Death's Bullet
part 2:

All Bryan was aware of was the ragged breaths escaping his throat and the feral instinct to escape. The once spellbinding night was turning into a depressing evening.
A light drizzle assaulted his already drenched and beginning to shiver, figure. Yet Bryan was satisfied in a way that no one could hypothesis if they looked at his stone cold face dripping with a mixture of blood, sweat, and rain water. In a few minutes more agents would be after him. The chip had been damaged when a bullet shot at his head knocked him back over the metal guardrail and into the mini maelstrom. Sucker, even falling he had shot the agent in the head.

Twenty agents had been sent. In training he was the first and essentially the best, everyone else hadn't been torture nor trained in the way he had. Relaxes being pushed to the limit. Countless number of drug were injected in his system and forcing his already beaten body to heal faster and faster. They had given him the name Death's Bullet. He was the fastest and quickest killer being the only one left alive. Everyone tested the same way he had, had died a horrible and excruciating death, he was different. The head contract killer/director, referred to by everyone as MT, had taken a great interest in him. Some how his genetic make-up bonded with drug creating faster reflexes and healing abilities. He was unique.

Where was he. Years ago he had learned to ask questions in statement formation. After he had dragged his beaten body out of the raging waves, it took extreme will power to push his beaten legs to the limit and force them to start moving. The sense of time had abandoned him. Just as Bryan reached a park as the seemingly harmless diameter of the drizzle was increasing. Collapsing on a swing the previous events replayed themselves in his mind.

There had first appeared to only be a few agents, five at the most. All of them were tall, well anyone larger than his five foot nine frame was considered tall to him, with bulging muscle barely contained in the dress suits they wore. In a way they resembled the wrestlers on TV. The largest of the group had a scar crossing his right eye under his shaved head. When he say Bryan he turned to his companions and drawled," Ain't this cute, a little blonde." Bryan chose to not respond.
"Maybe he's a mute." The skinniest one of the group observed, while eyeing him how a vulture eyes a carcass. Once again Bryan didn't comment.
"That's it," the man with the fraying brown hair snarled ,"like being a smart ass don't cha?"
Patient was the first lesson Bryan recalled being taught. Always wait for the opponent to make the first move and mistake. Being correct in his theory, the Mexican man behind him lunged at his unprotected back.
'Cheap shot.' Bryan grumbled mentally while driving a swift back kick in the man's ribs. A loud crack was heard. The man fell in a strangled gasp muttering something along the lines to 'little shit'. One down four to go.

The man to his left, who Bryan hadn't really paid attention to, attempted a jumping side kick to Bryan's head. Ducking, Bryan grab the offending appendage, used the momentum of the kick to slam the guys head in the dirt. A muttered French curse was heard before he hit the ground unconscious. Three left. 'Boy, alleyways were dangerous in Miami.' Bryan sarcastically thought.
The three left were the most intelligent in the bunch. It was amazing how their shriveled up brains tried to formulate a plan. Take-it wasn't a good plan, but one none the less. Pretty much they were all going to rush him. Bryan sighed inwardly. Side stepping the pathetic group, he watch them crash into one another. As soon as they fall he delivered swift knife hands to the back of the neck. How stupid were they. Guns accompany each pocket but were unused. Not wanting to waste the offer Bryan tied the five stogies up with rope he found in their bikes, relived them of their guns, and high jacked one of the empty motorcycle.

Even though he had beat up the first agents, more like rookies, his senses were alert. More agents would be on the way. Zooming out of the alleyways, he turned left and was greeted by the site of four black 928 Porsches with two agents in each. One driver and one gunner per car. Bryan skidded to a halt and turned the motorcycle around, seeing that they were blocking his way through the street. He gunned the motor.

Instincts are the primal human function, without them we would be lost. Instinct was what controlled his mind. How odd. When your mind shuts down it's almost like he was floating, disconnected and free from the tight constraint of the human body. Eyes resembling frozen water framed by long, thick dark golden chestnut lashes observed his body. Watched as he stopped suddenly turned the bike, slammed the accelerator and jumped on one of the cars, causing it to lose control for the briefest second. That was all it took to crash into the car next to it. Ears, detecting faint human scream as the fuel caught fire. The other two cars whipped around the wreckage. How dense the other two drivers were. The gunners shot rounds from their automatic machine guns. A sharp jolt to his side where the bullet had grazed and torn the flesh away from his sweat soaked body. Temped Miami air did nothing to cool the burning flesh.

A thick cloud of dusk still hung in the night air where construction on the new theater was. The thick scent of oil, gas, and hotdogs invaded his nose, although with the heavy debris. Weaving his way through the site, a sharp turn to the left took care of one of the Porsches.

Finding him self on a cobblestone street, a helicopter blinding light flashed into his eyes. Still Bryan felt himself watching as if this were a horror movie. He was lucky. The bridge was raise to such an incline that he would be able to jumped into the chopper. Revving up the gas, he roared up the bridge and pulled the handles up as if he was doing a pop up on a bicycle. A sharp ripping of the nerves in his leg brought Bryan back to the stoned face jaws of reality. Reaching his destination, the bike was flipped on the side, while Bryan rolled in the helicopter. Grabbing the man's neck to slow his velocity and to snap it in one fluid motion. He then realized that, in his training he hadn't been taught to fly any air craft.

Bryan mumbled a shit and noticed the black vehicle didn't make the jump but descended into the icy torment of waves. As the bridge lowered, Bryan waited into he was a foot or two from crashing in the cold cement to jump out. A loud pop came from his now useless arm.

Two ford trucks pulled up and three men got out of each. Checking his weapon supply Bryan was greeted with the dreadful news that out of the original five guns he had, only one stayed with him during his ride on the helicopter. Without hesitating he shot the first three men that approached him. A strangled blood gurgle mixed with his own labored breathing. Somewhere along the chase he had broken a few ribs. The last three agents fired. He did the only thing he could, blocked with his right side. Two shots ripped the golden flesh of his well developed arm and two slammed into his lower thigh. Firing back, two of the more of them were shot. Now it was one on one.

"You look a little tired, blondy." The man taunted and then fired. The bullet drove into his right leg, knocking Bryan back. The cold metal of the guard rail bite into his aching back. Bryan winched but refused to cry out in pain that was already starting his right side to go numb. Another shot was fired making a deep gash in Bryan's forehead. Reflexes automatically pulled the trigger. Never had he missed. The man screamed as the bullet tore his throat out. Bryan fell in a blissfully numb state into the deep blue water.

Instincts and the desperate need to survive forced Bryan already burning legs to kick to shore. The chip short-circuited giving his sleep deprived mind a wakeful jolt. Huffing and puffing, Bryan army crawled up the wet sand on a shore self doubt taunted that he wouldn't get. Shakily stiff bones rose and limped until he came across the park and collapse on the swing. The seemingly harmless diameter of the drizzle was increasing.
Bryan began to assess the damage. He had popped his right arm out of the socket when he crashed the chopper and then he used it to block to two bullets aiming for his solar plexus. The other arm had also been manipulated to defend against bullets along with a series of lacerations. Once again the right side had been used to block. A bullet had grazed his hip with two imbedded in his lower thigh. One to the left, when the operator of the helicopter shot him. There was no use counting the minor cuts and bruises that would only need stitches or a band aid. Slowly brain began to pry the bullets loose from his crying flash. The pain, he couldn't even begin to describe the waves of it racking his body but pain meant he was alive, it was when he went numb that worry sets in. When the last one was free, his mind was allowed to float in sweet still darkness.

(scene change)

Mia (pronounce me-a) groaned as the sky cried an on slot of tears. What had she done to deserve this treatment? Could it be the wild parties full of drugs, alcohol, and a lot of stuff she didn't even want to think at her house when her brother and friends didn't have a place to crash?

Mia turned away from the crying and sky and glanced at her watch. The graveyard shift sucked. It was ended about two am, which was the time most of the crime on the streets happened. Being the top doctor in the county had its perks.

At countless interviews Mia could remember being asked why she became a doctor. She had always smiled and gave a sweet little story about how her life's work was to help people. That was a lie. It was true that Mia had always dreamed of being a doctor and this may sound selfish, but it wasn't to help other people. She only wanted to help her family, especially Dom. On countless occasions, when Mia was younger, Dom arrived home beat up and bloody. They couldn't go to the hospital because the police might be there waiting to whisk him away to jail.

That feeling of complete helplessness kept her up on countless night, along with the tremendous felling of guilt. How many tears had she cried in a hope for a better future for all of them, her, Dom, Letti, Leon, Jesse, and Vince?

Vince, he had been on her mind a lot lately. Always trying to show off in front of her and make things right. To bad she didn't like him. Liar, the little voice in the back of her mind whispered. She brushed the thought off.

Turning off the side walk, Mia decided to take the short cut through the park. She rolled her shoulders. A horrible kink in her back had been aching all through the countless surgery that had been preformed by her interns that she thus, had to watch.

On approaching a lone figure draped over the swing like a piece of cloth, she frowned as he had no movement to her presence. This was odd. Most people had a certain reaction when someone in the middle of the night approached.

"Hey, are you ok?" Mia asked timidly. This could all be a rouse to capture an innocent doctor. Drawing closer what appeared to be blood cover the side of his head and ran down in rivulets.

"hey." She nearly screamed. This was not good. The doctor in her took over assessing the damage. A deep gash was in the left side of his head.

He turned and looked at her like how a mother looks at a naughty child. "The chip. Take it out." His voice was raspy, low, and choked with pain. She watched his hand gesture to the back of his neck where there was a spot of discoloration.

"ok." She said and tried to stop the stutter that accompany her words. Good thing medical supplies were taken everywhere with her. Long legs broke out into a jog and slid on the ground.