Miljan

Miljan “The Enforcer” Vasić’s descent to the ground, subsequent race into a building, and his good fortune at locating a cache of weapons and armor played into his confidence. He double-checked the slide on the sidearm, a well-worn M1911 .45 with an extra pair of mags. Miljan would have grinned but he didn’t believe smiles were in order until a job was complete.

He slid the magazine out, inspected the load, and then slapped it back in the receiver, racked in a round, and put the other pair of magazines into his back pocket.

The black TacPro kevlar body armor wasn’t a great fit. While he would have preferred the vest to be smaller, the size XL went around his frame, and he was able to snug it closer to his body with velcro straps.

A ballistic helmet would protect the back of his head, but a blast through the opening over the ears would end him quickly. The holes were useful for mounting a headset, but in this case, they would let him hear anyone approaching. A little protection was better than no protection. He inspected the helmet, rubbed at an old blood stain on the inside, shrugged, and dropped it over his brainpan.

“Enjoy the stream, you bastards,” Miljan said for the benefit of his audience.

Miljan carefully ducked back out of the building and caught sight of something in the sky.

The parachute came in fast as the player pulled furiously on the brake handles. The man, kid--couldn’t have been older than twenty-one or twenty-two--met Miljan’s eyes. How he had taken so damn long to come down wasn’t hard to guess. The idiot must have pulled his chute right after jumping out of the plane. Miljan had waited until just after the passing of the red zone before violently ripping his string, and then using all of his upper body strength to slow the brakes.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The player would land about twenty-five meters away and out in the open. Miljan broke into a sprint as he press-checked the M1911. The parachute slowly plummeted to earth as the player tried to twist in the wind and get some distance from Miljan.

But Miljan wasn’t giving up his quarry.

At the other player’s current trajectory, he was going to float behind a trailer house that looked as if it may have been used at a construction site, the giveaway being the partially-poured concrete building frame nearby.

Miljan’s eyes followed a low fence constructed of cinder blocks. Like six inch wide steps, Miljan took them two at a time and used simple forward momentum to carry himself to the top. Then it was an easy three foot leap. He struck the roof, half expected it to cave in, and kept on pounding over the surface before the rickety building could collapse.

The other player fell toward the ground, flared his chute, and then landed hard on his ass. The man panicked as he fought the silky material that billowed around his face.

Miljan dove off the top of the roof and rolled forward with one hand extended. His forward energy bled off as he finished by coming to his feet less than four meters from the other player.

“Fuck, man. Wait!” the man screamed.

“You want me to wait?” the big Serbian asked as he marched toward the other player.

“Yeah. Please. I haven’t even gotten out of my parachute yet,” the man begged.

“What’s your name, man?”

“I’m Phil, bro. You could just let me go. Give me a chance to defend myself, bro.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Miljan said.

Phil smiled as he reached for his parachute release. Miljan fired once and took the top of the guy’s head off.

“I was kidding, you fucking idiot,” Miljan said.

Miljan rushed to the man’s corpse as it flopped to the ground. He snagged the man’s camera, lifted it to eye level, stared out at the stream, and snarled. “That’s one.”

He dropped the camera and ground the lens into the dirt with his foot. The noise alone would be enough to make a lot of streamers change the channel. But he knew they wouldn’t. They would flock to him like the moronic flies they were.

Miljan patted the corpse down, didn’t find a damn thing, and then moved out to locate more gear, more guns, and more stupid Americans to murder.