Large PrintHandheldAudioRating
using
 paypal
Twisting The Hellmouth Crossing Over Awards - Results
Is your email address still valid?

Odds and Ends

StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking
Ficlet(s)

Summary: A place to place to put all the ideas that interrupt the stories I'm writing.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > Xander-CenteredPupFR151629,44818039,76122 May 112 Oct 12No

Numbers Game

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Buffy The Vampire Slayer Franchise, not XIII the series, show or anything related to them. Also apologies for any mistakes in regards to weaponry usage or descriptions.




Numbers Game



It’s said that you are defined by what you do and the company you keep. A man who saves a family from a burning building is a hero and the man who starts it a villain. The man who spends time with politicians is respectable while the one who hangs out with the unemployed is not. What does it say about me that at this moment I’m in an industrial warehouse in the middle of a drug deal.



Racking the slide of the Para Ord P14 he stepped out from behind the pillar firing as he headed for the next. The first shot buried itself into a crate to left of one of the gunmen; a slight adjustment of his wrist put the next two shots into the man’s chest. A bullet slammed into his shoulder jerking him to the side, redirecting his return fire into an open suitcase on a table sending plumes of white powder into the air. Swinging his body back around he flipped the selector from single shot to semi-auto and stitched the man who had shot him from crotch to collar. By the time he reached the second pillar five more dead and another wounded were added to the growing casualty count. Thumbing the release he reached for another magazine only to come up empty. Replacing the gun in its holster he peered around the pillar before ducking back as bullets tore into its edge.



Reaching into a pocket on the tactical vest he palmed a detonator marked with a blue stripe and thumbed the trigger. A small explosion rocked the building before the lights went out. Dropping the detonator he slipped the NVGs over his eyes, grabbed the combat knife strapped to his leg, ducked low and slid around the pillar as guns were fired haphazardly into the darkness.



What does it say that I can take a man’s life with no more remorse or emotion than flipping a light switch. That I’ve spilled enough blood that I smell it in my sleep.



He let the body fall to the ground and dove behind a van as bullets whizzed by where he had been, some slamming into the fallen body. Wiping the blade against his pant leg he slipped it back into its sheath before pulling a grenade from his webbing. Pulling the pin he rolled it out under the van, put his hand over his ears, slightly opened his mouth closed his eyes and waited.


He was moving in the immediate wake of the flash bangs explosion, running towards a fallen H&K submachine gun while the surviving men devolved into a chaotic mess. Some screamed dropping their weapons and grabbed at their eyes or ears, others fired blindly into darkness. Dropping into a slide he grabbed the gun and added to the cacophony of sound, rising to a knee he began picking off the survivors who weren’t taken down by friendly fire.



But they’re wrong, none of that defines me, tells who I am. I am a man who has given up his past to safeguard a future he desires.



Dropping the empty gun he advanced on the lone survivor of the shootout, huddling in a corner hands scrambling against the floor in search of a weapon as his eyes tried to recover from the effects of the flash bang and the gloom.



A man who hardly recognizes the face in the mirror, who has become more Hyde than Jekyll.



“D-d-don’t kill me, I have money!!! On the table, half a million! It’s yours if you let me live.” begged the criminal pressed against the wall, blinking his eyes as they began returning to normal. The man ignored the pleading as he advanced, pulling a knife from behind him. A spray of blood followed the quick swipe of his hand, turning screams and yells into a quickly fading gurgling.



The name I was born with no longer fits me. Instead a reminder from a fateful night, a tattoo that belonged to another has become my name.



Walking away from the cooling corpse the man grabbed the duffel bag from where it had fallen on the ground. Pulling a second detonator from his vest he pushed the trigger and headed to the back of the warehouse. As the shaped charges attached to the stolen vehicles parked down the block he slipped into the abandoned subway line that ran beneath the warehouse. Moments later emergency floodlights flickered on bathing the macabre scene of blood and bodies in a pale orange light.



I am XIII.
Next Chapter
StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking