Somebody smashed into Smith, knocking him over. Falling to the ground, he hits the floor and bumps his head onto a wall. To his right was a bewildered man; there was something oddly familiar with him. He had hair which was combed in one direction, a pointy nose- and a squared mustached. It was Clarington, the director of this facility.
"John, are you alright?"
Emery got on one knee and offered the fallen man a hand.
"What does it look like…? And- Sir, sorry for standing in your way…"
There was a look of deep urgency in the eyes of the director.
"This is no time for chitchat." He spat, cutting both the other agents into silence.
"Report of Post Nine Point Eleven." A small mini-disc was produced.
"Get it to the computer labs, room number 101.
"Those bastards will be here soon."
With that said, everything went to hell.
From the far corners of the office complex a holy-looking light beamed forward. Eyes were suddenly blinded, as flesh was seared. Paper and ash blew about all around, like a whirlwind. The very atmosphere of the facility was set ablaze, taking a nearly full three seconds before the fire extinguishing systems came on. The lights flickered off, as darkness descended. All around them, the proud workers of the intelligence agency found themselves not stirred, but profoundly shaken.
There was an echo of thunder in the darkness.
"Alpha team is within position."
It was the soft click of radios, and chatter amongst professional soldiers.
"All fire arms, freed. Taking point."-"Targets spotted."-"Fire at will."
The sound of hammers smashing into the
ground at a rate of a thousand times per second set the room ablaze.
Smith found himself behind a wall, with bleeding Emery clutched in
his arms. Panic shot through his mind; had the security services
caught on to his thought patterns? Impossible; they wouldn't cause
this much damage to get to a thought criminal. Was it the terrorists?
Somehow, that too seems unlikely. Wiping a smear of blood off Julie's
face, John steals a glance around the corner.
Like demons from
hell, they wore infrared goggles which blazed away at night. Faceless
and relentless with the gasmasks, they fired at will at the
defenseless workers of the office complex. Though handguns were use
for retaliation, they were useless against the automatic chatter
which mowed them down.
"So much for a dull day at the office..."
Shaking Emery, he attempts to wake her. There was no response coming from the shallow breathing girl. Fearing the worse, the Agent undoes his tie and wraps it around his colleague's bleeding wound. Finishing up, with a gentle push she disappears into underneath a table. There wasn't much he could do at the second. Picking the disc up from his dead boss, Smith makes a mad dash towards the exit in front of him. The bullets do not think twice, as they give chase. Ducking under a table, and getting on all fours- he crawls his way near the emergency staircase. Before he was able to get up, and make one final dash; a file cabinet next to him explodes. Once more, paper arises into the sky. Out of the chaos and under fire he presses forward. Knocking the door of its hinges, it smashes into a recon team of the assaulters. The impact knocks one of the two combatants off a railing, where by sheer luck he hangs on with one hand. Below him, a sea of darkness awaits to engulf souls. Lifting his head up, Smith slides his right leg forward placing one palm forward- while another fist prepared next to it. Under normal circumstances, this art of close quarter combat required a knife and a firearm. But these weren't normal circumstances.
