Chapter 17
Glass crunches under Trigger's boot as he shifts his weight behind the overturned table. His Havoc-7 sits heavy in his grip, its weight familiar yet frustrating as he checks the ammo counter glowing softly on the side. Fifty-two shots left out of a hundred, and he's already burned through his primary mag.
He reaches down, fingers closing around a jagged piece of glass from what used to be a bottle of something expensive. The shard catches the flickering emergency lighting as he carefully angles it above his cover, using the reflection to survey the carnage.
With a bolter hole burned through his left shoulder, given to him when he stupidly dared to test himself against the speed of several trained gunmen, even raising a bit of glass takes a herculean effort.
The bar looks like a warzone, because that's exactly what it became. Tables lie scattered like fallen dominoes, their metal frames bent and scorched from laserfire. The walls sport a constellation of blackened holes where bolts punched through, and the air still carries that distinctive ozone smell of discharged energy weapons. Bodies sprawl across the floor in ungraceful positions, most wearing the same black tactical gear stripped of any identifying marks, some of them clutching their weapons even in death.
Mixed among them are three civilians, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when the shooting started. A canine bartender sits slumped against the back wall, his apron smoldering from a shot to the chest. A pair of feline patrons lie near the door, dressed in party clothes and clearly too young to actually be drinking. Tragically, they'll never learn from this mistake.
Through the shattered windows, rain sheets down in the darkness outside. Lightning flashes, and in that brief strobe of illumination, Trigger counts three shapes moving through the downpour. They advance in a staggered line, weapons up, using parked vehicles as cover.
He lowers the glass shard and raises his wristcomm shakily, tapping the emergency frequency. Static hisses back at him. He tries again, adjusting the signal strength.
"Boss?" Lars' voice finally crackles through, strained but alive.
"Status," Trigger keeps his voice low, ears listening for the figures beyond the windows.
"Took one in the leg, but I'm still breathing. Found some cover in the kitchen, but a second team came in through the back after the first breach and jumped me. Not going anywhere fast, but I can still shoot if needed."
Trigger allows himself a small exhale of relief. Small mercies. "The others? I haven't been able to reach them."
"Eli's sniper nest on the 3rd floor got made. Had to hit the bricks when they started lobbing grenades up there. He's probably repositioning and keeping quiet so they don't hear." A pause, then Lars continues. "Eddy caught shrapnel in his leg, bad. Made the call to have Stella evac him. He wasn't any good all messed up like that."
"And Mila? She went to support you," Trigger asks, though something cold settles in his stomach when Lars doesn't immediately respond.
The silence stretches longer than it should. When Lars speaks again, his voice carries a weight that makes Trigger's blood turn to ice.
"Boss... Mila is..."
Movement catches Trigger's eye, forcing him to look to his side. There, sprawled in an expanding pool of crimson, Jodie lies motionless. Her eyes stare at nothing, and the sight makes Trigger's stomach twist violently. The coyote's overalls are soaked dark, and her compact hold-out blaster lies just out of reach of her outstretched fingers.
'This went so wrong…'
Boot steps crunch on glass. The hunters are inside now, moving with the same tactical wariness they displayed outside. Trigger can hear their measured breathing, the soft clicks of weapon safeties being flipped off and the whine of charging capacitors. Three of them at least, maybe more.
His finger finds the trigger of his Havoc. No mercy. Not for these bastards. Not after what they've done to his people. He tenses, ready to spring from cover and turn them into corpses, but the moment he breaks cover, the world seemingly freezes in place.
Every raindrop hangs suspended in midair. The lightning bolt outside becomes a frozen fracture across the sky. The advancing killers stand like statues, weapons raised but unmoving.
"Okay, can we stop starting with the impossible scenarios?" Jodie's voice resonates from everywhere and nowhere at once, irritation dripping from every word. "I'm gettin' real sick of dying as soon as things start! Besides, Kale just messaged and he said the Aquila is ready!"