The evening drew closer, dragging the sodden weather with it. The darkening sky was turning an ominous dark-blue hue, sapping the remaining sunlight from the landscape. Chris, the gardener, and Aiden had gone back to their rooms in preparation for the evening, leaving Charles alone to sort the remaining documents before he could dismiss himself.
The heavy rain outside was deafening, beating the glass windows of Charles’ office; occasional, distant rumblings of thunder echoed throughout the barren scene beyond the gate; the wind twirled its thin fingers through the architecture of the house, creating a loud howling noise. Suddenly, there was a bright blue flash which erupted in the room, temporarily blinding Charles, followed by the crashing of thunder. Charles looked outside, slightly annoyed at the distraction, when he spotted a few unusual black figures on the lawn. The blurred figures were definitely approaching, slowly enlarging as their definitions grew sharper.
Charles’ phone buzzed. He looked at the new notification which had come from Hector: “Warning, oncoming hostiles.” Hostiles? Charles looked outside again, the figures were now smudged humans moving towards the main entrance. Charles equipped his handgun, feeding in a magazine and racking the slide. He ducked beneath the counter, below the window which peered into the foyer, anticipating the intruders’ arrival.
The front door creaked open; the thud of the huge wooden door echoing throughout the branching hallways. Charles peaked over and saw men in black outfits and balaclavas, carbine rifles at ready, slowly flowing into the room.
Charles counted 6, with several more outside. It had been a while since Charles had last done this.
The intruders had split into three groups of two, one going up the stairs, one going right, and the final heading towards Charles’ and Aiden’s offices.
Charles shifted his body slightly to the right of the window, his figure shrouded in a thick layer of shadow. He spied the two who were slowly ascending the stairs, unaware of Charles whom had readied his firearm towards their heads, the luminescent green dot hovering over the rear person’s head.
He pulled the trigger; a vibration was sent up Charles’ forearm, forcing his wrist to jolt upwards. Charles tensed his arm, settling the muzzle to its original position, revealing the man who had now crumpled onto the floor. His partner quickly turned around, muzzle pointed towards the origin of the gunshot. Charles darted for his office door, kicking it open to the surprise of the third pair. Charles took the initiative, firing two frangible rounds towards one, ducking down to avoid a burst from the still-standing gunman, giving Charles an opportunity to send off a cartridge into the opponent’s thigh. The adversary yelped, falling down in pain, allowing Charles to cleanly line up a shot through the man’s cranium. The staircase man mounted his carbine on the railing, Charles managing to spot the manoeuvre in time to make a bolt towards the two bodies who were slumped against a wall at an angle concealed from the stairs. He slung one of the ar-9s onto himself then readied his pistol towards the base of the staircase in anticipation of the man’s arrival: the gunshot rippled throughout the hall, felling the staircase gunman.
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The remaining pair, hearing the commotion, fired towards Charles’ position, cutting off his access to his office. More men had also entered the building, each waving around large rifles, slowly encroaching onto Charles. He tried to step forwards, but the suppression from the second pair had grounded him into a singular corner: he inhaled sharply as rounds whizzed by.
Charles’ phone buzzed: “brace for-” Charles’ vision shook as a deafening explosion burst a hole through the wall a few feet next to him, singeing his arm slightly, followed by the strong smell of metal oxides. The dust and debris settled as Harry emerged, clothed in his usual t-shirt and shorts, brandishing his automatic rifle.
“You doing fine Charlie?”
“Firstly, it’s Charles, secondly, not particularly well.”
“...
“I suppose we should clean up first.”
Harry raised his gun and peaked over the staircase, sending off a round through the head of an intruder, quickly transitioning towards the front door where an entire magazine was pumped towards. Charles used the suppression to his advantage and moved to the other side of the staircase.
Another explosion: the ceiling was blown open as several men stood at the edge, sending rounds downwards. Charles ducked down, leaning to his right to manage to nail one through the chest on the roof with his carbine - enough deterrent for the others to back away. Harry had moved to Charles’ office, using the window-counter to engage the enemies outside at a safer angle. Charles moved forwards, muzzle at the ready, switching between the roof and the entrance: a volley of bullets cracked by - Charles swung his body towards the roof, clenching the pistol grip tightly as the butstock pushed back into his shoulder; the gun clicked after eleven shots.
Charles made a mad-dash to a pillar for cover, tilting his firearm left to see the issue: extraction malfunction. He hit the bottom of his munitions before pulling on the charging handle, sending the faulty round flying through the air, onto the red carpet. He leaned, giving his rounds a course to the cranium of the men on the rooftop: three slumped over with Charles having expended all of the rounds in his carbine. The roof seemed to be cleared of enemies, leaving only the entrance to worry about. He took a daring swing to the left of the column, spotting a singular Harry leaning on the doorframe, playing games on his mobile phone, bodies strewn around him.
“Was that all of them?” Charles inquired.
Harry glanced at his watch, looking slightly disgruntled. “We finished last. How peeving.”
“Last?”
“The others have already cleared the rest out about two minutes ago.”
“Oh…
…
“So, want to go grab something to eat?”
The employees of the Smith Hill Residence proceeded to have a great dinner, except for Percy of course, whom spent the next few days fixing and cleaning. Poor lad.