chapter 1
I needed to reevaluate my logic. I needed to go home and rethink my life. I snorted at the thought of Obi-Wan meeting the mafia. I needed to rethink the thinking of my brain using Star wars quotes when getting shot at by the mafia while standing on a ledge.
Clint, you're not supposed to shoot arrows at the mafia, especially after they hired you.
Um, that's me. (*British accent*) Barton, Clint Barton, circus freak, archer, orphan ect.
I slotted another arrow and looked behind me. Twenty-three children stood there, cold, skinny(winter in New York is no joke) and scared. I swung around the corner and took my shot. The arrow went straight through two goons, bounced off the wall, and back through a third.
Yes, sticks kill.
A chunk of brick got taken out, a foot above my head. Fifteen men were left and they have a bazooka. A bazooka! This is freaking New York City! Why isn't SWAT swarming this place like maggots. I leave the bad guys and suddenly they start getting breaks!
Life. Needs. A. Shrink. Jesus.
A black van pulled up below me. No SWAT logo and they had the perfect position to put a bullet in my brain.
I spun around the corner and killed another three goons using the same trick. Honestly, they should've learned to stay away from walls.
"Freeze, this is the Federal Police! Get down on the ground or be fired upon!"
"Fired upon." Really? I mean, they're MB( Men in Black= government Agents in my book) but middle age words are not necessary.
Okay, I like making fun of the government for no reason. They irk me.
I notched another arrow and let it fly. It hit the right side mirror, six inches from a suit's face. He followed the arrow's path back to me. I watched as his eyes flicked to me and then behind me to the kids. One goon shot two agents, blood splattering in pools over every surface. Another goon aimed the bazooka at the van.
I darted around the corner and let loose, completely loose of my awesome(beyond awesome, honestly.) I was aiming for Bazooka Goon when a bullet slamned into my shoulder and exploded by bone and muscle. I finished my shot, killing the Bazooka threat. I next flipped a knife open and then into the throat of my would be killer.
I stood there, shaking slightly. I was now standing on an open part of the rooftop. Behind me was a wall of solid brick where the kids were safe for the moment. I tore a strip of my shirt and pressed it against my shoulder, hard. Is it normal to see so many spots? Don't answer that. It was rhetorical.
The door across from me burst open and agents pored onto the rooftop. I pulled out a another knife. They had guns. My shoulder was too busted to use my bow and it was my last knife.
This. Is. Going. To. Suck.