The safehouse being nearby might’ve been a little bit of a misnomer. Rooftop to rooftop. Harridan was making pace despite the fact that there was ultimately no rush. Fire escape to fire escape. It would be days before this figurative trail went cold. Not that it mattered to her; once she settled on a goal, there was an instinctual drive that she could hardly fight.
She didn’t even realize how far her legs took her until she reached her destination, skidding to a halt atop a gravel topped roof of an otherwise inconspicuous hotel building. It must’ve been a few kilometers of sprinting and jumping before she came back to attention.
Just a few blocks out from the border of Downtown. Nice enough, but not nice enough for any kind of bigwig to stop by. She definitely wasn’t going to get in through the front door, given her probable current status of ‘Wanted dead or alive—but preferably dead.’ Planning wasn’t much of her strong suit, either. Her former job could best be described as ‘sit in the back of the van until something goes sideways, and then handle it,’ which didn’t leave her much room for being creative.
Harry took a moment to rack her brain, trying her best to figure out a plan that didn’t involve shooting her way through several storeys of armed goons.
—No. She couldn’t wrap her brain around anything beyond that. She pivoted on a heel towards the roof access, drawing her Holzer Ultrakompakt in one smooth motion and blasting the handle straight off the door. She didn’t even check to see if it was unlocked first. A firm yank on the splintered frame got her into the stairwell.
Musky, yet dusty at the same time. It’s clear that nobody’s been up this way for a good long while. Her trusty Ultrakompakt remained at head level as she strode down the metal-grated steps towards the hotel proper. The first person dumb enough to approach her with a weapon would be kindly donating it to her, given that her Ultrakompakt isn’t the best of weapons for dispatching a large crowd of people.
And the last time she came here? Nothing but operators. Likely more so a skeleton crew of corpsec now after the purge, but still almost as dangerous. Almost being the keyword. This is going to be a bird hunt.
As she reached the bottom of those stairs, she was welcomed by a poorly aimed spray of automatic fire. She didn’t even flinch. The muzzle flare gave away her attacker's position. Second door on the right. Simply wait for them to stick their head out again—
Bang. Thump. Right between the eyes. They went down like a bag of potatoes.
She didn’t even break stride and strolled forwards to swipe up their Mühl AMP in her free hand, stowing her Ultrakompakt in her shoulder holster. Not the most familiar gun to her, but at least she’ll have more than four shots in a mag. And she’s going to need more than four to get down to the safehouse.
She barely took the time to admire the drab yellowed walls, or the wooden panels running along the middle parts of the wall. Everything was an unimportant detail to be filtered out. The humming and blinking ceiling lights were nothing more than distractions on the way to her goal. Sounds to be ignored.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The sound of a nearby door creaking open caught her attention, finally causing her to slow down and break, if only to twist her aim towards the slightly ajar door—
Suddenly, there was gunfire. A whole lot of gunfire. The walls exploded into shrapnel as automatic fire tore through them easily as if they were paper. Harry hit the ground hard, but not before taking a round to the side. She wasn’t sure if her body armor ate it, because it still stung like all hell. She wasn’t much of a stranger to being shot.
“—I think I bagged them!” a voice called out from inside the room. A pair of heavy footfalls echoed into the hallway. Per usual, jet black tactical gear, lacking in any markings that would signify what corporation they were with. Though, Harry was experienced enough in matters to know that what they wore wasn’t graded enough to stop the rounds from an AMP. It was mall-cop tactical gear.
A simple controlled burst towards the first corpsec. And a fill for his partner. Not as clean as the first kill, but they still went down just as quickly. Playing possum was one of Harry’s favorite moves. Especially when it only takes her moments to regenerate from most injuries.
Still hurts like hell.
She pulled herself up to her feet and began her dogged march towards the stairs down. This time with a lack of being shot in the ribs. She didn’t know if there was going to be anything worthwhile when she got to the safe room, but she could chalk this all up to getting the rust out if the whole thing turned out to be a bust.
Down the spiral stairs. Right to the next floor down. This time she was bracing to get shot.
Now that's strange. No gunfire. Deadly quiet. This made her more nervous than the hail of lead that she dealt with, and given that there were rows and rows of doors ahead of her, there’s no telling which one had someone waiting behind it to jump out at her. It was funny to think about. She could walk through mostly anything that these low-rent security guards could throw at her, but that silence was enough to set her instincts on high alert.
Her steady pace crawled to a halt. She could always rush to the room that they always held designated VIPs in when they had to use this place. Or she could check each door, but she’s on a time limit before someone called for back-up. There were only so many words in the languages she knew to describe how she hated this.
Rushing the door seemed like the only option here. It’s only halfway across the floor. It shouldn’t be that bad of a run. Deep breath. One. Two—
Off she sprinted, full-tilt down the hallway. At a speed that would be nothing more than a blur to the normal human eye. Her hood fell back, letting her messy long hair flow free with each bound she took. Though her gusto soon comes to a halt.
There’s still a disturbing lack of gunshots. Or yelling. Or anything. Did she accidentally end up at the wrong address? Now, if this was a bust, this was actually a disappointment. Her sprint turned into an annoyed stroll towards the saferoom’s door. Triple sevens.
Once again, she opened the door with her handy lockpick—also known as a hearty dose of lead. And she’s met with—
A corpsec officer sitting in a swivel chair, eating cup ramen?
What?
“Don’ shoo, I surren’r,” he mumbled with a mouthful of ramen. Harry audibly sighs. At least she might be able to get something out of this guy. ‘Might be’ being the operational phrase here. It'll save her from having to pretend that she knows how to work the tech in the room that might tell her who's been in and out of here in the past while...