Strange that in a time of such conflict, where many lives hang in the balance and time is of the essence; he can still appreciate the finer things. He's crouching on the walkway, trying to conceal his body within the dark and make as little noise as possible; yet the focus of his attention is the shining metal surface of his rifle. What little light exists in this dingy place slithers over the black in such a contrast; a trail of blood on a path of skin. The M4 was almost built in a climax of texture; starting off smooth and wide at the butt, becoming rough as he runs his hand up the side, over all the tiny buttons and crevices; becoming corrugated near the grip; before exploding into one sleek, final tube. Just point that tube in someone's direction and bang… you can take a life.
In the darkness he waits. There's little else to do; at least, until they give him an opportunity. He's got to do this perfectly.
The clang of heavy boots on light metal resounds through the walkway, shaking it. This is it. Ready your rifle; adjust your footing. Strange how the gun feels somewhat heavier when you know where the next bullet's going. Clang. Clang. Almost at the crate now. He's almost by you. Your hiding place. This is it; you can see him. See his dull camo trousers, shifting leather jacket through the dark. He's passed. The back of his head. His footsteps merge with your heartbeat; posture mimicked by yourself. Victim and killer as one. You're right behind him. Twist the gun into his back so he realises in the last few moments of his life that he's been outsmarted.
Squeeze and make it all go away.
The silencer absorbed most of the gunshot; but he finds it harder to assume they didn't hear the slumping body. Crouched, he hurries to the doorway, trying to clean the blood from his gun. Smiles at this. He knows Macbeth; a gun, like hands, can never be cleaned. Or is a tool innocent? Doesn't matter now anyway; he's got to focus on the task at hand. It's been easy so far, but it could have been luck. There's no telling what's through this door. He bites his lip as the knob turns, hinge creaks.
Steps inside. It's just as dark.
The room's small; a door opposite his own leads back out onto the walkway; a window to his left overlooks the warehouse. It's pitch black but he's sure he can see one of his squad down there, lifeless. There's a table in the middle, and further right, there's two large doors- unknown behind. Wait- there's a body slumped over the table. He checks… hostage? No. Alive. Breathing. Sleeping. He cracks the rifle butt against skull; checks again to be sure. Walks towards the two, ominous doors. Slowly rests his hand on one; nervously pushes. The slit of darkness widens. The door doesn't creak. Silence. Creep in.
Now this really is ridiculous; literally as black as coal. He runs his hand over the wall for a lightswitch, finds something. Pushes with his thumb. Whoosh, the place lights up like a flashbang, his eyes hurt so he shields himself with a hand. Squinting, and through extended fingers, he sees a shadowed face. No, a balaclava. Shit…
"Who the fuck…"
They both fire at the same time, bullets whizzing like firecrackers, smashing into desks and walls, exploding in clouds of paper, wood and plaster. He's falling sideways, a failing jump. Finger's clenching, relying on the rifle to protect him, his own guardian angel. Gunfire continues, blasting into his ears, before trailing off. Thump- he smacks into the ground, and after a second or two of nothing, the pain shoots up his left arm; breaks up like nerve endings; envelops his body quickly. It rushes to his mouth, and he screams.
Sense trickles back. Get up. For god's sake get up, he's probably still alive. Obey. He pushes down with his right arm; raising himself slowly; agonisingly. Knee slips under to take the weight. Other leg elongates; all the time rising. He's on his feet; grasps at his left arm when he realises it's bleeding. Raises his head; peers against the white glow. Three, no, four figures surround him- silhouetted against the light. He hobbles backwards; stumbles over. Lying on his ass, clenching his arm, he looks up and says
"Shit, don't kill me".