Second part, here we go. I think I will have very big chapters ahead, so I will just cut it in two, like the 1st/2nd one.

Chapter 2: Covered in blood

"Our intelligence was stolen! Retrieve the briefcase, at ANY cost!" The administrator voice resonated in the whole battleground, marked by anger.

The Builders League United was panicked, demented by the Administrator's announcement, and were almost disoriented by the loss of their precious good. But since the mission wasn't finished, and the count ended, there will not be any pause for today's war, or any stop. The most stubborn were staying to the front line, like the BLU Heavy and Soldier, while the others were desperately trying to retrieve the briefcase.

Sniper jumped a little when he eared the message of the old lady. He automatically though about the strange man, in the shack. Was it him? And, for what reason would he steal the intelligence? Few things could surprise the cold nerved Aussie, but this one as a part of it. Even if the orders were intended for the BLU team, a shiver crossed his back. Only a clever man could do this, with the mercenaries and thousands of cameras around. He was keeping an eye to the hideaway since, and he didn't see any agitation, or even the man itself. But this was until a loud crash informed him of a possible twist in the situation.

The planks who protected the window's barricade, smashed to pieces, to obey to the gravity laws and crashed to the red dusty ground. He saw two blurred shadows, beginning a death duel in the wooden platform, as the light filled the place. He recognized the cloaked man, jumping, dodging the bloody butterfly knife of the BLU Spy, attacking him with the intent to kill. The stranger was hardly avoiding the blade of the Frenchman, a part of his mantle covered in blood. It was fast, too fast to react for an average human, and as the seconds passed, the outsider was getting weaker.

Sniper thought in a hurry, and started to aim at the Spy, his inner instinct encouraging him to do this.

"Oh, Piss."

His acts will surely have repercussions.

…

In similar cases, time ceased to flow, the seconds become never-ending hours. There is always a small reaction time, when we can either chose to gaze at the abyss that opens under our feet, or either be vivacious enough to escape it.

When this man appeared in front of me, emerging from the shadows with plumes of smoke, I stared him with wide eyes. He just appeared out of nowhere. His navy-blue suit was matching with a same-colored balaclava, covering his face save for his blues eyes and his thin lips. He raised his eyebrows when he saw me in my tanned disguise, but quickly decided to slay me. I realized just in time what was happening: he was hurling himself at me, ready to cut each member of my body. I threw my favorite gun on the worn floor, to launch myself on the planks. His knife sliced my left arm as I was falling on the floor. Concerning my attacker, he finished his charge in the barricade, destroying the whole barrier: but he didn't fall off the opening he freshly created, and, by the sound of his growls, was pissed off. My brain was screaming danger, while my heart was overwhelmed by a sudden rush of adrenaline. He looked at me, once again, with his insensible eyes. I quickly understood that I was now his prey, and was no longer the hunter. I hurrily got back on my feet, to prepare to fight the cold blooded man. I had to survive and finish the contract.

He was fast, extremely fast: barely after getting up, he attacked a second time, without letting me a second to take my breath. My close combat skills were good enough for the average, but was ridiculously low in front of his. I could barely jump to dodge his hits, or step backwards with my wounded arm, which made me lose my balance. Blood began to cover the cloak. This time, time wasn't slowing or ceasing to flow, but started to accelerate. Every parry was narrowly successful, too narrowly to take any advantage.
The masked man powerfully charged again, his dagger in his two hands, aiming for my head, and ready to slice me. I guessed his move but, due to a lack of time, I was only able to grab his wrists with my bare hands, and hope that I could prevent it. He gently laughed. He was much stronger than me, and, even if I tried to push as hard as I could, the iron blade was dangerously getting closer to my skull. I made, in a stupid and desperate attempt, a sweep, right in his legs. Without expecting a such predictable circumstances, he fell on me, with all his weight. We fell on the very edge of the shack, our faces in the void.

The man in blue proudly smiled. He raised his butterfly knife, blocking me with his whole body.

"You thought you could escape from here? You're going to die," he said, with a French accent.

I never believed in a god. All my life, I only believed in the survival of the fittest. My past years through the rude desert of the Mojaves and other wastelands had taught me this: death was everywhere, and only the toughest could survive, the weakest were doomed to perish. This was simple, but it was how life was built: if an animal wasn't adapted to his environment, he died, or was eaten by another by his amount of trust or lack of intelligence. By violence, intelligence, betrayal... we all had to survive, one way or another. So, I accepted my death, even if I couldn't believe it. In this world, only the toughest survive.

I started to think that he mistook me for my own target. He was watching me with wrath, even disgust. I took a long breath, to filled my lungs with the hot, dry air from the desert. It was going to miss me.

He raised a little his forearm again, to gain some extra space, like an advertisement to his next move. I narrowed my eyes, looking with attention at his forehead. A bright red dot shone on it.

A strident whistling resonated.

Less than a second after, the fiery face of the blue Frenchman exploded in a filthy, bloody mash of brain. Blood, skin, muscles, bones... the whole skull of the man showered me, spattered the room, the walls and the floor, nearby his body. The blood covered my glasses, taking away my sight. I smelled the fresh blood, felt it moistening my mantle, so much that I was soon soaked by the tepid liquid.

I was paralyzed by his sudden death. The corpse of the Frenchman fell on mine, blocking me of any movement again. The shot came from a third man. My respiration was out of control.

Before I could manage to calm myself, I felt a presssure, my body slowly sliding in the void. Panic possessed me. I though that my temporarily blinding could bring me a kind of omniscience, or sharpen my other senses, but it was the contrary: I was terrified, disturbed by it. My sight, my most important sense, was preventing me from positioning myself in space, or even remember my last action. I never freaked out this much, already shocked from the confrontation with the Frenchman. I started to fidget, move my arms, hoping to free them in time. I was hearing many sounds, with no idea where they were coming from. I could recognize footsteps, and voices shouting at each other. I managed to pull out my wounded arm in a thud groaning, and quickly and nervously started to try to search for any support to catch. My fingers only found that old, fragile wooden floor, and sharp splinters. I started to feel my body tumble in the emptiness, staggering with the dead body.

While I was going to fall with him, I firmly grasped the corner of the piece of wood. Very quickly, I felt the the body of the man falling down, losing the hold he had on me. A intense twinge engulfed my arm as I fell into the emptiness. I moaned in pain. I was hanging through the space, without any chance to drag myself back to the shack. I heard the collision between the dead body and the ground, which made me terribly dizzy.
I was completely panicked. My respiration was out of control, fast and loud, as my legs were wriggling in the air. I was about to scream. A painful stretch was taking over my arm, strength was leaving my body. I was controlled by my fear.

I heard new footsteps, along a rough voice. "Heavy catch little man!" he yelled.

I was feeling like my arm was going to tear apart. I tried to reach the planks with my other hand, in a desperate tentative. A creak sounded, made a small echo. I opened my eyes wide. The piece of wood cracked from my weight.

As my body was falling into the void, I couldn't hold a muffled scream. I felt the air getting through my mantle, whistling taking over my ears. And, before I could do or realize anything, a violent shock made me pass out.