Mike stood in the dimming light, as flashes of death lit the gas station behind him and Nadja stepped out, satisfied and holding the smoking Azazel. They stared in the setting dusk as the faint sound of a Humvee approached at high speed.
“What do you see?” she asked.
“Backup. The glowsticks I just cut down called in heavy backup.”
“How many men do you think Carl still had out there hunting you, and how many did they recruit or hire to replace the ones you killed?”
“Doesn’t matter. Mercs or Carl’s leftover henchmen, those are dead, and these are about to be.” He said reloading Azazel, and moving the black Jezebel pistol from his back to his belt front, as she took the rose gold Jezebel from her back strap and deployed the sights and folding stock, grabbing several longer mags from the bike and tossing him 2, reloading.
“What are we dealing with?” she asked.
“They’re all glowing, but just in little strips and patches, so they’re wearing heavy body armor. I’m guessing either steel or ceramic carrier plates, the kind none of these guns will get through, ballistic helmets, probably full kevlar." He said, "So aim for the brighter gaps. Limbs, neck, face. That vehicle holds at most 8 people, I don’t feel like fighting 8 moving targets, so let’s try and make this a little more evenly matched." He said, selecting the 45 blackout rounds and shouldering the gun. He fired 3 quick shots, evenly spaced out, obscuring the windshield, and then hammered the driver's side impact mark with 5 more rounds, almost threading the same crater center as the screeching tires and vehicle began to wobble and take the ditch. The thump of the hood slamming the ditch side as it stopped, let them know someone wasn’t belted in. “7 prone targets.” He corrected, pocketing the magazine and reloading it with the last shotgun mag.
The barrels rotated as he selected the 7mm blackout rounds and flipped his hood up, Nadja briskly darting to the treeline beside the road, as he stood his ground in the street. The doors opened and orders were yelled out, as Mike switched to the pistol, flipping the stock out and using Azazel as a blocking brace, spraying 5.7 Morozov pistol rounds in quick auto bursts to fog and obscure the side windows. Nadja walked steadily behind the first row of trees, firing her usual two-shot taps in quick intervals as she made her way pas the vehicle and stopped behind a tree to listen for panic. She could hear the sound of 2 men on the ground in pain, and the words “get in!” repeated by several voices. Knowing the wounded were suffering and the non-wounded were busy pulling their buddies back in the vehicle; she reversed direction and made another pass in full auto, raining a series of half hollow-points and half armor piercing rounds across the open doors, 2 bodies falling out and 2 crawling back in trying to shut the door. She stepped forward dumping the last 20 rounds into the one partially open door and kicking it shut, changing mags and ducking down. Now trapping them in the vehicle, windows fogged white with broken polycarb, she hunkered low waiting to fire at anything opening.
“What the fuck was that?” Dyson asked, panting breathlessly.
“Keep your shit together!” yelled a fully functional Gabriel, pulling the dead or unconscious driver from his seat and scrunching his way in, stomping the gas and riding the ditch blindly a good way before cutting it back on the road and making a full stop. With the driver’s side doors still visibly clear and the doors no longer pinned into the ditch, he opened the door and lugged the MK48 Belt-fed machine gun to the front. He kicked the door open, firing before it was even fully open, and clipping the door gasket, sending a stream of 51 NATO rounds into the tree line. He held on, pausing just long enough to yell: “Brock! Code 3!” and resume fire as a black man with red tape stripes rolled out of the back, and circled around, followed by Dyson and another man in all gray. Mike calmly stood in the dark, no optic or glasses, peering down the black iron sights at a dark vehicle and tracking the glowing bits. Dyson waved his arm with 2 fingers up, and waved with one finger up the other way, splitting the men in different directions. Gray man stuck a military M4 carbine around the fogged and splintered door window, ready to shoot whatever moved, as Gabe paused, hoping to simulate a reload.
Nadja stepped from behind the tree, lowering immediately to duck the gunshot and firing a double tap at his feet, dropping him and mid-fall, shifting to Gabe, pinning him back with a double tap. As he backed behind cover, she double tap executed the man on the ground to be sure, and casually returned to the treeline like a ghost, Gabe losing eyes on the target. The unconscious driver shook his head, opening the side door to joining the fight, bloody and dazed, shouldering his M4, and before taking a shot or finding a target, Mike placed a rifle round between his vest and facial covering, splattering red across the vehicle in two very calmly placed shots. Gabe felt a strange wind cross his path, turning to see something sneak behind him and to the back of the vehicle.
“WATCH YOUR SIX!” he yelled.
The sound of an M4 doing a full auto mag dump at close range, lit the silhouette of Nadja on the opaque white window, staring right at the barrel, followed by a frantic man yelling “fuck!” and one rapid double tap silencing him. The doors closed, and she casually sidestepped the moving Humvee, now propelling backwards to run her over, as 3 frantic men with zero visibility tried to pull their wits together. 3 more rounds came through the windshield, hunkering them down and stopping the Humvee.
“What just happened?” barked Gabe as Dyson and Brock reloaded everything they had. Dyson peeled off his busted and bent facial armor, wiping snot and sweat from his beard to catch his breath and spit blood, his nose broken and beard now red. Brock shrugged in confusion.
“Fuck if I know. Mad Dog had the bitch, I swear. He dumped the full mag at her and she just one tapped him. There’s no way he missed everything.” Brock gasped.
“What armor did she have?” asked Gabe.
“NONE!” he barked. “Fucking…little black dress. Looked form fitting. Even if that dress is level 2 Kevlar he should have cut her in half with that burst at point-blank. He aimed for the face anyway.”
“Dyson, is Mister Black down?” Gabe asked.
“Shit no, he’s not down, I never got an actual shot on him. You can’t stick anything out without it getting shot. He took out Tom and Bowie before they could fire, fucking throat shots, right between the armor, I didn’t even hear the gun go off. I just took something to the face and dropped. I’m fine, by the way. Busted nose, thanks for askin.”
“None of us are fine, we’re real damn far from fine.” Brock panted as Gabe peaked through one of the bullet holes in the window and took the scope off of the dead passenger’s guns to use the night vision.
“They’re just standing there.” He whispered.
“RUN EM OVER!” yelled Dyson in a panic.
“I can’t see anything. They’ll move and surround us, we got them on the same side of the vehicle at least. Both in view.” Gabe said, cracking the side window and lowering it slightly. “HEY! You still got any ammo left, asshole, cuz we got plenty.” Gabe taunted. Nadja casually burned a 20 round auto burst at the hood, giggling at the irony.
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“So do we.” Mike said. “You’d be amazed how much we carry. Who the hell are you? Carl’s men or just hired corpses?”
“Death incarnate!” hollered Brock.
“Nah.” Mike yawned. “She’s still standing right here next to me. Who are you?”
“Archangels.” Gabe boasted. Mike's smile lit up proudly.
“Oh, so you’re the one planning to take my head.” Mike chuckled. “I’ve actually been wanting to meet you. Haven’t had the time to track you down.”
“You the son of a bitch who killed my kid brother?” Gabe asked.
“I’ve killed at least 120 people, you’ll have to be more specific if you want that answered honestly.” Mike yawned.
“Skinny kid, shaved hair, leather jacket. His name was Caleb, and you shot him in the head in an alley outside the courthouse massacre.” Barked Gabe.
“Oh…I guess I am that son of a bitch. In fairness, he was there to kill the same mayor we did, and pulling a gun on someone better than you tends to get you killed. Maybe he should have dropped the gun.”
“That’s all bullshit. Every bit of it.” Gabe scoffed.
“Fine…don’t believe me. Make up your own perfect story for all I care. Point is you’re gonna try and kill me anyway, and fail, so… frankly I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not. How’s hockey mask doing? Did that thing stop the present I sent him?”
“Sure did. How’s your bitch, Mister Black? She bleeding and pretty bad after that little tradeoff with Mad Dog?” a very bloody Dyson spat.
“She doesn’t seem to be remotely bothered. I think your dog’s dead, though. Too violent, had to be put down. We’re both actually have a great time. This turned out to be way more of an eventful evening than we planned, and the new gun got tested far more than I expected, with no issues. Little warm, but I’d call that a very successful test.” Mike causally replied.
“Well, it sounds like your big gun ran out of ammo, and you switched to something lighter, so you’re not getting though this Humv-” He flinched as a round came through the peep-hole and clipped his shoulder.
“Wrong. I can walk around and put rounds through those holes, bounce them around in that tin can and probably hit someone critically with enough shots. Nadja here can get on the hood and put the barrel right in it, shred you guys like hamburger.” Mike sighed.
“Mmmm, that does sound fun.” She smiled, leaning on him and lightly biting her tongue.
“Not if I run your ass over. You get any closer, and dodging the Humvee would get really iffy. You’re standing back so you can move if I floor it.” Gabe noted.
“And you could gun that in reverse and spin a 180, drive away with an intact back glass and we couldn’t catch you. So you can run away like a bitch if you’d like, just back right over your dead dog and leave. We could try this again, or you can just wait there in a sealed box, hoping one of us doesn’t sneak up and gets to that window. You’re pissed off, and you don’t back down, but you’re also scared and screwed with no backup plan or reinforcements. You got night vision on your scopes, I assume?” Mike asked.
“Hell yes we do, I can see you clear as day.” Gabe yelled.
“Hell?” he chuckled. "You wanna believe in hell? Switch to thermals.” Mike yelled, nudging Nadja to do her thing.
“What’s the trick?” Gabe asked.
“Find out.” Mike shrugged as they stood silently. Dyson threw his hands up.
“It’s a trap. No idea what kind, but he’s got flash grenades or something.” Dyson huffed. “He’s gonna blind you and make a move.”
“I know he’s got something planned, but if he even flinches, I’ll switch back. He knows I got night vision if he wanted to blind me with a grenade, he wouldn’t tell me to switch to thermals, he’d want me on night vision. He’s got something intimidating to show off on thermals. Molotov cocktail maybe?"
“I swear to God if he’s got a fuckin flamethrower, we’re done.” Brock sighed.
“They’re just waiting. Hand me the thermal goggles.” Gabe asked, taking it and getting ready to swap as Nadja stared directly down the hole with her gun in hand and Mike just casually standing with his rifle pointed upwards, resting.
“Fuck it,” he said, moving the scope and shifting positions, to get the thermal goggles up. “DAMNIT!” he yelled, punching the gas in reverse and hearing rounds thump the hood and something roll off. He spun 180 degrees and shifted into drive, hauling ass down the road blindly, sticking his head out just enough to see the road when they were turning enough to block his head with the vehicle.
“WHAT!?” Dyson asked. “What happened? What did you see?”
“I don’t know.” Admitted Gabe “I switched visuals and the woman was gone. I don’t know how she knew, but the second I moved my eyes off, she must have rushed and ducked low out of range or something. I gunned the gas, she was on the hood in 3 seconds flat, I just know it. God DAMN she is fast.”
“You’re not kidding.” Sighed Dyson. “I had thermals on the whole time, I never even saw the bitch once. It’s like she just teleports between cover."
“What do you mean you didn’t see her?” Gabe asked.
“There’s no way she should even be alive.” Brock barked in frustration, “Mad Dog was 3 fuckin feet from her and got a whole clip emptied in her face. That ain't no bitch, that’s a damn pet demon or something.”
“Are you out of your damn mind, bro?” Dyson sighed, She’s good, she’s real fucking good, I’ll give her that, but you don’t actually think this shit is legit? Mister Black the grim reaper and the Red Death? That internet comic book shit? Grim reaper with the devil fighting beside him? Come on. You need to lay off the social media. It’s scare tactics and urban legends.” He scoffed.
“Motherfucker how do you take 20 rounds of 556 point blank without armor, and just walk it off?”
“He just missed her!” Dyson yelled.
“Mad Dog missed ALL of them? Even one of those should have killed her.” Brock objected.
“She’s fast as fuck, did you not see her moves because I didn’t see her one fucking time in that fight, and apparently she moved right past me. She’s fast as shit. Maybe she grabbed the foregrip and held the barrel to the side, and he just dumped 20 rounds beside her head. She’s probably deaf in that ear and dazed, but apparently on some hardcore drugs or something. Did you actually see her get shot?” Dyson asked.
“No! I got my ass behind cover, but he had her 3 feet away right in front, and I moved behind the door and the gun went off. Nobody is that fast.”
“Methheads bro. You’ve seen the videos, skinny little gal in black, batshit insane following a cult leader. You ever fight a person on meth, it’s like they don’t take damage, they don’t feel shit, they’re running the adrenaline red line and fast as hell, but they’ll keep fighting with a broken wrist and teeth missing because they don’t feel it till the drugs wear off. She could have taken a hit anywhere non-vital and never felt it. They die later, but I’ve a heard of cops putting a whole Glock mag of 9mm in some drugged up psycho on crystal and PCP, and they just don’t drop. They shoot you back or stab you, claw your face off before they even know they’re shot to hell, and by the time they bleed out 3 cops are in an ambulance. The Bitch was just wearing a vest, trained and cranked.”
“Guys, shut up and calm down. They’re just terrorists with really good gear, and somehow they knew we were coming.” Gabe sighed. “I don’t know how, but they knew, and they prepped and had a plan somehow, maybe they knew we were tracking them, we’ll check the Humvee for bugs, we’ll regroup. Is anyone hurt?”
“YES!” Dyson barked. “I took two to the carrier chest plate and one in the face.”
“I mean, did anything get THROUGH your armor?”
“I’m just bruised and pissed.” Dyson huffed “You chill?”
“I’m good.” Sighed Brock. "Something hit my helmet, could have been glass or shrapnel, bounced right off. You good Gabe?”
“I got clipped in the arm. I don’t think it’s bad, but even their pistol rounds will get through the Kevlar, apparently. They got some custom Russian spy gear or something. We were NOT ready. We lost 5 men tonight. Neither of them even seemed injured. Taking them head-on was a mistake. We won’t make that mistake again. This isn’t over. They don’t know that we know about the halftime hit. We’re gonna take them by surprise, long range this time.”
“You got 3 tickets to a sold out game and some plan to get a 4-foot-long rifle into a stadium?” Dyson asked.
“No, but I don’t think they have a helicopter or underground tunnels so, they’re gonna be leaving after the hit pretty fast and not expecting us waiting. We can get another shot, cover all 3 exits with 308 DMRs. We can’t save everyone in there, but we can end this. If we move inside that stadium, they’re gonna open fire on a lot of civilians to get to us. So we stay outside. Hopefully the casualties are minimal on their way out. We can still make damn sure it’s the last time they kill anyone. We got 5 fallen angels tonight, we’re not playing around here, and does anyone know how to get armor piercing incendiary 308 rounds on short notice?” Gabriel asked.