Killing Time OST – 1c – Strike

<< 1b – Strike

I stomped the ground – as if it would indicate my rage more clearly to my uncooperative tech guy.
“Damn it, Vexx!” My fury made him push play at last.
Mortal Kombat, Metal remix by Ryashon,” confirmed the automated voice. Finally, the world made sense again. I knew this dance. I fell into the choreography of punches, dodges, kicks and tranqu. with the grace the lack of music robbed me of. Following the beat, I downed the guards one by one, moving out of the bullets’ way in time.
Nano-enhanced soldiers aimed perfectly but technology caused them to be flawed by design. They didn’t actually know how to shoot. Their chip did. If one timed one’s moves precisely, one could thwart the techie stuff. It implied making a change of situation important enough to trigger a reevaluation of the events. That was what the music was for: I chose it according to the processing speed of the guys here.
I worked my way through the corridor, eventually neutralizing everybody by the song’s end. My target would have initiated his evacuation of the premises. According to protocol, he would use the ‘secret’ passage in the west wall to reach the helipad on the roof.
“I need to upgrade the security on your chip eventually. Someone else could hack it.” Vexx said as I Tasered the last man standing. I’d be sore in the morning.
“What could they do? Vexx me to death?”
“Broadcast white noise.”
“I like white noise.” I round-kicked the alarm. It shrieked a dying buzz. “It means the machine’s dead.” I held my pistol upright and clicked off the security. “I’m shutting up now.”
“You know, it’s actually better if you just think what you wanna say. When you talk out loud it makes a weird echo.”
“Shut up.”
I adjusted my X-ray monocle over my dominant eye, the left one. I swept the hallways with my tranqu. gun in case some gorillas remained while I progressed as silently as possible toward the west wall. No guards meant Mister Fancy Pants liked a thick escort. Based on the house’s payroll, there should be ten more tech whores.
A look through the west wall confirmed my suspicion. I recognized my target by the metallic jaw, cheekbones and nose; the guy almost remodeled his whole face. I guess he could afford it, since he owned a tech-cartel.
Artificial rich filthy Mafioso. My kind of date.
The space within the wall was too narrow for the hired hands to provide the appropriate cover by surrounding their boss. They flanked him and progressed in line.
Piece of cake.
I adjusted my aim. A guard’s head turned toward me. Crap. Predictable crap, but still.
I rolled to the closer door frame perpendicular to the guard’s position. He fired, guided by his eye-implanted X-ray sight – probably included in his upgrade kit. The wall swallowed the armor piercing plasma bullet. His action caused quite a ruckus in the line behind him. My window of opportunity narrowed fast.
“You have to pull out.” Vexx commented when bullets started flying.
“Never. Just let my next song through.”
“Now playing Shoot the Runner by Kasabian.”
I bobbed my head on the first bar, counting. In stressful situation, people always wanted to rush but I valued pacing myself. It always saved my hide.
And five, six, seven, eight. Aim. Shoot. Roll. Flatten. Roll. I reached the next door frame on the sixth beat. My target’s body hit the floor on the seventh, a bullet in the left temple. Understanding that the wall didn’t keep me from firing at them, half the goons started breaking it down while the others kept shooting at me.
“Shoot the runner! Shoot, shoot the runner!” I sang along.
“You’re sick, Lorelei.”
I smiled and secured my guns in their holsters. I grabbed the portable EMP device around my wrist and turned it on. The electromagnetic pulse waved around me. My chip automatically powered down, taking the music with it. I turned in the hallway and sprinted toward the soon-to-be dust wall. I reached it before the first guy took his shot. By then, he didn’t know how to aim anymore, thanks to my EMP killing his chip. Same went for the muscle enhancers, effectively slowing down the wall’s destruction.
Not that I needed a lot of time.
Angling to run alongside the wall, I stepped on it long enough to stick my signature on the ceiling: a dried nightshade within protective plastic. Seconds later, my EMP was exhausted. My music resumed and so did the threat of the bullets.
I had no more reason to stick around. I broke into a sprint and dived through the window at the end of the corridor, right shoulder first. It shattered under the force and I flew out the fifth story. I landed on top of a fluffy decorated car that was part of the parade.
That was how careful planning and execution helped an assassin make a name for herself. That and a dash of daring; no amount of planning could cancel out the percentage of parade space that was filled with baton twirlers and dancers.
As Sun Tzu said, pushing your enemies in a cul-de-sac will cause them to fight with the energy of despair and display unexpected ferocity. The fact that I voluntarily put myself in such a situation didn’t affect the resources I drew from it. It was be killed, kill yourself or run off in the sunset.
Tonight was yet another checkmark on my victory board. I ought to be closer to number one on the Most Wanted list after this.
“Yeah right. Rub it in.” Vexx chimed.
“See you when I get home.” I answered. I vaulted off my improvised mattress. In the next alleyway, the sewer grate wasn’t quite in place, thanks to pre-murder prep. I pushed it aside and got underground. A fifteen minutes run and I was out of the woods.

2a – Payment >>

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About Aheïla

Somewhere in Quebec City, Aheïla works as a Game Design Director by day and writes by night. Known for her blue hair, unyielding dynamism and tasty cooking (quails, anyone?), she’s convinced “prose is the new crack”. She satisfies her addiction daily on The Writeaholic’s Blog and weekly on Games' Bustles View all posts by Aheïla

7 responses to “Killing Time OST – 1c – Strike

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