Tori…
Anger and sadness fill up inside me in equal measure. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to simply drop to my knees in grief. Let them take me. I don’t care anymore. I’ve lost. At the press of a button, Cunningham took away everything I had. Everything I worked to get since starting my new life.
There’s nothing left for me now.
There’s just—
Hey, Adrian. It’s me. Satan. Your Satan. Have you finished? Because I can come back if you’re still wallowing…
I frown to myself.
Are you… are you good? Okay, listen up. You see that gun in your hand? Well, when you’ve finished being a dick, take a moment to think what Adrian Hell would do with it… Not winning isn’t the same as losing, man. Tell you what… I’ll make you a deal. You get us out of this, and I’ll leave you alone to grieve. Sound fair?
I smile to myself. I think I’ve finally been tipped over the edge… There’s a voice in my head actually insulting me!
Boy, I swear, if you drop to your knees now, me and you are through! These pussies can’t take you. No one can. Now wipe that dumbass smile off your face and start shooting people. They haven’t won yet!
I look down at my hand and examine the weapon. It’s a Sig Sauer P229R. Two shots fired, which leaves me nine in the mag and one in the chamber. I count nine people in the room, not including me.
It’s like it was meant to be…
I take a breath and stand tall as my lungs fill with air. Time slows down and I move backward, stepping around Cunningham as I open fire. No need for me to keep track of ammo… I won’t be wasting any.
I fire the first two rounds one-handed, taking out the two agents on the right of the group. Both catch a bullet in the chest — a nice big target for quick aiming, and lethal pretty much wherever you hit, so it’s the obvious choice.
I quicken my pace, moving around the desk and putting Cunningham on my right, between me and the remaining agents.
Keeping my gun focused to the right of the group, I fire two more rounds in quick succession, this time with both hands on the gun. With the steadier aim, I put each bullet in an agent’s head. The two were moving fast so they slide forward a little as they drop to the floor, their momentum carrying them to Cunningham’s feet.
One agent left. He’s had plenty of time to figure out what’s happening, which his colleagues didn’t — I started shooting with zero warning — but he won’t fire at me. Cunningham’s still in his chair, shocked and subsequently unresponsive at this stage. I’m directly behind him, with a gap no larger than two yards between us. The three stooges over by the sofas have fallen back into their seats looking scared for their lives.
As they should.
I pause and allow the scene to resume normal speed. The sole remaining agent is shaking, his body is that tense. His gun is wavering in front of him, and the sweat is glistening on his brow.
I fire once, hitting him in the center of his forehead. His eyes turn blank almost instantly, and he drops back, lifeless before he lands.
I place the barrel on the back of Cunningham’s head. “Any last words, asshole?”
He turns, glancing at the others by the sofa. I look over at them. “I’ll deal with you two in a minute.”
The one I vaguely recognize steps forward. “You’re not going to get away with this. I’ll make sure—”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“I’m Gerald Hes—”
“I don’t care, shut your fucking mouth. I have no intention of trying to get away with anything. But I will make damn sure you don’t, either.” I look at the others. “So who are you two shit-stains?”
“I’m Dennis Atkins, the Director of National Intelligence,” says the man to Heskith’s immediate right.
I shake my head. “Whatever. And you?”
“I’m… I’m Bruce Fielding, the United States Secretary of Defense. And you are a terrorist, who will be brought to justice. I’ll see to it personally that you—”
I fire once, hitting him in the clavicle just left of center. He spins counterclockwise and falls, crashing through the small table between the two sofas. Cunningham jumps in his chair from the shock. Heskith and Atkins stand rigid, like statues, terrified to move.
“I liked the old secretary of defense better.” I place the gun against Cunningham’s head once more. “Now, you — stand up nice and slow.”
He does.
“Turn around and face me.”
He does.
I look into his eyes. I see the belief and the passion within them. He know’s through and through that what he’s doing is right. And that’s the scary thing.
He’s about my height, and he’s wearing a dark blue suit. He’s a handsome, clean-cut politician. He looks… normal. It’s hard to believe he’s the greatest terrorist and mass murderer the world has ever seen.
And now he’s going to die.
I walk toward him, stop an arm’s length away, raise the gun, and level it right between his eyes.
“You’re done, Charlie. It’s over. And these are the last few seconds of your life. Believe that, don’t believe that — I don’t care. These two retards aren’t gonna stop me, I can promise you that. Any last words?”
The door behind me, in the opposite corner to the one I kicked in, bursts open, and bodies pour into the room. I don’t move an inch, but out the corner of my eye, I can see the SWAT lettering on their uniforms. They form a wide semicircle around the room and aim their M4 carbines in my general direction.
Jesus, there must be twenty of them, at least!
“Adrian, stop!”
Now I move. I look over and see two people, a man and a woman, standing side by side across the desk from me. The man, I recognize immediately — Ryan Schultz. He looks out of breath and stressed. His cheeks are flushed crimson and he’s frowning.
The woman, I’ve never seen before, but I can hazard a guess who she is. In front of me, Cunningham visibly relaxes as he turns away from me and my gun.
“Secretary Phillips, thank God you’re here!” he says. “This man has launched an attack on—”
“Hey! Asshole! I’m still here — don’t turn away from me!” I step toward him and reattach the barrel to his temple. “How many times — stop acting like you’re safe and you’ve won!”
He smiles. “Adrian, you’re done. This is Elaine Phillips, my secretary of state. And these gentlemen are a very well-trained SWAT team, clearly here to apprehend you. I am safe. You, however, are in a lot of trouble.”
“You know what makes what’s about to happen even sweeter, Charles? That smug, arrogant look on your irritating fucking face.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“All that evidence Matthews gave me? I read it all, you know that, right?”
“So?”
I gesture at Secretary Phillips, who’s standing patient and authoritative. “Where do you think I sent it?”
He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, and then I see it. The exact moment when he realizes the SWAT team isn’t here for me. The realization that the CEO of GlobaTech Industries is standing beside her.
“How you doing, Ryan?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Cunningham.
He sighs a heavy breath. “I’m tired, son, but I’m damn sure glad this is over.”
“Is Josh alright?”
“Heh… ain’t he always?”
I smile. “Yeah. How’s that whole North Korea thing going?”
“I can tell you that GlobaTech peacekeepers have pushed them back in almost all major areas of conflict. We’re still taking casualties, but not as many as they are. They came in angry and well-armed, but very underprepared. Hell, they never stood a chance!”