Thursday, September 22nd

Synthesis Data Core

Marty looked up as Hit Girl entered the space.

"His laptop is clean – he can have it back. . ."

"But. . ." Hit Girl prompted.

"He downloaded about a hundred files before he lost the connection. We have a map of Chicago with positions marked upon it and a shitload of other crap which I'm trying to decode. I think FEAR is paranoid when it comes to her own security."

"Was the map encrpyted?" Mindy asked.

"Yes – it was the first file to be decrypted – we're getting a file every hour or two."

"Let's see it."

Marty pulled a large A0 piece of paper from his wide-format printer and he threw it over the central desk. Mindy recognised it, immediately. It was indeed her city and, yes, there were a dozen locations marked. The markings were very spread out, however, her experienced mind told her that the locations were important.

"Find out everything that you can about those locations. Hopefully, we'll get some documentation from them out of the decryption process."

"I'm on it, my queen."

Mindy laughed.

"See you later, super-geek!"

Marty grinned at the compliment as he turned back to the computers. Mindy looked over at Kim who was sitting on the floor with little Matty – the boy was eleven-months-old and he was very close to his first birthday.

"We'll come with you, Mindy – leave the geek to his other women!" Kim suggested.

Marty gave his wife a long kiss before hugging his young son.

"Behave, honey – look after your mother, Matty."

Summit Drive

Kelly was worried.

So worried that she had taken the day off school and just stayed at home. She told her sister that she was having period pains – well, she was on her period – so it was a good enough excuse. Annoyingly, her sister had reappeared from her day job as a high-flying executive for some seedy-sounding import-export conglomerate. Kelly was finding it increasingly difficult to show a happy face to her big sister. Katrina, in turn, was putting off her moods to the recent changes in her life and the harshness of her new training routine.

"Kelly?"

"Sis?"

"It is time for you to assume your position in the organisation. I want to introduce you to your new team. You will command a small strikeforce which will rain hell down on this city. I also have your new body armour ready which will mark you out as my successor and as my sister."

Kelly was overjoyed at the news.

"Looking forward to it, sis," Kelly replied as she forced an excited smile to her face.

That afternoon

Synthesis Data Core

The other members of Synthesis were very worried about their leader and her brother.

Neither had been seen nor heard from since the day before. Each had received a cryptic message on their Fusion cell phones telling them not to worry, but that had just worried them even more. Directly after school, they each headed down to the Data Core. They were surprised to find Battle Guy working away at one of the consoles.

"Good afternoon," he offered. "I am sure you are very keen to learn what is happening with your colleagues but that will have to wait a few minutes. We have work to do. We have some files to decrypt and I need some assistance."

The three teenagers jumped onto their terminals and logged on, eagerly.

..._...

Fifteen minutes later, the hatch opened and two people stepped through into the space. The two boys, Laurence and Peter, plus the lone girl, Kate, looked around to see two girls standing beside the hatch as it closed behind them. Both girls wore Fusion uniforms, just like that worn by Battle Guy except that, unlike Battle Guy, neither girl wore a mask.

"Who are you?" Kate asked.

"I know you – you're Chloe Bennett," Peter exclaimed as he laid eyes on one of the hottest girls in his school.

"Abigail Hunt?" Kate ventured as she recognised the school's biggest geek.

"Please don't call me that – it's Abby or Hal."

Only then did the eyes of the kids fix onto the names displayed on the left chest of each uniform.

"Cool!" Laurence exclaimed.

That same time

Safehouse Q

The Dade family were feeling very low.

It had been a depressing day which they had spent keeping themselves to themselves. Their minder had vanished that morning – for school apparently. She had been replaced by the 'day shift' – a lady in her forties who smiled and kept herself to herself giving the Dade's their space as had been promised.

Jesse felt very low as he knew that he was to blame for almost getting him and his family killed. His big sister kept making snarky remarks which made him feel much worse but he endured them as he sulked. Libby, however, was annoyed that she was missing school – she was also very annoyed that she was not allowed to go down to the Data Core. It was Libby, who had been wandering from one end of the house to the other, who noticed that they had a visitor.

"Mrs Lizewski?"

"Hello, Libby, how are you doing?"

"Fine . . . I . . . what are you doing here?"

"I like to check out my Safehouses from time to time," Mindy explained as she walked into the living room. "I also like to check up on the people whom I am protecting."

"I don't understand," Libby said as she watched the woman she knew as Mrs Lizewski from D-JAK sit down in a chair and she faced her parents and brother.

"Hello, Jesse, I understand that you are the stupid little brat who put his own family at risk."

"Excuse me!" Sarah Dade exclaimed.

"Your son put everybody at risk, including my own people," Mindy replied with a little anger in her tone. "However, he is young and mistakes are made – some of us are only human."

"Motherfucker!" Libby exclaimed as it hit her like an eighteen-wheeler.

"Elizabeth Rachel Dade!" Mark Dade exclaimed but Libby ignored her father.

"You're her!"

Mindy chuckled.

"I am who I am."

"Honey – who?" Sarah Dade enquired.

"Mom, you can be so dense!" Libby exclaimned in a very exasperated fashion. "She's Hit Girl, Mom!"

"Motherfucker!" Sarah Dade exclaimed.

"No – I chopped his head off," Hit Girl chuckled.

That evening

South Whipple

"Abigail! Brad!"

Rachel Murphy yelled for the umpteenth time. It had only been two days but Rachel was very pleased with the new family member. It was nice to have a girl in the house, balancing out the genders. While Rachel was fully aware of who and what Abigail was, plus her medical history, she saw the ten-year-old as a lovely little girl who was very polite and who was happy to help around the house. Brad and Abigail had immediately bonded – the two were always together, talking and playing on the PlayStation together.

The two nights that Abigail had been with them and been a little fraught. Rachel had awoken to hear screaming on the first night and she had found Abigail in streams of tears, sitting up in her bed. It had taken most of an hour to calm the girl down enough that she could fall back to sleep. They had not spoken about the nightmares which had occurred the second night, too. Abigail had simply said, 'thank you' each morning.

"Abigail! Brad!"

From up the stairs, she could hear laughing and giggling – it sounded like Brad was play-fighting with Abigail who it turned out was very ticklish. Brad had been warned by his father and by Mindy that Abigail was a trained fighter and a killer. He had been warned to be very careful when he wound her up. Abigail, in turn, had been warned by Mindy to control her temper. Brad, at thirteen, was physically bigger than Abigail and he used that extra weight and muscle to his advantage against the slimmer, lighter, Abigail.

"If I have to call again, heads will roll!" Rachel called again.

The giggling stopped as did Brad's laughter. A thundering of feet moved towards the stairs and then thundered downwards.

"Yeah, Mom!" Brad exclaimed as he skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway with Abigail slamming into the back of him as she came to a rapid stop.

Both kids were red-faced from all their exertions and panting heavily.

"Brad – lay the table. Abigail – help Brad."

"Yes, Mom!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Rachel grinned as the two youngsters fought over who was getting the knives and forks out but she left them to it and went back into the kitchen.

..._...

Rachel had just finished cooking when her ears perked up.

She could not hear the two kids – that meant they were up to something. She did, however, hear a thud as something hit the doorframe between the kitchen and the dining room. Carefully, she peered round said doorframe and then looked down at the floor. A dinner knife was lying on the carpet and there was a small dent in the painted wooden doorframe. On the other side of the dining room, Brad stood with his right arm raised and another matching knife in his hand, held by the blade. Beside the boy, his female mentor was instructing him on throwing said knife.

"Bradley!"

Brad dropped the knife to the floor and Abigail jumped away looking very guilty.

"Who's idea was it?"

"Mine, Mom – I asked if Abigail could show me how to throw a knife."

"Sorry, Mrs Murphy," Abigail offered as she stared down at the dining room carpet.

"Abigail – while I know that you are highly skilled, would you please keep your skills to yourself. Ignore the idiot boy, beside you, when he asks to learn anything dangerous from you, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Both of you: go sit."

The two kids smirked at one another as they sat down on opposite sides of the table.

Wagner Road

Lauren was happier than she had been in many months.

Almost ten months previously, she had suffered something no thirteen-year-old should ever have to endure. Now, on the day of her fourteenth birthday, she could finally put it all behind her. Her life could not have been better. She had found herself a new life as Nightmare which was an outlet for her anger and frustration that she had felt at having her innocence ripped away from her. She had also gained a new home and her family was whole – fuck her father! The best bit of it all was her boyfriend.

Brad Murphy was the gentlest boy she knew. Brad always knew what to say, when to say it, and when to keep his trap shut. He knew all about what she had endured and he was always there when things got too much. That very morning, Brad had surprised her with a kiss which had almost made her collapse. Brad had wanted to be with her that evening but the boy had a new responsibility. He had gained a little sister who was keeping him very busy. Lauren liked Abigail – she was wild (just like her name) but she got on really well with Brad and the two were always laughing and, it seemed, always getting into trouble. Abigail had quickly picked up on the relationship and very astutely, she kept out of the way when Lauren and Brad were together.

"Happy Birthday, honey!" Emily Edwards smiled as she placed the enormous chocolate cake down on the kitchen table.

Lauren quickly counted the fourteen candles and she grinned.

"Blow them out, already," Lizzie Edwards suggested. "We'll have the Fire Department here before too long!"

Lauren closed her eyes and she blew out all the candles in one go.

"Did you wish?" her mother asked and Lauren nodded in response.

Emily was very happy for her daughter who had endured a miserable year. To see her smiling so happily meant an awful lot. Mindy had surprised her daughter, earlier that evening with a personal visit to deliver a birthday gift. Lauren had almost burst into tears at the sight of the two-foot long Jungle Sword with its sixteen-inch blade with a blood groove along the top of the right side. Emily smiled at Mindy's discomfort as Lauren had hugged her tightly.

All in all, it was a very happy birthday for her eldest daughter.

The following morning
Friday, September 23rd

District 21

The reputation of the Chicago PD was at an all-time low.

The massacre had destroyed within hours what the men and women of the police had striven hard over several years to rebuild. The police had been respected by the majority of the city – even the less law-abiding members of the community. That had all been undone in just a single night.

Fourteen people were dead at the hands of the Chicago Police Department. No, it had not been a frenzied attack by crazed police officers, it was a simple case of mistaken identity. The CPD had fallen into a carefully laid trap and they had reacted just as their training had dictated. The hostage rescue had been executed 'by the book' with tragic consequences. The twelve-strong SWAT team had assaulted the building with the best intentions but the criminals had been smart and it had been a foregone conclusion even before SWAT had rolled up that evening.

It was a classic switch: the hostages had been made up to look like the masked hostage takers and it wasn't until the attack was fully underway and unstoppable that the error was discovered but not before innocent hostages had been killed. The press had had a field day. Naturally, heads had to roll and the head of the SWAT team involved had been summarily suspended pending an Internal Affairs review. Sergeant Craig Matthews had no choice but to comply as he went home to brood over the unavoidable mistakes made under his command.

He had supporters, many of whom had rallied to his side – one supporter, in particular, was incensed by his treatment and she opted to visit her comrade in arms that night.

That night

The home of Craig Matthews

Sergeant Matthews heard the knocking on his back door.

He drew his service weapon, which he had been allowed to retain under the circumstances, and he moved towards the door. He peered outside through the kitchen window and he chuckled to himself as he holstered his pistol then unlocked the door.

"Wondered if you might make an appearance – please come in, young lady."

"Not the usual way that I'm greeted."

"Sorry if I don't scream and run away!" Matthews chuckled.

"Funny!"

A boy ran into the room, intrigued by the electronically synthesised voice of the visitor.

"Hit Girl!"

"Who is this?" Hit Girl asked as she looked down at the boy.

"I'm Max – I'm eight."

"Good to meet you, Max."

"Wow! I just shook hands with the amazing Hit Girl! Where's Kick-Ass?"

"He's busy, Max."

"I like, Kick-Ass – he's so awesome and indestructible."

"He is that," Hit Girl growled.

"I am what I am!" Kick-Ass chuckled over the comms.

"Yeah – I'll tell Kick-Ass that you were asking after him."

"Craig?"

A young woman in her thirties appeared in the room.

"Honey, this is Hit Girl. Hit Girl, this is my wife, Theresa."

"Hello, Hit Girl. Craig has told us a lot about you."

"Hello."

"Are you here to help my husband?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am. Your husband is a good man and I won't let him suffer because of some underhand act."

"Do you know who was behind it?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am, I believe that I do and I will not rest until she pays for the lives that she has ruined."

"She?" Matthews asked.

"Sunset Phoenix. We are very sure that she was behind that abortive kidnapping – her intention was most likely to catch you, or even Fusion, in the act of killing innocents."

"Bitch!" Matthews breathed.

"We have your back, Sergeant – have no fear of that!"

..._...

Hit Girl was very angry as she left the house and she made her way to where Kick-Ass awaited with her Ducati.

"Things are going to hell and people that I care about are getting hurt – that bitch is going down!"

"Don't let me stop you," Kick-Ass chuckled as his partner swung a long and inviting leg over her motorcycle.

"I have a need. . ."

"A need for speed?"

". . . A need to kill . . ."

"Thought so – Battle Guy has some cunts lined up for us a few blocks over," Kick-Ass mentioned as he started the engine of his Ducati.

Hit Girl laughed out loud.

"You know me too well!"

"That I do, my sweet."

..._...

It did not take them long to find their way a little more than a few blocks, over to West Englewood. Hit Girl knew full well that she was in deep. The neighbourhood had not quite recovered from the Diplomatic Bag incident which had decimated the ruling gangs. However, while they still fought amongst themselves, they were united when it came to Fusion. The bullets which followed the smirking Hit Girl down South Ashland Avenue were anything but friendly. Kick-Ass followed his partner towards the location identified by Battle Guy and marked on the moving map which was visible in their visors.

At the junction of West Marquette Drive, they found their target. Two CPD cars were pinned down in a crossfire. Kick-Ass brought around his Heckler & Koch G36C and he began dropping anybody with a gun. After three bodies hit the ground, the rest dived for cover allowing Hit Girl to jump off her Ducati and move toward the four CPD officers who were using their vehicles as cover. With Kick-Ass using his own motorcycle as cover and looking out for any trouble, Hit Girl made it to the four officers.

"You guys a little stuck?"

"Thanks for coming, Hit Girl," one replied.

"I was looking for a bit of action," Hit Girl mentioned as casually as if she were discussing the weather.

"Well, you found it – now how do we get our collecting asses out of this?" a female officer asked.

"I have a cunning plan. . ." Hit Girl advised them.

"Why do I get the idea that this is going to hurt," another officer groaned.

"Suck it up, Rogers!" the female officer chuckled.

"Lead the way, Officer Ramsey," Rogers directed as he checked his pistol. "Six rounds left."

"Only seven," Ramsey commented.

The other two officers had six rounds each remaining in their weapons.

"Trust me!" Hit Girl growled in her electronically enhanced voice.

..._...

The Cortez Street Gang had a new leader who was keen to prove that he had the balls to run the outfit.

He was complemented by his opposite number, just across South Ashland Avenue. While Hector Raymond had not survived the last run in with Fusion, paving the way for Ramon Havier to take over, the leader of the Stones, was still the same Phillipe Estevar. At Havier's command, heavier automatic weapons were issued and three Ford pickup trucks were soon speeding for the area of conflict with seven men aboard each truck. Experience had taught Havier that he would need to use overwhelming force if he were to take down not just the City's finest but also Fusion's finest. A brief call to Estevar had warned the opposing gang-boss of the imminent threat to his domain and he, too, was mobilising significant forces in support, should Hit Girl or Kick-Ass set foot on his side of the street.

While the neighbourhood gangs were gearing up, Hit Girl and Kick-Ass decided to move the cops out of harm's way. With a few well-placed bursts of gunfire from Kick-Ass' G-36C, the four cops all piled into the one running police cruiser and they accelerated off down the street with bullets pinging off the bodywork and passing above the cowering officers in the rear seat as they went clean through the smashed windows. Two young men fell to bullet wounds and they were dragged off by their remaining colleagues. Rather than follow the escaping police officers who were rapidly surrounded by their colleagues, several miles down the road, Kick-Ass and Hit Girl remained at the junction of West Marquette Drive and South Ashland Avenue.

All gunfire had ceased allowing them both to walk over to the neighbouring KFC restaurant where they obtained a large bucket of chicken to while away the time as they awaited the inevitable attack from the street gangs.

..._...

When the attack came, it was every bit as wild as Hit Girl had hoped it would be.

The first pickup truck skidded to a halt thirty yards short of the intersection and disgorged six men before moving into a covering position from where the driver cut off any escape to the west. The second and third pickup trucks did the same covering the north and the south exists from the intersection.

"You get the impression they want us to head east?" Kick-Ass mused.

"They do kind of hint in that general direction," Hit Girl responded.

"Might I assume that down east is more trouble?"

"You could be right – to be honest, I hope it's a better quality of trouble as these dicks look a little lame!"

"Is that the best that you bitches can come up with!" Kick-Ass yelled out to the assembled masses – well, the twenty-odd well-armed gang members, at least.

"We outnumber you, Kick-Ass!" came the response.

"Not from where I'm standing," Kick-Ass countered half-heartedly.

"Can't you fucking count, you vigilante retard?"

"I can."

"There's twenty-one of us . . and only fucking two of you, you stupid dumb fucks!"

One of the Cortez members fired off three shots from his AR-15 rifle – two of the rounds his Kick-Ass' frontal chest armour. He staggered back a few steps but remained on his feet. Then, out of nowhere, there was a slashing, tearing sound as something cut through the air at near the speed of sound and the man who had fired was decapitated by the .50-calibre round hit dead centre, exploding the head.

"We are not alone, cunts!" Hit Girl growled

"Neither are we, Hit Girl!" came the unperturbed response as the remaining gang members surged forward, firing their weapons.

..._...

Hit Girl drew both of her Katana Swords and she ran at the advancing men coming from the north while Kick-Ass drew his Ko-Wakizashi swords and he advanced on those coming at them from the west. Bullets struck the advancing vigilantes hindering their advances but they did not prevent Hit Girl getting close enough to draw blood with her swords. Two men fell, closely followed by a third as blood gushed across the street and into the nearest drain. She whirled, taking out another man, then dodging a bullet as she rolled across the street, ramming a blade up through the groin of an unfortunate gangbanger. The man screamed as the blade was yanked back out of his abdomen, dumping his entrails across the street, before he collapsed into a blood-soaked heap.

A short distance away, Kick-Ass bulldozed his way through his own gang-bangers leaving carnage in his wake. Bullets would not penetrate his armour and they were no more annoying to him than if they were simply rounds from a BB-gun. His Ko-Wakizashi blades were no less sharp than those of his partner and they released more blood and entrails which were swept towards the drains by the rain which was beginning to fall, turning the dark streets into a swirling hell of blood for the gangbangers.

Their numbers rapidly dwindled, despite those guarding the south exit from the intersection running to support their colleagues. Very soon, there were just seven men left standing, facing off against Chicago's most famous vigilantes.

..._...

Phillipe Estevar decided it was time to make an appearance and maybe even save the lives of some of Havier's men which would mean that the gang leader would owe him a favour.

However, there was a problem – two in fact. One problem was purple, the other yellow and green. They both lived up to their respective reputations as being fearless and indestructible and that had encouraged fear to grow in every man present that night at the road intersection. The gang leader had decided to lead the attack himself to ensure that everything went right. He drove his new GMC Sierra truck at the head of the four-vehicle convoy. In total, he had twenty armed men at his disposal and he was determined to prevail over the vigilante threat. Beside him, in the truck, he had his lieutenant, Diego López. Diego was armed with a large automatic weapon, the AA-12, which Phillipe knew that Kick-Ass favoured and had used with devastating effect.

As he drove along West Marquette Road, towards the ongoing battle, he began to receive reports from the front. Not good ones, either. The Cortez Street Gang had been routed and Hit Girl was headed directly for them up West Marquette Road while Kick-Ass had headed a block north before turning east. There was also an unconfirmed report of a sniper operating in the area.

..._...

Leon was very pleased with her sniper perch.

She had killed one man one sheer impulse. It had not been needed but she had wanted to instil fear into the men; a hidden sniper scared the living daylights out of the bravest men. As Kick-Ass and Hit Girl mopped up the first attack and then made their way west, she spun around to track the oncoming convoy which consisted of four vehicles and was led by a very smart truck - pity.

The truck had two people in the front and three in the back. As directed, Leon chose to leave the truck and its occupants for Hit Girl and Kick-Ass while she turned her attention onto the second vehicle. It was an older truck loaded with five men. It was also about to encounter a very violent blowout. . .

Ah, the fine art of sniping!

..._...

Phillipe Estevar glanced in his rear-view mirror as he heard a loud bang and he saw the next truck in the convoy, immediately behind his own truck, spin out of control and slam into two parked cars coming to a stop very quickly.

'A blow out – or something more sinister?' he thought.

While he was considering that thought, there was another bang and the next truck in the convoy careered off the road narrowly avoiding the previous truck but nonetheless, stopped with its hood buried in the side of another vehicle.

The sniper!

Phillipe Estevar picked up a radio.

"Sniper is close by – highpoint along West Marquette Road."

"Copy, out!"

..._...

As would be expected of a vigilante with her reputation, Hit Girl stood her ground as the truck came towards her – she had seen, or rather heard, two large smashes as other vehicles had crashed further up the street.

"Nice truck!" Kick-Ass exclaimed as he aimed his G36C and blasted the front, hood, and windshield.

Kick-Ass was surprised to see the windshield remaining intact – ballistic glass; just what every assuming gang boss needed. The passenger door opened and Kick-Ass immediately recognised his own personal favourite, the AA-12 automatic shotgun. He grabbed Hit Girl, shielding her, as round after round was triggered off by the holder of the deadly weapon. The pellets from the cartridges pelted Kick-Ass' heavy back armour.

"Fuck this!" Hit Girl growled as she pushed Kick-Ass away and drew her .40-calibre, Glock 22 pistols before emptying both weapons at the shotgun wielding gangbanger. Her bullets shredded the man as he failed to take cover and he fell to the blacktop along with his weapon.

As Hit Girl swapped out her magazines, other men spilled out of the vehicle and began to fire in their direction. Bullets flew in every which direction as bodies fell and blood run into the gutter.

..._...

Leon monitored the scene from her vantage point.

The men from the crashed vehicles were sorting themselves out with the assistance of those from the fourth vehicle. Her job was to control the area around Hit Girl and Kick-Ass so as to prevent them from being overwhelmed. While she was watching through her scope, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck go up. Long ago, a man had taught her to respect her sixth-sense and to acknowledge that something was wrong.

Leon immediately rolled to her left, just as a large calibre bullet struck the rooftop where she had been lying just a second before. She rapidly rolled behind an air vent and after a quick check of the gouge left from the bullet, she engaged her night-vision scope and began to scan in the approximate direction of where the bullet had come from. Somewhere out there, there was a counter-sniper. Leon fervently hoped that it was the one who had shot Stephanie – that would be a very welcome kill indeed.

Leon searched, carefully.

..._...

By the time the men from the other trucks appeared on the scene, their leader was kneeling alone on the street, a pistol to his head.

The fifteen men skidded to a halt and brandished their own weapons, unsure of what to do as Kick-Ass was aiming the swiftly appropriated AA-12 automatic shotgun directly at them. He could take most of them down before they could squeeze their triggers. The men each had a family and they each wanted to live. They turned to their boss who was facing public humiliation at the hands of Hit Girl.

"I want you to live, Phillipe. Despite what you represent, you protect your neighbourhood and you look after your people. I would suggest that you leave the Chicago PD alone . . . or I might just choose to come back again for a personal visit."

"Kill me."

"I do that and then these men will open fire and Kick-Ass will be forced to kill them. We don't want that, now, do we?"

The man was incensed. His sniper should have been taking the bitch down but nothing was happening to prevent his public humiliation. He kept staring down at the ground but then after a full minute he looked up as he felt the pressure from the pistol ease. Hit Girl and Kick-Ass were walking down the street like they were out on a Sunday stroll.

"Bastards!"

..._...

By the time Hit Girl and Kick-Ass reached their motorcycles, Phillipe Estevar and his men had dissolved into the darkness.

"Good evening," Wildcat said in welcome as she waved to the two motorcycles. "Your mounts await."

"So, cheesy!" Trojan complained.

"Thanks guys," Hit Girl replied with a chuckle as all four of them mounted their machines. "Leon, stand down."

"Leon is busy, please call back later. . ."

..._...

There!

Movement atop a tower-block, some eight-hundred yards away. Leon adjusted her scope to get a better view and then she zoomed in. It was a sniper with a large-calibre rifle – possibly Russian. Leon grimaced as she saw the muzzle move slightly and she was able to see directly down the gaping chasm as it was aimed in her direction. It was a race for who shot first. Leon held her ground, not rushing the shot.

She took a deep breath and held it before gently squeezing the trigger . . . once . . . twice.