Shall we?
Knock Knock Knockin' On Heaven's Door- Raigns Version
Warning: lot of blood and swearing in this one.
P.O.V. -?
"So He's really still a detective?" Jess whispers to me, her voice instantly picked up by the three two year old in front of me. I roll my eyes as Adams, Jordan, and Grayson all turn and pop their heads up on top of their seats.
"Yeah Lieutenant, is he?"
"No way. He can't do undercover to save his life!" Adams answer Jordan's question for her and before I can do anything, the three of them are argueing.
"Oh yeah, except every time he's had to do undercover." Jordan slings back.
"Besides isn't he'd get too bored."
"Nu-Uh! He can-"
"Hey!" I get a couple of dirty looks from the people across from me as I raise my voice to get them to stop. Lowering it again I set my face with one of serious annoyment. Jess calls it 'the mom face.'
"What are you, 5? Jesus christ, guys. Yes, he's still a cop, in Chicago, working with intelligence. Officially he's running the longest undercover op in Ranger history and given what he does...no I don't think he's that bored. Now sit!" I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face. This is our third flight today and while it's our last it's also the longest. Plus, I'm not a big plane person. To easy of a target.
Unfortunately the there habaneros do not sit and in fact catch my worry. Adams narrows his eyes.
"She's worried."
"Yep."
"Most definitely." I glare at them as Jordan and Greyson respond seconds from each other.
I raise my eyebrows, staring incredulously at them.
"And she's mad." Greyson adds. My look changes to a murderous glare.
"Sitting down." Jordan yelps, dragging the two boys down with her. I give a low growl as Adams mutters something under his breath. I huff, then start to fiddle with my backpack, trying to find my headphones while listening to the conversation in front of me.
Greyson, Jordan and Adams engaging in some argument about how and where to launch the surprise once we land. It's funny almost, because he specifically told them not to just show up when he's with his team, as intelligence doesn't really know about us. Yet both of Jordan and Adams have apparently decided to include the team in one way or another.
Basically defying their second Lieutenants orders just because they know he won't get pissed off. Smart really, as he'd be to happy at seeing us to really get too annoyed. The only problem being we actually have to do other things before we can meet up with him.
Like say, Set up home base, safe houses, reintegrate and update all our security, contact every insider source we have to find out what exactly has been going on concerning gangs and such. Basically completely re-establish our presence in Chicago.
You know. Small stuff.
Plus, I'd like to have a conversation with Voight and his superiors before we ambush him in front of his team. And Erin. I'd like to actually meet Erin in person, she of all people would be able to accurately tell me how my brother is doing. After all, she seems to be the only person who not only cares for him, but also actually understands him.
Well, as much as can be expected. She has no idea about his past, or his time in Afghanistan. As he puts it-"she only knows the 'gentle' side of me." To which I simply replied that he doesn't have a gentle side, which led to another argument between us.
"Does Sam know about Maddie?" Jess asks suddenly. I nod, remembering both receiving the news and having to relay it to Toronto. Maddie Callahan, Braddock's estranged daughter, left Canada and took her mother's maiden name, opting to be closer to her would be uncle than stay with her parents. Yeah, that went over well, especially after Sam found out she was shot.
It was a very interesting phone conversation.
I glance at my phone. Eleven thirty, Chicago time. I smile wryly, thinking about how he's probably debating with Lindsay on whether or not to get lunch. She'll say it's too early, he'll argue that they aren't busy at the moment. He will lose, then later when they are starving they'll be in the middle of discussing a case, or gearing up for a take down. He'll say 'I told you so', she'll be annoyed but promise to buy a round so long as he can precure them something to eat.
I only know this because it literally happens every other fucking day with those two. They need to grow a pair and get a chapel already. I mean, C'mon. They act like a married couple, they might as well buy the ring and be a married couple.
"-chel! Hey, lieutenant you listening?!" A pair of fingers snapping in front of my eyes accompanies the voice. I jerk my head back, blinking hard a couple of times before looking to Jess, who stares back at me.
"Hmm?" I ask. Her incredulous face turns to one of worry. Whipping her head back around she smiles at a flight attendant with a tray.
"Um, we're all set, thank you." The lady purses her lips and nods, clearly trying not to show her annoyance. Shrugging, I lean backward, finally tug out my headphones, attempting to untangle them. I don't even have to look up, I can feel Jessica staring at me, even as I click my earbuds into my phone.
"Can I help you?" I murmur, pushing one side of the listening device into my right ear.
"You're really worried about him aren't you?" I tap my phone a couple times, opening my music while putting in my other headphone. Choosing not to respond, I opt for simply glancing at my tech master of a team mate. Her eyes widen, flicking down to my phone then back to my face, but she doesn't make any other action to question me, just turning and staring her own troubled gaze at the back of her seat.
I hit play, staring out the tiny window on my side to gaze at the dark ocean below as Moby's 'Extreme Ways' starts to sing to my ears. I really should sleep, I know, by as I said before I don't like planes. Besides I'm too wound up to sleep. I am worried about my second in command, Jess wasn't wrong about that. We grew up together, saw the same shit hit the fan and was there to clean up the mess.
I haven't seen him in four years, so naturally one would think my worry stems from the fact that he's probably a different person. I can only assume that's what the rest of my team thinks I'm worried about. It's not.
For the longest time, ever since I can really remember, I've always known. Even when we were kids. It's not really a complete idea of what or where, but more like this feeling. It doesn't settle in my gut or make me feel sick, it just...kinda puts me off. I'm always on edge, I'll second guess myself and I can't concentrate on anything because I'm lost in my own head. It doesn't happen often but when it does me, along with everyone else on my team notices.
Which explains the multiple sets of eyes peeking at me between on the seat. The ones I choose to ignore, because I'm too busy trying to forget the reason why I've always got this feeling in the first place.
Jay Halstead is in trouble, and I'm to far away to stop it.
Jay's P.O.V.
"We should have gotten lunch."
"Wha-okay it was way too early! I wasn't even hungry!"
"Bet you're hungry now..."
"Oh shut up." I smile. She always does that when I'm right, tries to end the conversation. Normally I wouldn't let it go, but I'm just a tad angry from an earlier conversation between Erin and our boss. And still in shock from the outcome of that, as well as the events leading up to it. Not to mention the all around soreness from our little 'accident' and the tiredness that comes after an adrenaline dump.
So naturally our wonderful boss decided that we don't need to go home because we are perfectly capable of sitting in the car for two hours while we wait for him to get to our location. Our location being an abandoned warehouse that was apparently remodeled by a serious gang with ties in Chicago going as far back as the mafia.
I guess gruesome blood messages using innocent people is a specialty of theirs. We were recommend by just about every beat cop we met going out to be careful. Apparently they have a reputation.
Moral of the story being I can't even begin to sort out all my emotions and thoughts on the subjects so I end up forcing myself to focus on the one thing that I can think about.
My inability to sit still.
Okay, so have you ever been nervous? Like stupidly excessively nervous? To the point that you can feel your heart racing, the blood pounding through your body, so hard you can feel it in every cell and every breath? You know what I'm talking about, right? The butterfly's in your stomach feel more like a stampede of elephants, energy sizzles under your skin and little shots of adrenaline fizzle in your fingers and feet, making it impossible for you to sit still.
"Will you stop moving the damn car?!"
My partner in copness, the holy Erin Lindsay, knows all about my nervousness. Excessive is an understatement. I've been squirming in my seat for the last two hours. Why? Well, because there is this nice, pristine white envelope sitting in my desk right now with the United States Army symbol stamped on the front. Return address Camp Pendleton. And I haven't read it yet.
Yeah, see that's a nerve racking thing for someone like me. Not because I could be going back. No, that's never going to happen. Which makes that letter infinitely more worrisome.
I do suppose it be them coming home. I mean, it's almost been four years right? But why would you send a letter? Wouldn't one of them have called? Emailed? Something less dramatic than a letter that is the same whether it's a recall or a death notification?
I guess I should explain that last one.
You see they won't ever send me back to Afganistan because they sent me home. My team, probably the army's most valuable black op. team, had their contracts renewed. Another four years, that I would've served except for some...unfortunate occurrences. So given the work we do-the work I did- it is far more likely I'll be planning a funeral than a 'Welcome back' party. And if my team is dead...if any of them are dead...Well, knowing the feelings I get just from the thought of that, if it were true, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to handle it. Don't get me wrong, I like intelligence but I love O7R. They're my family. My real family.
O7R, by the way, stands for Original Seven Rangers. It's the name of our team. Yes, I understand the fact that the Ranger academy has been around for a lot longer than I have, but I'm not talking about those Rangers, the ones on paper. I'm talking about the Rangers the Gov. doesn't recognize. The ones that redefined the term "black-op."
"Jay! Snap out of it!" A hand roughly grips my shoulder, rudely jolting me out of my thoughts. I start, looking around wildly for a threat, but only finding Lindsay staring at me concerned.
"Hmm?" I say, wide eyed. She stares at me.
"What's up?" I repeat.
"Are you okay? I said your name like five times. You looked catatonic." I narrow my eyes.
"You're exaggerating."
"Noooooo. I wasn't. You were staring at nothing, still as a rock after almost two hours of constant moving, and you're still white as sheet." She looks at me seriously.
"I'm fine." She smirks.
"Do you know what 'fine' stands for?" I glare at her.
"Shut up."
"Hey, You're the one who taught me that."
"You weren't supposed to use it." I mutter. She throws me an annoyed look, although I can see worry and concern, simmering right below the surface of her beautiful face.
"We can go. Voight's here." The loathing in her voice when she says her boss's name suprises me, but then she's got a pretty good reason. I suppose I have a better one, however at the moment, I don't feel real anger toward him. Just a kind of detached disrespect.
"Why didn't you say so?" My eagerness to exit the car returns.
"That's what I was trying to get your attention for, genius." Nodding I open the door and start to get out.
"Jay?" Erin calls as I stand in the open air.
"Yah?"
"Listen-" Her voice wavers for a moment and she studies the steering wheel for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue her sentence.
"-look, if you need to talk, about anything, I'm here okay?" I shoot her a questioning look. She only blinks.
"I know the letter was from the Rangers." I lean on the open door, staring at her. Trying to figure out exactly how she managed that one, seeing as I shoved that thing in my drawer that I then locked before going outside this morning. And seeing as Adam and Kev never managed to open it...
"Um, How exactly do you know that?" Her eyes widen as she notices her mistake. Before she can respond I ask a better question.
"And why exactly are you not worried about me having to go back?" She opens her mouth to backtrack I assume when the realization hits.
"Because you already knew that I wasn't." Surprises flashes in her eyes and she tries to back peddle.
"No, I just-are you laughing?!" She exclaims, staring incredulously at me as I try desperately to cover my mouth with my hands, failing miserably to hide my silent chuckles. I close the door, turning away from car and walking towards the rest of our entourage.
"JAY HALSTEAD!" Her angry yell just makes me laugh harder, the team giving us odd looks. I stop as a small hand grabs my wrist and spins me around. Erin stands there face flushed with anger.
"What the hell?! How did you-" I grin, just getting over the laughter.
"Was it you? Or Platt?" She rolls her eyes, a sigh escaping her mouth as she finally drops all pretenses of denying it.
"Platt. And I'm pretty sure she told Voight too." The grin slips from my mouth, anger pushing all lightness from the conversation.
"What?" I grind out through my now clenched teeth. Erin shoots me an odd look, so I continue.
"He knew that I had just gotten that from the military, knew it could and probably is a death notification and he still had the audacity to say that about me?!" Lindsay narrows her eyes, catching onto some of my anger. I guess that hadn't occurred to her either.
"Apparently so." She snarls, briskly walking past me to the rest of the team. I follow.
Intelligence is clustered around the open trunk of the black escalade we managed to turn into an official police vehicle after a bust some while ago. I manage to squirm past Ruzek and Dawson to grab one of the long guns. (They're actually M4A1's, but Voight named them long guns, and nobody else really knows what they are.) I shove a magazine into the bottom, hearing the click as the magazine catch does its job. Pulling back the control bolt, I watch in satisfaction as a bullet slides smoothly into the chamber. I attach the strap, wrapping it over my head and under my left shoulder, adjusting it so that the strap doesn't interfere with the guns normal position.
"We ready?" Voight's gruff voice sounds behind us. Resentment instantly surges in my gut, but I manage to keep my face placid, not really wanting to get into it again. Erin on the other hand has no problem letting her rage be known, staring straight at him as she loads her gun then replying in a hard voice.
"Absolutely Sargent." Her eyes flick over him, then offering nothing more but a cruel look she turn and pushes past a shocked Antonio and a confused looking Ruzek. I simply gaze at him for a moment, reminding myself that he is in fact my boss, before shrugging and following my partner. We pull our makeshift face masks (they're really just pieces of black cloth tied around our necks) up over our nose and ready our guns, switching the safety off and pulling them up to be nearly perpendicular with our chests.
We share a glance, then settle into our own little mindset reserved for high risk situations. The rest of the team come up behind us, forming two breach lines, Dawson's hand on my shoulder, Ruzek's hand on Erin's. I count down on my fingers then Atwater comes around and shoots through the lock with the gage.
Immediately I lower my gun and slam my shoulder into the door, paying no attention to it as it bounces off the wall. Our two lines shift slightly to continue down the narrow hall that greets us as we enter.
It's dimly light and musty, but despite our loud entrance, no one makes themselves known to us. Our boots echo loudly against the concrete floors and walls as we make it to the end of the hall. There's a door to the left that opens into a warehouse/garage thingy. The lights are on so it's not hard to see it's empty. Literally empty, no shelves or anything. Not even a car. Dawson raises his gun to the little window on the door anyway, checking the walls parallel to the door. He nods to us.
Erin wastes no time, swinging her gun around, muzzle dipping to the floor as she passes each warm body with her. She raises it again to aim at the second door on the right. Gently Al tests the push bar. It opens the door without a sound, revealing a concrete stairwell, that the team instantly fills. We start to climb to the first level and on the outside of the door is an old map of the building.
"Sarg. there's like five floors in this place." Adam whispers. Al shoots a glare at him for breaking the silence. I glance at the large painted '1' on the wall, while moving my hands. Voight nods, and we slip into more groups, Olinski and Ruzek staying to cover the first floor, the rest of us moving upward. Voight splits with Atwater on the second floor, telling us that they'll join up when they can.
We get all the way to the fourth floor, Dawson having gone to the third on his lonesome, when it starts. Gunshots echo up the stairwell from lower floors, and then suddenly bullets are pinging on the metal hand rails near us. The silence is broken and people start yelling, myself included.
"Go, go, go!" I yell, pushing Erin up the stairs, knowing full well that if we get stuck on these stairs it will quickly become a kill box, one that we won't be walking out of. She runs up to the fourth floor level, firing a couple shots upward. The bullets stop and we watch as a body falls past us, both of us cringing at the sound of it hitting the bottom.
We stare at the door to level four, our guns raised.
"What do you wanna do?" I swallow. More shots echo from down stairs, followed by more yelling.
"Go. I got this." She glances at me, seemingly reluctant to leave.
"Go, Erin they need your help. Dawson's doing his floor alone anyway, go help them on the second or first so they can get up here quicker." She nods.
"And the fifth floor?"
"Not a floor really, just the roof. Ruzek was slightly exaggerating." Erin gives me a look.
"Be careful Jay."
"Never." She rolls her eyes, offering nothing more than an 'ugh' before leaving, sprinting down the stairs. I take deep breath, readjusting my weapon and trying to recall everything I know about clearing a house alone. Most it adds up to the fact that if there's a lot of people in there, I'm screwed.
The door is different than the others, instead of a large metal push bar, there's only a simple locked door handle, which a bullet quickly takes care of. Instantly I'm pushing my way inside, reciting Sam's old motto about speed. See what a lot of people don't know, is that your speed when clearing a space should be greatly related to the amount of people you have with you who know what you're doing.
So for example if I had another person with me, we would go considerably slower than we would with say, ten.
'Slow is smooth, smooth is fast, and fast is lethal.' That's the SRU motto, I guess if they were to have one. Or maybe just team ones. The whole point of the saying is a good one, even as I clear room after room, Shining flashlights in closets, peeking around corners and double checking behind me every thirty seconds. It's pretty simple, the smoother your are, the more comfortable and confident you are, the easier it is to move and shoot efficiently. When you're alone, trying to clear an area with a near definite threat, you do not hesitate, you do not think.
You have to just...shoot.
I've reached what I think is the last hallway. I've successfully cleared and moved across the entire left half of the floor without meeting anybody. Which is good, but also kinda scary, seeing as I can still hear gunshots from downstairs. So either every bad guy in this building is forbidden from the fourth floor or they are hiding waiting for me.
Which sucks. Because I really hate surprises. Especially when they happen to be guys with guns and intent to kill.
That's why corners also suck. I mean C'mon, what better way to get the jump on somebody than to wait on the other side of a corner with the element of surprise on your side? So I'm at the end of this hallway, huge, industrial Windows to my left, a plain white wall to my right, and fucking corner a few feet in front of me. I am assuming that corner just leads to another hallway, seeing as you have to turn right, there's nowhere else to go, no doors or stairs of anything. I've just steeled my nerve to travel forward more and get this over with when Voight decides to kill me.
Or, he would have if there had been anybody on the other side of the wall to hear his voice come through the coms. I had instantly dropped into a crouch, gun pointed upward, ready for the first person to come around the corner. When nothing happens, I jump on the radio, silencing the one on my shoulder that blared out his voice, as well as dispatches response. I have no idea what he called for, but if it's backup, I'm going to kill him.
"Guys, what the fuck!" I whisper-yell into the com in my ear.
"Halstead! What the hell is the matter with you?!" Anger surges through me as Voight screams at me. My patience with him is currently tied to amount of respect I have for him, which at the moment, is at an all time low.
"What's the matter with me?! How about you?! We can't keep everything in house Voight, we needed backup to go into this building." There an audible pause, where I can almost feel the shock from the team after I called him out. Well. Everyone except Erin, who manages to respond to me that Hank did, just in fact call for swat, (with a great amount of satisfaction I might add) before my boss snarls at me. Although not the words I expect to hear.
"Where the hell are you?! " I don't know why but this just fuels the rage over his words that I didn't even know I had.
"Oh, are disappointed that I'm still here instead of back in Afghanistan!?" I spit out the words, care for my job disappearing. Care for anything really, because I said it so loud that anyone on the floor could have heard me. When he doesn't respond, I continue my little attack.
"I'm clearing my floor, Voight, I'm doing it alone. Because you were too proud to admit that maybe, just maybe we are in over heads. So I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted, but it's what I'm doing." It's true and he knows it. He doesn't want to admit that intelligence in all of our glory and whatever, would actually need help. That's why he was so pissed at Lindsay and I, especially after she said we didn't think the team could handle it. Intelligence is supposed to be able to do anything. Except we can't.
Then once everyone saw the crime scene photos...it started to be one clear how heavy this case is. Nobody talked while we were suiting up, it felt like nobody even breathed. All we got were these side glances from the rest of the the team, and when Voight walked in, it got to the point where you could have made a tension sandwich.
"You're clearing a floor alone?!"Ruzek interrupts our little battle of words.
"I'm trying to but you won't shut up!" I'm seriously considering the possibility there is no one on this floor, because honestly they should've come at me by now.
"Stand down, Halstead stand down!" The boss is back.
"I can do this Voight."
"You know the rules, Halstead! You can't-" I rip the earpiece out, letting it fall to the floor not really caring where it lands. Standing I think I can hear something now, a noise from somewhere in my vicinity and I'm sure I would have contemplated it more except that suddenly I'm flying through the the air, then slamming down on my back, a huge weight deciding to press itself on my chest. The gun is ripped from my numb fingers, the strap catching around my neck. Fear shoots through me as he tugs the strap again, obviously trying to get the gun farther away from me, although all he's doing is choking me with my own fucking gun.
Twisting I manage to slip my hand up and pull the strap off myself, since this idiot has no idea what he's doing. I know because the second the weapon is out of the picture, he tries choking me with his own two hands, not taking into regards my sidearm, or the knife I have strapped to my back under my shirt.
The choking thing is getting quite annoying though. My hand instinctively reaches for my knife, but forgets that I hid it from the team, not shoving it at its rightful place of the outside of my right thigh. The first time I did that in front if the team I got so much shit for it I didn't bother with it again, however I figured with these guys, I'd need it.
Panic starts to take over as the man presses harder on my throat, bright colors bursting before my eye in a spectacular supernova of lights. Choosing instead for plan b, my left hand claws it's way down my legs, dragging my gun free of its holster simultaneously flicker the safety off and pulling back the hammer, cocking the gun. The man snarls as I knee him in the groin, making his hands loosen slightly.
I slam the muzzle of the gun into his temple, firing. A warm sticky spray of blood and brain matter coats my face. Breathing heavy, I lie there for a moment, the man's dead body limp on top of mine. It isn't until he blood from the hole in his head starts to drip onto mine do I move, grunting as I push him off. My hands shake slightly as I grab my gun. I close my eyes and breathe through my mouth.
No Halstead, you can't do this, you can't lose it, not right now.
Opening my eyes I force myself to calm, blaming the shakiness on adrenaline. I can hear a metal door closing, followed by footsteps, and lots of them. I check my gun, unclipping the strap, then wrapping it around my hand, forming a fist around the loop created there. With my other hand I pull the knife from my back, sliding it up my sleeve, the top pointing outward towards my palm. I grip the gun in the same hand, finger on the trigger. I take a deep breathe. And then I run.
Charging forward, I raise the gun, not even bothering to look where I'm aiming. I start firing as I reach the wall straight in front of me, jumping and kicking off the wall so hard I cross diagonally into the other hallway, still firing until I hit the wall. Which, mind you, is officially the coolest way I've ever rounded a corner before.
Now comes the part of this I would never do around the team. They don't know my background, both what happened in the war and to me on the streets. I intend to keep it that way. It's almost ironic too, because when I first learned how to fight multiple people at the same time, I thought it was the stupidest thing in the world.
...
"Are you kidding me?! Three people?!" I stare incredulously at Rachel, who merely raises her eyebrows in amusement.
"What's so bad about that?" She asks, pushing off the wall she was leaning against. We snuck into the old gym a couple of hours ago, the dusty boxing ring still standing in the middle. It's kind of been our unofficial hide out since we left Miami and moved to Chicago. The huge warehouse was basically a failed investment, it was only really bought and had equipment shoved in here, barely open for a week before the owners health failed. He hadn't put it in his will yet, so it went to the city that wanted nothing to do with an abandoned storage unit on the south side where crime was highest.
Which left this a great place to hang out. You know. When we weren't getting our asses kicked by Rachel as she tries to teach us how to fight. Her teaching style brings new meaning to the phrase 'trial by fire'.
Without so much as an explanation she gives us a partner and has us start practicing one on one. Clean. No weapons, just hands. While we do her version of a 'warm up' she talks.
...
My eyes scan the hallway.
"First rule to follow when fighting against multiple assailants. Count. Analyze every person, weapons, stance, leaders and followers. Are they organized? Do they know hand to hand? Or do they rely solely on their guns to take you down?"
Six guys, dressed in black all the all the way down to the masks on their faces. They have piercing eyes, but they are full of anger and hatred, not cold contempt. The kind that always shines in a bad guy's eyes when they think they know how to easily take down a cop. They are fighting off of rage, nothing more. A couple have their guns out and I'm sure the rest have some form of knife or pistol tucked away somewhere. All look to be about six feet or less in height, extremely stocky build, some definite muscle. Which makes them slow.
I've done all of this in less than a second because I've already started my attack.
"Second rule of multitude combat: once you start, you never stop. Stopping gives them time to think. And what do we say about fighting one on one." The entire team responds.
"Never let your opponent think about what's going on."
"Why?"
"Thinking is dangerous. Thinking let's them form a plan. Letting them think means letting them kill you."
The two guys closest immediately rush me. I let the first one hit me, turning with his momentum and dropping my gun. The second doesn't even reach me before I react. The man is trying to get my arms behind my back, twisting me to face the wall. I ducklow and threw myself forward, close enough to the wall on one side of the hallway to touch.
And touch I do. Using the man behind me as a post, I push my feet against the wall and spring upwards and over the man's head, doing a full three sixty. Halfway through I wrapped ,my arms around his, so that as I land I flip his entire body with mine. And as I land I turn my arms, so I essentially chuck this guy into his buddy who I think was having a fun time trying to shot me with little avail.
The second I'm back on two legs I'm sprinting, then sliding on my knees right past the third guy to stand back up between him and the fourth. They both swing an arm to me, the third man on my left being the closest. I relax my fist, dropping the loop low, so the strap is still in my hand, but now I have some actual use for it.
Ducking to avoid goon number threes(...knife? Shank? I don't know, something pointy) I slip the strap over his arm, then stand and pull, yanking his arm hard in the direction of the guy to my right. Unfortunate for him, his pall tries to jab his knife at me right as I yank, so the perp is pulled off balance right into the knife which makes it him in his chest.
As he falls I let go of one end of the strap, jerking my hand slightly to ensure the thick fabrics stays in my hand not in his. The man in front of me, who earns the title of idiot of the year, lets his hand fall with his comrade, the hesitation on letting go of the knife pulling his entire arm and there for him off balance out of stance.
Some part of me wishes I could comment on how easy this is.
"Rule number three: never ever stop to gloat. Don't talk. Don't even smile. Because that's giving them time to think. Refer to rule member two, on my opinion of letting people think."
Also just a side note- this isn't happening in a time frame of five or ten minutes. This is fast, so fast the moves are almost simultaneous. One of the few things I can pride myself on, is that whether it's running or fighting, I can really move if I want to. Anyway. Back to dumbo the giant.
One flick of my wrist and the strap twirls its self back around my wrist. It won't stay, I'm not holding it, but I don't need to. I just need it out of my way for three second. In which time I slam a flat blade of a hand into his throat, send a hard knuckle to his sternum, drop a right undercut to his stomach while kneeing him in the groin. I then reached up, grabbing behind his neck and pull, going to one knee on the floor, slamming his head straight down onto the other that remains raised. He's out like a light.
The strap unraveled from around my arm, however I continue to hold onto one end. Leaping over the unconscious body in front of me, I lean forward mid flight, my hands land first before my feet follow, pushing me back upward like a cat.
"Rule number four: you fight on all fours."
There's baddie number five, like a sitting duck in front of me. I doubt he really thought he'd have to fight at all or that I'd come at him this fast. (It's been less than a minute since this whole thing started.) he tenses, hand reaching behind him, I'm assuming to go for his gun, but it's all in vain. I'm already there.
When I pushed off with my feet, I intentionally went sideways. My right foot pushes off the hallway wall, (the narrow halls in this place are the shit) almost parallel with his body. As I fly past-over his shoulder, my left hand throws the end of the strap out (the one I'm not holding) , it wraps around his neck. Still in the air my right hand grabs the other end. As my feet touch the ground I force my arms forward, dropping to one knee again to get a better position. As my arms swing over my head, the strap dragging the man by his neck to follow. His face slams down a couple of feet in front of me.
I finally discard the strap, no longer needing it for my defense. Or offense whatever you want to call it. I relax for a moment, a second really before something clicks.
'Idiot!' I internally scream at myself, wrist twisting while I stand, fervently trying to get my knife. It's too late though as I'm painfully reminded of two pretty important rules. One doesn't even have to do with combat in general, it's just a good life rule.
Know your surrounding.
Something I obviously completely forgot about, because if I hadn't, I wouldn't have been so surprised when I suddenly found myself getting pushing through a door and dropping into open space for a split second before beginning to roll down a set of heavy concrete stairs.
Of course I would even have gotten that far, if I had remembered one of Rachel's most final rules.
Rule six.
Never forget the last man.
(I know, I skipped a rule, but five was just to fight low to the ground. Not extremely important.)
This last man, had used my hesitation to charge at me, hitting me right as I stood up completely. We both we slammed into a blue metal push door, which lead to the tangling of feet, which lead to both of us tumbling quite painfully down said stairs.
I come to a jarring halt halfway off the landing. My assailant tumbled a few more steps to the next level, a few feet below me. My knife, which was partway out of my sleeve when I was tackled, now lies some six inches in front of my right hand that it so graciously sliced open on the way down. That doesn't stop me of course, from lunging forward and gripping it in the very same hand, then twisting and throwing it straight at the man below, who had just stood on wobbly legs.
The knife imbeds itself deep in his eye, a gross squishy kind of sound reaching my ears as it hits. His other eye rolls back in his head and he drops to the ground, odds of him being alive quite slim. Groaning I claw my way down the rest of the steps, letting out a gasp as I stand on the landing. Pain blossoms my shoulder where I originally hit the first step, enough that i have to consider the possibility that it might be broken. It fades though, retreating from a force to a dull throb, a quick examination confirming that it's not dislocated and if it is broken then it has to be a small fracture. Either that or I'm just in shock so the pain isn't really registering. Oh well.
Peering around, I see some old chipped off paint on the wall, barely forming a number. Coupled with the cracked and crumbling concrete I get the feeling that this set of stairs was taken out of use before the building was. It wasn't on the little mappy thing Ruzek found, so I guess it was condemned a while ago or something...which doesn't really make a whole lot of sense.
Whatever the reason there is still a door I'm able to pry open and go through, leading to a seemingly identical floor as the one I was just thrown from. The door clanks shut behind me as I gaze to my left then my right trying to discern which end of the hallway I should choose as a destination. Not that it seems to matter, when two more men appear to my left, guns raised with intent to kill.
Okay, C'mon guys. I mean, I know Antonio was clearing this floor by himself, but Erin was supposed to be helping him. I am definitely going to assume that all the commotion over the coms is that everyone was in a fight of their own. So either they won and ran to help everyone else or...they're dead.
Which would be an unpreferable outcome.
The first man fires.
The bullet slams into my left shoulder, thankfully embedding itself in my kevlar, although it does spin me around. I end up on my ass, staring up at the man as he aims the gun again, only this time at my head. He sneers.
"You should never have come here cop." I cough painfully in response.
"This is no place for anyone bound to the law. Especially idiots like you and your team. It was a mistake to split up like you did. Now your team will die with you." Smiling, I raise my hands in a placating gesture, then roll, hitting the man's legs and making him fall where I once laid. Standing, I throw a front kick into the man's counterpart, who rushed me the second I regained my feet. My foot sends him sprawling. Instantly I turn and slam a fist into the temple of my original attacker, who was just rising off the ground. If my knuckles don't knock him unconscious, his head hitting the floor definitely did.
Whipping around, I face the other goon. The man stands on wobbly legs. I charge.
At the last second I duck to the side and use my momentum to swing my legs up and around his neck. So, while I'm basically hanging upside down by my ankles, my added weight bring the brute to the ground. On top of me I might add, but hey, it's not a perfect move. Besides, I pushed my feet down, arching my back, so that when he feel, I basically forced his head to become very familiar to the ground.
Okay, okay, so he didn't land on top of me. I've perfected that move. Hooray. Jay lied.
I stand, breathing hard. I'm just looking down, seeing the body's and trying to convince myself that no, they aren't dead, and yes, you used your skills for the right things when-
-suddenly I'm thrown forward, pushed to the ground by some unseen force. I land face first on the cold linoleum floor, blood instantly filling my mouth from the impact. My chest heaves and a scream forces its way through clenched teeth as white hot pain erupts from my back, sending fingers of agony up my spine.
Damn. I didn't even hear the shot. For that's what it must be, a bullet. Fear and pain battle in my mind, all for different reason. Fear for my life urges me to move, to crawl forward and grab the gun that's three feet away. The pain urges me not to, along with the fear for my legs. If I move the wrong way and that bullet shifts...well that's enough to make stay still, at least for a moment. I've been paralyzed before, and now it's one of my greatest fears. I'd rather be dead not be able to run again.
Then my thoughts go to Erin and the team and them having to find my dead body and I refuse to let Erin mourn me. Plus, the adrenaline and shock have mixed together in a perfect "I-can't-feel-pain" smoothie. It's pretty great.
I actually make it to my hands and knees before the gun fires into my lower back again. I hear it this time, an echoing crack that sounds as if a thousand broomsticks were breaking at once. The force once again slams me to the ground. This time though, I'm pretty sure the blood that spills from my mouth, isn't from a cut in my lip.
A sadistic laugh cuts through the air, mocking my efforts. My chest hurts from gasping for breath. I push up onto my elbows, almost in a plank position, and army crawl forward. The shooter finally makes himself known with an accented voice, but I can't tell where he's from.
"To see a man fall from grace and reduced to only what he has inside is a gratifying experience. To bring that man to his knees is something as equally amazing. For you get to see what it is at the core of that man. And how easy it is to strip those things from him." He ends his sentence with third and final shot. I don't even feel this one, but the impact puts me down. While some part of me hopes he just finally hit my vest instead of my back, but with the way my body is responding right now, I'm inclined to believe other wise. Instead I just lay there, bleeding out, with this madman above me.
Yet, it's okay. Because while I can't feel the pain any more, I have just about achieved my goal. The gunner kneels down and looks at me curiously. My vision has started to blur to an alarming degree but I can vaguely make out that his face and then suddenly I realize where that accent came from. He's Russian.
Oh my god, the blood on the wall. Those words were in Russian. Jesus christ he's a Rider-
His finger poke me. Another laugh.
"Only one group in the world knows that move, along with the many others you have demonstrated. You are a ranger. And considering the fact that you performed those moves with a distinct type of accuracy and skill, I'm going to guess you helped develop them. So then...were you one of the first recruits? Or part of the Original seven?"
His soviet accent is more pronounced now that he's talking in my ear. His monologuing is useful though. My hands have been slowly inching forward because now I and now my arm is almost fully extended, my fingers just inches from the gun. But I must tense or something when he mentions O7R because he seems to realize my silence is so much louder than my words.
"No...something more. My god, I've found a leader. Ha! So lieutenant do you-" I give him no warning, just twist around, aim, and squeeze the trigger, effectively splattering his brain across the wall behind him.
"It's... detective." I hiss, then slowly roll back over onto my stomach, letting the gun slip from my weak hands, hands that I then use to slide myself press my palms flat to the floor and slowly, ever so slowly push myself across the floor, dragging the lower half of my body which I can no longer feel. It doesn't alarm me though, probably because my entire body is slowly going numb.
The hallway seems to get longer, the end so much farther away with every pull. My goal being to reach the ear com thingy I pulled out not wanting to listen to Voight. Yeah I know. Stupid me.
I'm feeling even stupider when I finally reach the end of hall. I remember the radio I have strapped to my vest and stop long enough to ask myself WHY THE LIVING FUCK HAVEN'T I USED IT?! I roll slightly to the side and ah, there's the pain I haven't been privy to. My entire body explodes with agony. I grit my teeth and scream, tears leaking from my eyes without permission.
My hand grasps my radio or...what's left of it. The thing is in pieces. I can vaguely recall it being hit by a stray bullet...I think it was...when I was-was upstairs? It's getting harder and harder to think, to remember. Why were we here? There-there was this murder and it had something to do with- with-...
The thoughts disappear because there, about three feet in front of me is...my earpiece? What? I thought-it was-what?! Was that whole trip down the stairs just some extremely real hallucination? Maybe it's not mine or maybe I'm just unconscious upstairs and this is just my brains giving me some really fucked up dream.
Whatever the case (assuming this has all been real) that thing is my lifeline.
My vision tunnels to include this one little piece of equipment. I'm close enough to the corner of the wall I can use it as-well, as a wall. I try to move my legs but all that does is send more flames of white hot agony up my spine, so bad I cry out and more tears fall unwillingly down my face.
Okay. Legs are out. I resort back to my hands, gripping the corner with white knuckles and pushing off with everything I've got. Which almost isn't enough. I manage to squirm the last inch and grab the white plastic piece, fumbling to put it in my ear. I don't speak at first, I just lay my head down on my hands, breathing heavy and while the pain has made it to the point I can no longer move, I smile. A slight smile that leaves as I recall one of the goons threats.
"It was a mistake to split up. Now your team will die with you."
Terror grips me for a second as I contemplate the idea of me being the last of them alive. Only one way to find out.
"Hello?" My voice comes out rusty and quiet, and the coughing that follows brings up so much blood it spills out of my mouth before I can stop it. I raise my head a fraction of an inch and spit to the side.
"Hello?" I repeat, louder this time.
"Hey, anyone on coms?" There is this long fateful moment where I'm met only by silence and I think 'that's it then. They are either dead, dying, or taken and I'm about to join them.' Then I hear her.
"Jay?" Erin's voice is scared and hopeful, like she can't believe I'm really talking.
"Erin! Oh man. Are you-is everyone okay?!"
"Yeah, Jay I'm fine. I-we thought we lost you." Her voice cracks at the end and I suddenly get what happened. She must have been screaming into the com for me to respond and if she was attacked-which I am sure she was-she probably thought I was dead.
"Everyone else?" I question.
"Yah, dufus, we're fine." Antonio's casual reply makes me laugh out loud with relief. With a sigh, I let my head drop back down to rest on my hands.
"What about you? You good?" Dawson continues. I pause and it finally settles in that I've been shot.
"Halstead? Are you okay?" I swallow hard.
"Not so much." Even I can tell how shaky my voice is, but at this point, I've stopped caring. The pain in my body has started to decline and I'm finding it harder to hold onto reality. My thoughts are spiraling around my head, bouncing into each other, choosing random paths that make it impossible to catch them.
"Jay! Where are you?!" Lindsay frantically calls to me. I try to remember where...
"I-I think I'm-I'm, um-" I stutter trying to recall something, anything that could help them find me. But everything is slipping, fading away into this static gray that fills my mind and makes my eyes feel heavy.
Erin speaks again. I cannot decipher her words, but her voice triggers memories. Happy moments at Molly's with the team, Al somehow making Voight smile, Antonio laughing at something stupid Ruzek did. Erin's face, calm and beautiful in sleep, hair ruffled as she lays across from me after our first night together.
A different image, one of concrete and metal. Stairs with faded yellow letters painted across a concrete wall with a door. A landing with a pool of blood from a body I dropped with a knife. The knife I got from Rachel when-when I was a kid. But that...that was almost twenty years ago. This is from today...wasn't it?
'I have to tell them.' I think. It's probably too late, but I make the effort because the static grey is turning black. With death or unconsciousness I don't know, although I'm sure the latter will definitely be closely followed by death.
My team has been talking to me, begging for me to respond, I'm sure. I haven't heard them but C'mon. It's intelligence. What do you expect. High risk situations is what they do. Worrying about their teammate who is hurt and won't respond? That's a given.
"Third...floor." I barely whisper. I don't even know if they could heard me. It doesn't matter though. The eternal darkness consumes everything and the world falls away.
Oh man. It's finally done! Only took me two months-eep! Sorry. Soccer season combined with dance finals and took over my life. But as you may be able to tell, that's all over and I can FINALLY WRITE AGAIN! So excited. Um, so next to be updated will be Extreme Ways (Don't worry, the next chapter for the fall is definitely in the works, as well as a couple of one shots I've been meaning to post.)
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Please? :D