Viktor put out his cigarette and lit another.
“He's late!” Viktor bellowed to no one in particular.
It was ten minutes past eight in the morning. Usually Ioann was at least fifteen minutes early! Viktor was just about to call Alexei when Ioann crept up behind him.
“Where have you been?” Viktor demanded.
“I had a problem with transport.”
“Are you ready for this?”
“Da.”
“Good.”
Two hours later, Ioann was perched on top of a building with a view of an alley. Ioann’s dossier on Nigel gave details of a picnic table in the alley where the kids usually met, because it was semi-private. Ioann had been watching these kids for a while now; he even left some weatherproof microphones in the vicinity of the picnic table.
Ioann adjusted the scope so he could see the kid's face. He matched the description of the kid that Alexei was looking for. Ioann looked down at his sniper cheat sheet and he identified the kid as Nigel. Shortly after, a tall female with pink hair sat next to Nigel. She had several piercings on her face, most notably her nose. Ioann quickly identified her as Josephine, or Jet, from the dossier. Ioann adjusted his headset to see if his audio connection was working. He heard some ambient noise, but the kids weren't saying much.
The third kid to show was shorter than the two already seated on the picnic table. At first, Ioann could not identify the gender; he moved like a male but appeared to be female. After Ioann made some additional scope adjustments, he finally identified the subject as Milo.
“Do you know where George is?” Milo asked the other two kids.
“Haven't seen him.”
Jet nodded in agreement.
Ioann confirmed that Nigel was the head of the little group that Viktor was concerned with. Ioann took aim at Nigel, watched him in the scope for a long moment. Ioann was about to squeeze the trigger and put an end to Nigel when his target suddenly moved.
“Is your Jake problem taken care of?” Jet asked.
“Well sort of. After beating Ralphie up, he not only demanded his money back but he still wanted his character leveled!” Nigel said in disgust.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Geez, that is rude,” Milo interjected.
“I found some code on the Dark Web called Dark Glider. I installed it on Jake’s system. I was careful to use a MORP server relay. Also, I’m still trying to help my mother.”
Jet gave Nigel a sharp look full of guilt and sad empathy for Ellen.
Milo reached up to pat Nigel on the back, but his sudden movement caused him to slip on some condensation on the picnic table. Milo reached out reflexively and grabbed Nigel’s jacket. This entire encounter lasted less than a second but seemed much longer.
Everything else appeared to move in slow motion. Just as Ioann released the trigger, the kid known as Milo suddenly pulled on Nigel's jacket for no apparent reason. The sudden motion caused the bullet to miss its intended target. Instead, it grazed the top left temple of Nigel's head. Nigel suddenly went stiff as blood started dripping down the left side of his head. Then the world went white as he felt real pain for the first time in his short life.
Jet tackled Nigel and both landed hard on broken concrete. Jet felt the wind of something zip past her head.
“Shit,” Ioann exclaimed.
Nigel was no longer in view. Ioann was positioning himself to take another shot while Milo screamed at the top of his lungs and ran as fast as his legs would take him. Ioann waited. He had grazed his intended target, but he wasn’t visible. He heard a brief surge of panic sirens. Ioann controlled his breathing; he had to maintain control. He would wait until the last possible second before taking his next shot.
Nigel was in extreme pain, and writhed on the ground like a wounded animal. He screamed, whimpered, and cried. Jet kept pressure on the wound.
“Stop wriggling. You need to be still; I have first aid training,” Jet yelled in one breath.
Jet knew from her first aid class that she had to keep pressure on open wounds. She pressed with her bare hands. Her mind was racing, trying to take in what had happened.
As Jet continued to put pressure on Nigel’s wound, she seemed to relive the previous few seconds. She remembered hearing a distant pop just as Nigel was hit.
Jet didn't know where the shooter—or shooters—may be hiding, so she stayed put, trying to prevent Nigel from bleeding to death. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard sirens.
As the sirens wailed and got louder, Jet's mind drifted. She was suddenly transported back six years. She was in a ballerina outfit. She could hear soft music in the background.
The Nutcracker? she thought. Yes. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
Jet’s dance instructor was a harsh woman in her late fifties. Mrs. Anderson? Ms. Davis? She couldn't remember her name. The woman screamed at her again, more urgently. Then, after stumbling for what seemed like the twentieth time, she screamed something unintelligible.
“Josephine! I will not tolerate this disruptive behavior in my class.”
As the words trailed off, the woman began screaming in agony. Blood started rolling down the side of her instructor’s face.
Jet snapped back into reality.
She tried looking at Nigel, but her vision was obscured by something gooey and sticky. She realized that it was blood, and just as she had this thought, she passed out.
She dreamed she was in Nigel's arms, hearing the lap of ocean waves. They were in a hammock, rocking before a black sand beach. A mist of ocean water sprayed her face. It felt so good. She looked up and saw a strange man speaking Russian. Before she could react, she was pulled from Nigel's arms. Nigel was motionless. She called out to him as blood poured out of several wounds in Nigel's face. Jet screamed.