We fell for a long time. Two years ago, I probably would've crapped myself just by jumping off. But now, I was cold and deadly, like a gun. I yanked my cord and my parachute deployed. Charon did the same. We landed onto Sharif's palace.
The palace was of typical Middle-Eastern design. Minarets and domes sprung from the roof. Charon and I landed on the roof. Hard. "Oof!" I moaned when the wind was knocked out of me. We unstrapped our chute packs and walked around the roof, looking for a skylight or a air vent to sneak through. I found a small ventilation grate sticking out of the roof. I broke it open with my baseball bat. I crawled in and Charon followed.
It was difficult. We crawled through a small tunnel, with heavy guns strapped to our backs, and while cold air blew directly into our faces. Charon and I sweated profusely from the hard work through our armpits and forehead. Our exhaustion made us clumsy. I accidentally crawled onto a weak air vent grate. I fell through and landed between three AK-47 armed bearded and turbaned guards. Shit.
I unholstered my Steyr TMPs and leapt backwards, while squeezing the triggers. The bullets flew from the barrels of my silencers. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Crimson exploded from the guards' chests. They fell backwards without so much as a moan onto a pool of blood. I did this all in less than three seconds.
"Nice job," Charon commented as he leapt down from the broken vent. He took off his M-16 while I reloaded my TMPs. "Thanks." We were apparently in a hallway with doors at the end. Charon was the first to react, "You take the right door and I'll take the left door."
"Fine."
We split up and I walked through the door. I was in a large study, with desks and plenty of books. Sitting at the desk was a guard, apparently deep into a copy of Frank Herbert's Dune. He didn't even notice me. I raised one of my guns and fired. The book and his head behind the book both exploded. The force of the bullet tipped his chair backwards. His corpse fell off the chair and he sprawled onto the floor. Behind him was a door. I stepped over his body and through the door.
I was in another hallway. Luckily for me, there was no-one in the hallway. Blam! Blam! Gunshots echoed from behind me. Apparently Charon ran into some trouble. I could hear some shouting from the door in front of me. The door slammed open and in front of me were a group of five guards. We both stared at each other dumbfounded. Then the guards raised their rifles and aimed at me.
I looked for something to take cover behind. Nothing. Damn. The guards fired their AKs. I ducked and then rolled forward to avoid the bullets. I stopped rolling and laid on my back while I fired my twin submachine guns. The guard standing in front of me crumpled to the ground. I then leapt up to my feet and grabbed his corpse. I dropped one of my TMPs and held up the body as a shield. I could feel the bullets of the AK-47s ram into his body. I sprayed my bullets in a horizontal arc. Two guards' heads exploded into a mass of blood and gray matter. Click. Damn out of ammo.
I shoved the bullet-riddled body to one of the guards. He was surprised and caught it. I then took out my shotgun and squeezed both triggers. The guard right by him flew back about two yards. The remaining guard's eyes widened and he dropped the body he was holding. He then started running for the door. I squeezed the double triggers again and ripped him in half with a load of buckshot.
I unscrewed the silencers from my pistols and rifle. The entire complex must've heard the echoing gunshots of the AKs and my SPAS-12. No use for these. I tossed aside the silencers. I then strapped the shotgun to my back and pulled out my M-16. I was ready. I walked out of the gory and bullet riddled hallway and through the door the guards came out of.
The room was a very fancy looking master's bedroom. In it was a queen sized bed, a large dresser, a coffee table, and three extremely pissed off men. I recognized the one in the middle as Al'Muhas. He was cradling a FN P90 submachine gun to separate himself from his AK-47 armed goons.
"I don't know who you people are but get out of my house! I will reward you handsomely if you drop your weapons and leave the premises!" He shouted in fluent English. He had no accent whatsoever. I growled and gnashed my teeth in answer. I then raised my gun and prepared to shoot.
Sharif dove for cover behind his coffee table while his two thugs fired their rifles. I dove forward while squeezing the trigger. The butt of the M-16 hammered against my shoulder while it recoiled. My head still pounded with the liquor, the rock song, and now adrenaline. I literally saw bullets whiz by my ears. Whoa. I fired half the clip into the first goon. His torso and face ripped into a bloody mess. Then I swung the gun around and sprayed the rest of the clip into the second goon. His chest exploded and gelatinized organs and blood spewed from his wounds. Just Sharif and me left.
I dropped my depleted rifle and unholstered my trusty Berettas. Sharif popped out from his hiding place and fired while screaming. I could see the bullets fly out of the small nub-like barrel of the SMG. Weird. I rolled sideways out of the way of the lead onslaught. I raised my guns and fired. I suddenly felt the odd sensation of déjà vu. Suddenly, I wasn't in Saudi Arabia anymore. I was in a seedy alleyway in New York ripping apart a Mafioso wannabe with my akimbo Berettas. Sharif screamed in pain as my bullets pummeled into his chest. He fell back and gasped for air.
He then desperately pulled a sidearm from his ankle holster. An FN Fiveseven. Before he could even aim it at me, I shot him between the eyes. He let out a exasperated sigh and died. Mission Accomplished. I called Charon over the walkie talkie and told him the good news. We were going back home. Blam! Blam! Well, I was going home.
