. He sank to the ground, gasping for breath. But Jeff snapped off a stiff-fingered jab, managing to catch him in his injured side. His fingers came away with blood. The man had recoiled from the blow and had resumed fleeing. He stopped at a ladder, cast a look at Jeff, then climbed up out of the hatch.
"Jeff?!" The captain came running, clutching his smoking pistol. He knelt next to him, looking at his injuries. He yelled for one of his crew, then asked, "You found him?"
"Yeah," he said, exhausted.
"Is he gone?"
Motioning to the ladder, he asked, "Is that a way out?"
The captain nodded. Jeff said, "Then he's off your ship."
"Good. We're leaving, anyhow."
The freighter rumbled, its bulky form lifting from the hold of gravity. After a period of creaking and rattling, it finally broke atmo and was drifting free.
The captain stood behind the female crewmember serving as medic, while she performed basic first aid. Her hand fell over the hilt of the knife still buried in his flesh.
"This needs to come out." She bent to get Jeff on his feet. To the captain, she said, "Help me get him down to the infirmary."
While the three stumbled down the blood-stained corridor, the captain asked Jeff, "You need anything?"
He replied with a grin. "Painkillers."
Vlad raggedly stalked through the alleyways, clutching his broken arm and bloody side. He was trying to keep out of sight from the main populace, even though street violence was not uncommon around this part of the city. Up ahead on a side street, a black four-door car pulled up in front of him. His employers.
A tinted window rolled down, revealing a dark-haired man with a slight beard just around his mouth and grey suit. The man said with a scowl, "The Doctor isn't happy, Vlad. You were given strict instructions, but you engaged and fought with Mr. Benson. What the hell were you thinking?"
"The man was trying to kill me," Vlad replied coolly. "What is so important about him?"
"We need a man who does what he's told without asking questions. Since you are unable to do either…you are relieved of your duties, effective immediately."
"You're firing me? What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
The man put on a pair of shades and faced him. He said, "Don't run."
The front passenger's window rolled down a bit. Vlad saw the muzzle of a silencer poke out, but he didn't have time to turn and escape. There were two coughs, and the bullets drilled into his forehead and heart without exiting the body. Vlad dropped to the ground with a shocked expression on his face.
Two men exited, picked up the body, and dropped him into the plastic-lined trunk. They returned to their seats, and the car drove away.
Notes: Chapter finished July 30, 2008… lost interest so many times, but I'm confident I'll be done before the end of summer.
This chapter is actually longer than the original one, which I thought would be pretty hard to top, at sixteen pages (spaced in-between every paragraph).
I think this brings out more of a "conspiracy" plot that I'm trying to bring up in the sequel and hopefully by the end of this.