A small metallic object rolled into view, hitting the back wall with a soft thump. After a few seconds, smoke began to pour from it, curling upwards and quickly plunging the corridor into a choking cloud. Eyes stinging, Leopold stumbled forward and felt around with his arms outstretched, trying to catch hold of Jerome or Mary as he heard movement ahead.
He felt his breath knocked out of him as something hard connected with his gut, and he doubled over, coughing and wheezing, inhaling more of the sour-tasting smoke, and fell backward into one of the doors that lined the hallway. He wrenched at the handle and fell through onto the floor, kicking out with his feet and slamming the door shut. Something heavy collided with it on the other side and Leopold stood and pushed his entire body against the door, using his weight to keep it closed. The door shook on its hinges. He heard a crack as the frame splintered and the door fell through, knocking him backward with enough force to send him rolling across the floor. He collided with a coffee table, knocking his head against the heavy wood.
Leopold looked up, slightly dazed from the smoke and the impact of the fall, and looked around, trying to gauge his surroundings. He was lying on the floor of what looked like a study, but the lack of light made it difficult to tell. Thanks to the faint glow of the street lamps outside the window, he could just about make out a few tall book cases and a large desk, complete with an ornate high back chair that looked like it was worth a small fortune. Other than the coffee table he had just slammed into, the room was empty and, as far as he could tell, had only one door. There was no way out.
Leopold sucked in a deep breath and got to his knees as a shadow approached from outside the room. In the doorway stood one of Stark’s men, surrounded by billowing smoke and wearing a gas mask. In the gloom he looked like a demon walking straight out of hell. Leopold blinked hard, getting the last of the smoke out of his eyes, and got to his feet.
The figure approached slowly, then stopped and pulled off his mask, revealing a maniacal grin and pockmarked face, visible even in the dim light. He stood at least a head taller than Leopold, who recognized the man’s features immediately: Viktor, the unit commander who reported directly to Stark. Leopold clenched his fists and stood ready.
Viktor tossed his weapon onto the floor and cracked his knuckles. Leopold didn’t wait for an invitation. He rushed forward and aimed a blow at the enormous man’s side, connecting hard with the ribs. He hoped to crack at least one, but if his opponent felt anything he certainly didn’t show it. Instead, Viktor reached out and grabbed Leopold’s throat with two giant hands and squeezed. Under the impossibly strong grip, he felt his head begin to get hot and swell as the oxygen and blood flow to his brain was cut off. The commander’s forearms were straining with the effort, the muscles wrapped together and tensed tight and thick like steel cable.
As the last reserves of his strength began to fade away, Leopold noticed the rims of his vision begin to darken, a vignette of red that signaled his optic nerves were beginning to fail. His pulse thumped in his ears like a muffled drum. What a curious way to die. Each system slowly shutting down, bit by bit, until there was nothing left. He felt a kind of peace at the inevitability of it all. It didn’t even hurt any more.
Suddenly a cold rush of air flooded Leopold’s throat and into his lungs. The relief was extraordinary. His vision sharpened again and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears faded. He looked with curiosity at the man who wanted to kill him.
“I don’t want you passing out too early,” said Viktor.
Leopold couldn’t speak, his throat was too swollen and raw. He looked into Viktor’s eyes. They were small and black, but he could just make out a fleck of silver around the iris. It gave Viktor a bestial look, like some kind of creature that could see in the dark. Like a hunter. Leopold knew he wouldn’t get another chance. As the feeling came back into his limbs, he felt his hands tingle behind his back and he began to unfasten the clasp of his watch.
“What’s the matter? Nothing to say?” Viktor continued, pulling him closer. “Don’t you have some clever plan to get you out of this one?”
Leopold sucked in another lungful of air and felt the throbbing in his throat ease a little. He managed a raspy whisper in response.
“What did you say?” said Viktor.
Leopold opened his mouth to repeat himself. “I said, I might have something up my sleeve.”
The commander grinned and bared his yellow teeth. Leopold smiled back and unhooked the clasp from his watch with a quiet click, freeing the heavy, metallic piece from his wrist. With his other hand, he grasped the steel strap and brought his fist around quickly, aiming for Viktor’s face.
The chunky watch acted like a set of brass knuckles, adding considerable force to his blow by concentrating the energy of the punch onto a smaller, harder surface area. As his fist connected with his opponent’s cheek, Leopold felt bone crunch under the watch, which was reinforced with diamond glass, and gasped as white-hot pain flashed in his hand where his knuckles had absorbed the impact. Viktor let go of him and stumbled, reaching out with his huge hands to find support.
Leopold attacked again, but the giant soldier anticipated the move and blocked his attack without much effort. He whipped around, using his bulk to prevent escape, and lashed out with his right fist, catching Leopold in the solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him for a second time. He hit the floor hard, the impact painful enough to make him cry out as the thrumming pain in his knuckles reached a crescendo.
Leopold felt himself lifted to his feet again, as Viktor hoisted him off the ground. His vision swam as his opponent pulled him in close, his breath hot on Leopold’s face. He attacked with his good hand, too fast for Viktor to block, and slammed his palm into the sneering commander’s nose, crushing the cartilage. He wrenched himself free of his opponent’s faltering grip and kicked out at his legs, hoping to catch the weak spot behind the knee.
Viktor must have anticipated the move. Instead of connecting with his target, Leopold’s foot passed through empty air as the giant soldier moved out of the way and responded with a sharp jab to the side of the head. The blow hit home, and Leopold saw stars as he toppled back to the floor with the force of the impact, his body slamming hard into heavy wooden bookcase standing against the wall.
The shelves rocked unsteadily from the collision as Leopold shook his head and cleared his vision. His attacker advanced, surprisingly quick for his size, and brought down his heavy right boot, aiming for the face. In desperation, Leopold reached up above his head and fumbled for something he could use to protect himself. His hands grasped hold of something thick and heavy, and he whipped it forward to block Viktor’s blow.
The soldier’s foot connected with the hardcover edition of Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace, a massive tome that deflected most of the force of the attack to the side, knocking him off balance. Jumping to his feet, Leopold grasped the weighty book with both hands and lashed out at Viktor’s face, slamming the front cover into the soldier’s already broken nose. The commander howled in pain, before stumbling forward, fists raised and ready to strike.
Leopold dropped the cumbersome book and stepped backward, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent’s advance, until he reached the desk, where he was forced to stop. Pulse racing, he kept his gaze trained on Viktor, while his right hand moved down to his belt and he began to quietly unhook the metal buckle.
The attack came faster than he had expected, and Leopold moved too slowly to avoid Viktor’s huge fist as it connected with his cheek. The force of the blow snapped his head to the side, disorienting him and causing him to stumble. He felt the commander’s thick arm wrap around his neck once more, and he gasped in a deep breath of air while he still had the chance. As the soldier’s grip intensified, Leopold again reached for his belt and finally got it free, gripping the expensive leather tight in his hand as he coaxed it out of the hoops in his waistband. With one final burst of effort, he whipped the belt at Viktor’s face, sending the metal buckle hurtling toward the enormous man’s exposed cheek. The heavy clasp hit home, hitting just below the eye with enough force to make the commander loosen his choke hold.