That same night, back in dreamland
The D'Amico Penthouse, New York
God I looked ridiculous!
I mean: long white socks and a short fucking skirt, with pigtails – I ask you!
I was standing outside an enormous building, in the centre of New York – it was dark and I was attempting to con my way past the main entrance to the D'Amico Penthouse. I felt just as ridiculous as I thought I looked.
"Nobody could be dumb enough to fall for this shit – nobody," I thought.
Minutes later…
I stood corrected!
The one asshole that was that dumb still squirmed, so I put him out of his misery with a single shot as I headed for the elevator, with my case, and acquired a key card to operate the aforementioned elevator. Not bad for a few seconds light exercise!
..._...
After a brief strip, in the elevator, followed by some speedy dressing, I was ready. The elevator came to a halt and I braced myself, rope in my left hand and knife in my right.
The doors opened –
There was a man standing to my left, he turned towards me and received the knife in his neck for his trouble. I yanked back on the rope and was immediately aware of another man to my left rising from a chair, where he had been reading a newspaper; I made a slashing movement with my blade and as the man fell backwards, away from the slashing blade, I turned to my next target.
The man to my right had his pistol out, but I placed a boot onto his left thigh, jumped up to his shoulders, and drove the knife into the side of his neck – the blood was awesome! The man that had fallen backwards was now coming at me with his own pistol and I sent the knife flying through the air and into his right wrist. I then rolled the man, on whose shoulders I stood and used the momentum to slide across the floor and using the rope made the guy shoot himself through the chin – cool!
Up until that point, I had been stealthy; however, the gunshot would have been heard. I discarded the rope and knife, and then dived for a pedestal that had some weird sculpture thing on it and braced myself against it facing the elevator. Meer seconds passed before I heard movement coming down the corridor. I had no idea who it was, nor how many it was.
..._...
I drew both of my pistols and readied myself.
Fighting my way down that corridor was going to be virtual suicide; but that was what I did. Daddy had trained me to accomplish the virtual impossible and that as what I was going to do.
I had seven rounds in the SIG-Sauer P232 pistol in my left hand and ten rounds in the H&K USP Compact pistol in my right hand, plus a spare magazine for each pistol. It would have to do, else I would have to improvise; I was good at improvising! For some strange reason it occurred to me at that point, that one day somebody should make a movie about Hit Girl – this attack in particular would probably make an awesome action scene!
My senses told me that the men were close; it was time to engage. I flexed my foot, ready to push off. This was it! I moved to my right, around the pedestal and I fired the first round, from the USP in my right hand, dropping the nearest man with a bullet to the forehead. I started to engage the men as I moved up the corridor. The men were spread out on either side of the corridor – maybe it was doable! The next man fell, and then the next. I used a chair to jump up and kicked the next man down, and slotted the next with a bullet to the head as I came back down again. The next man fell with a bullet dead centre to the forehead, blood spurting out. I hung off the right side bookshelves, which lined either side of the corridor and I blew a hole in the next cunts head. A man appeared from a doorway to the left and I dodged his bullets, but then the man that I had kicked down earlier, stood up and received a bullet in the back from the man behind – awesome!
Another man received a bullet in the head and I swapped out my magazines. The next two men fell with a bullet each in the chest. I skidded along the floor, shooting another man in the stomach and as he fell, he triggered his own shotgun, blowing the back of his head off through his jaw. A man, who seemed to be one of the last of D'Amico's goons, stood in the middle of the corridor. He fired off round after round in my direction.
Then the unthinkable happened – both of my pistols locked back on seemingly empty magazines, which was nuts as I had barely fired half of either magazine! Nevertheless, shit happened, so I dumped the pistols and flew at the goon. I seized his pistol with both hands and swung myself up and around onto the goon's shoulders, pulling the pistol out of his hands and then firing a bullet down through his head. As the body fell, I shot at the final goon and then rolled onto the floor of the corridor.
The final goon was using a long, tall table as cover. I fired three rounds, with the previous goon's pistol, before the magazine was empty, so I threw the pistol into the face of the final goon, used the table like a vaulting horse, and kicked the goon in the stomach forcing him to drop his pistol, which flew up, and into the air.
I landed on my feet and caught the pistol. This final goon was going to die where he lay on the floor of the Penthouse. I strode forwards and stopped astride his body, aiming his own pistol directly at his face and I happily pulled the trigger.
..._...
Click.
"CLICK!" I thought in disbelief. The pistol had jammed. Then I heard the 'ding' of the elevator at the far end of the corridor – I turned and stared down the corridor. Everything had very rapidly gone to shit – well it could not get any worse, could it? I was in a large dining-kitchen with windows that provided a panoramic view of the City. I saw the elevator doors open and men appear; I ran over to the large kitchen counter, executed a perfect forward roll, and dropped down behind the same counter.
I could hear voices coming up the corridor and some shouts. I was being discussed in loud whispers by some men. I was feeling the tingles of panic as I found that I had no weapons left.
"You stupid bitch, Mindy!" I thought. "You've fucked up and you won't be walking away from this!"
I looked around me and saw a block of knives ahead of me and on the opposite counter.
..._...
A few minutes after I had obtained the knives, all hell broke loose as some wanker emptied an entire, large calibre magazine in my direction. I kept moving behind the counter, scurrying backwards and forwards and covering my head with my arms. Glass from the shattered windows fell all around me and the noise was horrific. I was actually borderline scared now; this was getting out of hand. Normally at this point Big Daddy would step in and rescue me – but he was dead. I was alone. My only back up was that green asshole; only I had no idea if he was really going to come through for me, or if he was, would get here in time?
The firing stopped. I briefly stuck my head up and smiled, then sent the two largest kitchen knives down range. Bullseye! The look on that assholes face was fucking priceless! I dropped back down behind the counter and heard the assault rifle that he had been holding drop to the floor, closely followed by his body. I heard more chatter, and then silence – but I had heard one word, quite clearly...
"Bazooka?" I said to myself – what the fuck was going to happen next...
Then more bullets and some larger shit came my way and I crouched down against the kitchen unit, cowering against the flying glass. Finally, I had had enough and I forced my way inside a cupboard. I moved some pans to one side and found a bullet hole to look through.
Oh, crap!
"Say hello to my little friend!"
My eyes went wide – this was the end of Hit Girl, unless...
I saw a flash...
The real world
West Ridge
"Again?"
Mindy had bolted upright, the tears were there, but not like before. This time she just looked at me.
"You never came..." She said simply.
"Huh?"
"I died in that kitchen – you never came..."
"It was just a dream, Mindy – I did come and I was your backup."
"I know, but – two nightmares; first you die and then I die."
Mindy seemed very worried.
Two days later
Thursday
We never said a word about Mindy's nightmares after that night.
I was unsure what had brought on the nightmares, but I promised Mindy that I would always be there for her and most importantly, she believed me. It worried me that her dreams involved us both dying. Yes, Mindy's dreams were normally violent and bloody and she enjoyed that! I had similar dreams, but they often involved me having the crap kicked out of me, although those dreams were gradually being replaced with the new Kick-Ass.
I had a feeling that Mindy was feeling a little dejected. Our long line of successes had now changed to a few disasters! Technically Fusion was on the run and that included our friend, Petra.
..._...
Back to the current issues. The Cops seemed to have lost the plot somehow; maybe they were trying to garner support from the citizens of Chicago, whatever it was, Marcus had dropped over a CPD 'Most Wanted' leaflet. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the list:
#1: Hit Girl
#2: Kick-Ass
#23: Shadow
#34: Jackal
#55: Red Mist
#56: Wildcat
This list had caused some consternation within Fusion!
I was pleased to be number one and Dave felt it was cool to be number two; however, Chloe was pissed to be all the way down at number twenty-three, not to mention Josh who said it was 'not bloody fair', to be at number thirty-four. Curtis was annoyed because he did not even feature; but Megan thought it was very cool just to make the list! Wasn't really sure where Wildcat had come from, either! Now, who spotted the fuck up at number fifty-five? What the fuck was Red fucking Mist doing on the goddamn list – he was dead for fuck's sake!
Well, if they wanted to waste their time and resources looking for Red Mist, then good luck, I thought!
As I watched, I saw the armoured truck with the flatbed, pull up and stop at the side of the road.
Out climbed Hit Girl and Shadow, from the front, followed by Jackal and another, shorter vigilante whose name I did not know, from the rear. They should not have youngsters doing that shit – I should know. Any kid under sixteen was way, way too young, to be taking lives and doing what they did. That was my view on things and that would never change. I had been way, way too young, when I had started my shit, over six years previously.
The four vigilantes left the truck and headed towards a large building. That night was the closest that I had been to them, so far. Next, I had to track down their headquarters; that would be a complex and most dangerous task, but it had to be done, if I was to complete the task for which I had come to Chicago in the first place.