Rowan sat in a maintenance truck in what he considered tacky and unrefined worker clothing, 3 gun cases stacked to his right and a highball glass of water in his hand. The stadium in front of his view and music playing as he relaxed and waited.
Yuri strolled suspiciously through the line and was very lethargically waved by the metal detector wand staff. It beeped around his belt buckle and Yuri sighed, lifting his shirt and getting a quick pat and a thumbs-up. He moved along and lifted his phone.
“Security is shit, but they do pick up pocket knifes, so they would pick up guns. Plan B.” he said, removing his jacket and putting on an orange vest with the word “staff” on the back. He made his way to the back entrance where a security guard, an overweight extra-hire with a Glock, sat, playing on his phone.
“Sir, you can’t go out that way.” He said, barely looking up at Yuri.
“There was last minute problem with delivery driver. James Chaves is expecting his backstage refreshments.” He said casually, in a badly done American accent.
“Nobody told me about any delivery”
“Nobody knew the stupid vendor would not stock the beer they agreed to, until an hour ago. He is very picky on his beverages, and we were told to go to this exit to bring the crate.” He argued. The security guard looked hesitant until Yuri took out a wad of cash. “Look, he is going to be very upset, and if you make this difficult for Mister Chaves, I will mention you by nametag, or you can just do your job and check the goods, and then let me do my job.” He said tossing the wad in his lap.
“Wait here.” He said turning off the fire alarm by key, and opening the door where Alexander was waiting with an aluminum cart and a pallet of specialty Mexican beer.
“Evening.” He smiled as the guard moved the 6 packs and causally wanded them individually, stopping at the aluminum cart itself.
“Alright, you’re clear, just be discreet." He waved, as he rolled in and joined Yuri, moving it backstage. Yuri glanced at him as he grinned.
“You get key?” Yuri asked.
“Like magic. And now that alarm will be silent.” He whispered, doing jazz hands and flashing the alarm key. They moved to a maintenance room and locked the door behind them, unloading the beer as Yuri cracked one and took a few swigs.
“This is actually good brand.” Yuri nodded, helping him tilt the aluminum cart up and retrieve the briefcases. Alexander waited a moment as Yuri opened them, handing him 2 stick magazines of 9mm with very shiny nickel-plated bullets and black tips, loading their coats and checking the FORT-230 machine pistols before returning them to the briefcases. Yuri untaped a lone box as well.
“So 2 magazines, 40 rounds of armor piercing high-powered 9mm, Russian special? Alexander asked.
“Yes. This will go through almost any vest, so unless they are truly supernatural or somehow got in with carrier plates, these will do the job well. Same armor piercing in the Brens outside.” Yuri said handing him a dart pistol and pocketing just the syringe. “Remember, shoot Mike with 9mm, no hesitation, then shoot dart and say you tried. Nadja is mine.” He said, tossing him a single round of what Alexander didn’t know was light-loaded copper hollowpoints filled with black wax that wouldn’t go through temu body armor at point-blank range. He chambered the briefcase gun and clicked them shut to casually carry, magazines in their belts to conceal, ditching the staff shirts for fitted suit jackets and expensive looking fake watches. They each took a counterfeit VIP badge and left the beer behind.
Tanner sat on a bike, red SMG in her backpack, and staring a good 50 yards from the entrance line as a security guard passed her by. He gave her a look as she shrugged.
“Friends, right? Always early when you’re not ready yet, always an hour late when they got your tickets.” She shook as he smiled and nodded, moving along.
Yuri discreetly looked both ways and dropped a 6x20 inch cardboard box into the trash can, as Alexander gave him an odd look.
“Smoke bomb for distraction. Last minute idea.” He shrugged as an old janitor passed them both and casually put the entire half-empty bag in his cart, rolling to the janitor’s closet. He tore open the box and pulled out Azazel, folded up and loaded. He held the bolt back and hit the release button, checking that the grip and slights deployed as intended, and locked them back down.
Nadja, in a black wig and somehow more Goth than usual, strutted her way to her 4th row seats on the first balcony, her corset stiffer than usual with 3 large plastic pistols inside it. A middle-aged man sat next to her, one seat divided, and gave her a smile.
“Here alone?” he asked.
“No, I’m waiting on my boyfriend, he’s late.” She said in an oddly flawless American accent and higher pitch, as if a totally different person was piloting her body.
“You don’t seem like a football fan. Just supporting the boyfriend?” he asked.
“Oh no, I’m actually a huge fan of James Chavez. I’m just here for him.” She giggled, not a trace of dark Russian accent, lisp, or her gravely dark tone.
Alexander and Yuri leaned against the wall in the nosebleed section, peering down to look for Nadja, since she tended to stand out more than invisible Mike.
“You like football?” Yuri asked Alexander.
“Not particularly, brutish game of bull rushing and nonsense names for each specific type of bulrush. Lacks the sophistication of a sport like fencing, or Chess or women’s volleyball.” He grinned.
“Volleyball?” Yuri said, scrunching his nose.
“Women’s…volleyball. Make no omission of that distinction. It’s rather sophisticated based on that fact alone.” He grinned.
“Speaking of sights…you did zero yours on your rifle, in case we need outside shootout.” Yuri mentioned.
“Of course, I’m not one to trust factory zero on anything, even if it wasn’t jostled about in transit. I checked with and without the magnifier, removed the iron sights for sleeker handling, and cleaned everything. Fresh oil and a few dry fires."
Yuri looked at Alexander, puzzling for a moment.
“You removed iron sights?” he asked.
Stolen story; please report.
“Yes, I’m only using the optic if I'm forced to make range shots. It’s quicker, it has night vision, and it has a magnifier. It will be dark come halftime. Why would I keep the cheap plastic flip up sights on when I have the superior nocturnal options?”
“What if battery stops working?” Yuri asked. Alexander blinked as if considering a response. He blinked far too long.
“…well absolutely fuck me.” He smiled, sarcastically, and looking dead inside.
The halftime act began, the Spanish heartthrob singing his 13-minute set as the audience watched, and the group nervously looked around for Mike. Nadja grinned in her seat as the man beside her noticed.
“Damn, you really do like this guy.” He bantered.
“The last part is the best part. It’s a performance you’ll never forget.” She whispered as the lights dimmed for part of the show, the final song. Mike watched the stadium light dim and the thousands of red dots move in their seats, the occasional white one he paid attention to, counting and mentally logging their locations. He deployed the gun and added on the scope, shouldering it and selecting the 7mm blackout rifle rounds. He took a shot, the gun barely making a sound.
The crowd began to panic in various pockets, screaming and spreading out as security realized it wasn’t crazed fans, it was people dying, heads shot off. One of the security guards grabbed his pistol and radio, looking for a shooter and not hearing any shots, including the last one that took the top off his head and sent him flopping down the bleacher steps. Nadja pulled 2 of the Brown Recluse revolvers from her corset, shooting the witness to her side and a woman to her left, grabbing her white hoodie from the next seat and hopping to the ground level, confident nobody would touch her, as she shot her way to the stage. She grabbed Chavez, using him like a human-shield, with one of the empty revolvers at his throat. She tucked the other gun back in her corset and removed the third and final one, fully loaded with 8 rounds. Alexander jumped to action, trying to get his gun from the briefcase and feeling a hand wrap around his face, and a needle puncture his neck, he punched for the groin and broke free, falling on his face and unable to stand up, apparently receiving a small amount of the sedative before fighting back. Everything went blurry.
“Mike discreetly strolled past Yuri in a black hooded jacket and sunglasses as Yuri handed him both of the Russian machine guns and then grabbed Alexander to carry him out. Mike tossed the briefcase down to Nadja, tucking the empty revolver and catching it, loading the magazine with her teeth as she made her way to the exit. She opened fire on the crowd, drawing any attention away from Mike as he discreetly walked out with the crowd, Alexander jerked violently, knocking Yuri over as he turned and swung to fight.
“Alexander!” Yuri barked. “Snap out of it, it’s me. Mike is long gone.”
“I believe I may have… blackened out for a momentarily.” He muttered.
“Mike got you with some kind of syringe. He tried to get me too, but I avoided it. He did still manage to take our guns.”
“Bloody, fucking, Mister Blackops.” Alex sighed. As they made their way through the staff exit, the truck and Rowan pulling up as they did. Yuri got in and Alex grabbed the gun case, staggering back out.
“Get in.” Yuri insisted.
“No offense, but rightly piss-off while I go part a preacher with his beloved head.” He groaned, loading his rifle and looking for Mike as Rowan sped off without him. “MIKE, WHERE ARE YOU! Cowardly prick of a man, vanishing into the dark like a creature of the night.” He rambled, waving the gun around and spotting Nadja in a white hoodie, using Chavez as a human shield. He hesitated, waiting for her to turn her back, and decided to hell with it, placing the red dot on her head and firing. The blur of red hair and recoil was difficult to see in the daze of his blurring eyes, but the distinct thud and stumble of her footing, letting Chavez fall, assured him of his hit. Somewhere between the head and the back. She caught her footing and stopped, arching her back and popping her neck, as if mildly annoyed. She yanked Chavez up and fired 2 rounds through his chest, turning and looking pissed off, dropping him. She turned the revolver behind her and gave Chavez a lethal headshot, splattering brains and lifting the machine pistol towards Alexander. He froze a moment, trying to process what happened and noticing blood all over her white shirt, before bullets began raining down around him, prompting him to tuck tail and run. A van with an open door blocked the rounds as he stumbled inside and it took off.
Gabriel peered through a scope at the chaos in all directions.
“Does anyone have a target?” he asked.
“Negative.” Replied Dyson, perched on top of a van with a bolt action 308, scratching his beard nervously. “I got a million people everywhere, I can’t see anyone with a gun or a hostage.”
“I got…something.” Brock said ominously. “I thought I saw the bitch with Chavez but I wasn’t sure. She took a round to the back and I spotted a guy on the ground with a rifle running away. She’s wounded. Some damn van picked up the shooter and left, and blocked my shot. When the van moved, she was gone.”
“So someone else killed her?” Gabe asked.
“No, gone as in not there, not dead on the ground, just... gone.”
“Are you shitting me? She’s wounded and still fast?” Gabriel yelled, breaking from cover and running, 308 in his hands and turning the corner to hear gunshots and a bike speeding off with a woman on it, bloody shirt. He readied to shoot and spotted Mike, getting on another bike and offloading his guns. He shouldered the rifle and a young woman darted in the way. She looked familiar, and as she yelled something to Mike and turned her head, he realized it was “Jill Smith” from the park.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said, waiting for a clear shot.
Mike sat on the bike looking up at Tanner.
“Mikey, it’s me. Everything okay now.” She smiled. “And I’m so sorry for this.” She said raising her arm up and firing at his chest, rolling him off the bike.
Gabe watched in confusion as she holstered the gun and squatted down as if crying, a van rolling up, a man stepping out and grabbing the body, the guns, and she followed him in.
“You badass little shit… Dyson we may have another team involved. I think they just took down Mister black. Someone got a hit on the meth-demon so she should be wounded and vulnerable; can you or Brock get her location? She’s apparently on foot or on a bike bleeding bad…hello?” Gabe asked.
“Gabe…” said Dyson with a sad sigh. “Brock is dead. One of them snuck up on him and unloaded on the van, he’s gone, man. There’s no chick out here alone, staggering around or on the ground dying. I don’t know what happened.”
“We got police sirens,” Gabe huffed angrily. “FUCK! Circle the parking lot once and then just get out, if you see the bitch run her over or shoot her, even if she’s already dead. Kill her a second time anyway, She can’t be that far, Mister Black took one to the chest point-blank and was hauled off. So he’s either dead or about to be. I don’t know if this is over or not. Regroup, for the love of God try and spot the bitch for confirmation. I at LEAST want one of them confirmed dead.” Gabe yelled.
Yuri stopped the van, switching places with Tanner to drive, as he took the extra guns to the truck and away from Mike. He sighed with relief as Rowan drove the truck rapidly back to the church, silently, in a suspicious manner.
“Thanks for ride.” He nodded to Rowan.
“Yes, all part of the plan. So… Alexander was attacked, both of you were disarmed, and you managed to evade the infamous Mike without a scratch."
“I took scratches, believe me. I just saw him in time. Lucky moments I guess.”
“Amazing how you seem to know where Mike and Nadja will end up, and never manage to get shot by either of them or shoot either. Your magical sources seem to be damn near clairvoyant. I would have almost disregarded this if you even once took a close shot on Nadja, who you claim to hate so much. But if you two are such mortal enemies, it seems odd that the very Sage Ember that they take hostage and murder in front of a camera, ends up in your possession the very next day…and delivered to me. What is your body source exactly, Yuri? Is there a double agent between you and Nadja playing you both, or are you the one running back and forth, leaving celebrity body parts in MY possession? You know I can’t go to the police with any of this. Now if I spoke up about this to say, Alex and Tanner, and you had a cover story, while I was alone or working with you, then the bodies in my fridge start to implicate me, don’t they?”
“What are you getting to?” Yuri growled.
“I’m getting to the point that I have your secrets and your betrayal, and you have a lot of dirt on me, so I would like to defect and work for the winning team. It’s clearly not this one. So can you, or can you not, get me in with Nadja and Mike, and get me a job?” asked Rowan.
“I’ll see what I can do, but I make no promises.”
“Then you do still work for her, and you have been setting me up…correct?”
“Obviously, but it is complicated matter.”
“Fantastic. I don’t need the complicated details, I just needed you to admit aloud while my phone was recording to my computer that you are, in fact, the defector and not me, That makes ME in control now. Evidence and all. And I want, ironically, exactly what you want, minus the gay Russian lover. Passports, a new identity, enough money to live comfortably in let’s say the UK or Germany, where American crimes are not important. So my dumb friend…let’s talk to Nadja about some favors, and see if we can’t help me out and get me out of this shithole little killer community, hiding in the dark like a fugitive, and taking orders from a bitch who worked for Mike and thinks she’s God’s new favorite. Either we both leave this country rich, or neither of us does. Mull it over. I am in no particular hurry. Are you?” Rowan grinned.