“On my way to the office.”
“Come back. You are under attack!” he shouts.
The vehicles from behind and in front come into my vision. “They have reached.”
“Fuck! Stay there in the car. I’m coming,” I shout. He cuts the call.
All ten SUVs start circling my car.
“Defence turned on,” Vault announces.
Four vehicles speed toward me from four directions. Two emergency missiles fire and hit two of them, but that doesn’t stop the other two from approaching.
They come closer, and right before they can hit my car, I accelerate backward at 180 km/hr, and the two SUVs collide.
I roll down my window on my side, and just as expected, the windows of the SUVs roll down, and four men start firing. I move my car in a circle, blocking the shots with the back of my car, then roll up my window, slide the back seat window open, and take four shots at the men firing.
At this time, two more SUVs come from the front, and I can’t escape because of the shooting. They hit both sides. The impact is strong, but the damage isn’t too severe. They move back to take another hit as I push my car forward. Another SUV hits me on the side, and then one more comes from behind. Now my car is trapped between six of theirs.
They start hitting my car from all sides. I estimate my car could take a maximum of twenty hits before breaking down completely. It will take our men and Dad five more minutes to reach here.
The metal starts bending inward from the continuous hits. Ten more hits land. I wear my harness and ready my guns rapidly during the next five hits. My side of the car is now pressing against me.
“Vault, start self-destruction.”
“Yes, Zloban.”
The SUV on my side moves back and, just in time, I open the door and roll onto the road. The men see me move and stop their cars. I use the five seconds they take to roll down their windows to start shooting—then dart behind the SUV closest to me and punch its tail lights. I take shots at the others’ lights as well. The rain is reducing visibility significantly.
Bullets fire in my direction while I’m crouched down, rounds slam into the car against my back.
And just on cue, my car blasts, an explosion loud enough to seize everyone’s attention for more than ten seconds. That’s enough time for me to change position.
I run into the woods and climb the first tall, strong tree I come to. I lie down on a thick branch and watch their movements. Five men come into view. I attach the silencer to my gun and take them out. Before any of them can react, they’re all lying dead on the muddy ground.
The rain turns heavier, adding noise that helps me judge the positions of the others. I spot nine of them moving carefully, scanning the area. Five more are behind them.
No matter how cautiously I fire, eventually they’ll pinpoint my location. I activate the silencer on my other gun and start firing. Shot after shot goes out, but I’m not quick enough to kill them all before they converge. Soon a bullet comes toward me. I dodge, it slams into the back of the tree. Then another follows, this one I can’t dodge without risking a fall, and it hits me in the stomach.
I keep firing. I’m at an advantage because of my CIP. I don’t know how painful it really is, people say bullet wounds are enough to stop you from moving. Another shot comes that I manage to dodge, but a subsequent round tears into me below my chest.
With two bullets inside me, darkness edges into my vision and I find myself blinking constantly. More men converge, more gunfire rattles through the trees. I successfully avoid eight bullets but can’t dodge two of them. Then a third round comes for my stomach, I block it with my leg and take the hit on my outer thigh.
My aim starts failing, but still I manage to drop a few of them. There are too many now and everyone knows my location. A few more bullets and I’m done for.
I slide silently down the tree. It will take them a minute to reach this spot. I pull off my shoes and move through the forest on bare feet. The shouts and footsteps behind me grow close. I press myself against a trunk and wait. Voices from where I was call out: “He was here.” “Hemust be close.” “Are those his shoes?” “Damn it, we can’t lose him.” “Find him.”
Footsteps scatter around, a few come my way. My consciousness is slipping.
“Careful. He can be anywhere,” says a voice very near. I force my eyes open and clutch my guns tightly.
“H—he’s not here. Let’s go,” another man replies.
“Let’s search further.”
“I—I don’t think he’s here.”
“Why are you shaking? He’s alone and he must have a few shots.”
