Inside Syndicate Headquarters

There's a time for sitting around thinking, and there's a time for tucking thoughts away safe for later and just fucking acting. The moment that grenade explodes, pushing half the ground floor's windows out into the street, there's nothing but that odd combination of adrenaline and calculation. If I can make it past those six guys with semiautomatic rifles all pointed at me, I've got the escalator. If I can make it up the escalator, I've got the guard rails. If I can make it past the guard rails -- who the fuck decided to make those protectors beneath them out of glass? -- I've got the elevator. Yeah, in any battle it pays to know the playing field.

Racing his way through the smoke and dust and debris, heart pounding in anticipation and trusty Jericho in hand, the escalator looks like a million Woolongs' worth of protective steel; the first of two Syndicate guys leap to action on the upper level, firing at him through the glass plates below those guard rails. Lie down, Spike. They can't see you that way. Hell yeah, this is Mao's house and he would be proud of you. The first of too damn few remote-control explosives to take down this whole place gets planted on the inside of that escalator's wall about halfway up; when that's done he's up and

Bang.

One guy falls and

Bang.

The next guy falls and then, turning,

Bang.

Got you, asshole. The guy waiting at the top of the escalator's taken care of.

Nothing personal, but that's how it goes with the Syndicate, right? With a leap off that top step of the escalator, he practically flies around to the left, following the glass-plated guard rails (damn glass, if I ever become a crime boss, I'm making them out of fucking bullet-proof steel). Three guys get on the escalator, rifles aimed at him but he's faster, they get the glass

oh, fuck

and a sharp shard of it gets him right on the cheek and he can feel the slice and drip-drip of warm blood but there's no time for that now. There's only time to blow up the damn escalator

Boom.

just like that and get the hell out of the line of flying glass and metal

(got to make it to that elevator through these bullets all the fuck around me)

and the elevators here, they're surrounded by the thickest damn columns so he has a moment to breathe before the elevator door opens

(just one moment, that's all I need)

and as he steps into the elevator, hiding inside it, the doors close. Bang bang bang bang they take the brunt of the gunfire.

Thank fuck.

Inside the elevator, time stands still, or at least it stands stiller. His movements are as automatic as breathing and blinking: change out the clip on the Jericho. Take out the next grenade. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Damage assessment? Yeah, he caught some glass (just a scratch, just a fucking scratch) but no bullets. He can breathe, he can stand, he can see, he can move: those are all good things. Feels like an eternity to get to the next level, however many floors up. Five, six? Central mezzanine. His heart thumps loud and crazy in his chest.

Breathe. Breathe while you can. Don't think about Beth; focus on this shit so you can get back to Beth.

The fucking second those elevator doors open up again, time does this funny little shift and speeds way the hell up and gunfire, gunfire: pulling the pin out of that grenade with his teeth, he throws it out through the elevator doors, crouches down against the blast. It's a good one; he reaches into his left pocket and comes out with the Barak.

Beth.

There's no time to think about her now, though; stepping through the door, guns in both hands, he looks left and right and straight ahead, then turns left and runs down the corridor and fuck, they're here too, of course they are, this is the way to the top floors and he has to make it to the next set of elevators, he has to, otherwise the whole thing ends right here and it's not fucking going to end right here. Glass flies and steel and wood splinter all around him as bullets meet everything but him and thank fuck for being fast and thank fuck for knowing this place inside out and thank fuck again for those big steel-and-concrete girders by the elevators and fuck whoever designed this as a central place for so many hallways, because at the end of this one...

Bang. Bang.
Bang. Bang.
Bang. Bang.
Bang. Bang.

and fuck when that asshole's bullet rips into his left arm, just above the elbow. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Shouldn't take two guns to kill you, asshole.

Bang.

One more down, and the pain in his arm is (fuck) just pain, he reminds himself as the Barak slips out of his hand

Beth

and that arm's going to be pretty fucking useless but he'll have to think about that later because now, the elevator door's finally fucking opening and, Jericho raised, he turns to meet the barrel of someone else's gun.