Valentine saw the distant look in her eyes, the way they were unfocused, confused as to what was going on. He'd been there all too often himself; it was sometimes referred to as 'shell-shock'. Usually caused by close proximity to powerful explosions. He'd gotten used to the sensation; he'd been close to hundreds, if not thousands of high-powered explosions over the course of his life. He knew exactly what to expect. He hoped that she didn't suffer any cranial trauma, though; at her age, her bones weren't fully developed, and a solid hit to the head could leave her with permanent mental damage, if not dead.
Pushing her slightly to expedite her escape, he spun around, rifle leveled at the approaching soldiers. He exhaled softly, waiting until his body was at its natural pause, before pulling the trigger; the weapon seemed to fire in slow motion. He could feel the firing pin hitting the round, the primer igniting the gunpowder, forcing the bullet forward; he could feel the cycling of the bolt, flying back and then shut, chambering another bullet for the cycle to repeat a tenth of a second later. A burst of four rounds flew downrange, impacting one of the soldiers in the chest hard, staggering him backwards but not dropping him. Valentine knew all too well that they were wearing 'Dragon Skin' ballistic vests, the same material his coat was interwoven with; he'd never punch through it with assault rifle-calibre weaponry.
He unslung the sniper rifle he'd 'borrowed' from the assassin earlier, leveling it; it was .338 Lapua, specifically designed from anti-armour use. There was no time to calibrate the scope, so he just twisted the device off, using the weapon's integral iron sights instead; he leveled it at the first of the Blacklight troops as they started shooting back, having now achieved a bead upon him. 5.56mm rounds pinged off his armour as he fired, the weapon discharging with a huge crack, slamming into the chest of the leading soldier and causing him to stumble to the ground. The Blacklight men realised that he was now an all too valid threat and hit the deck, their fire suddenly becoming much more accurate. Valentine crouched, firing off another two shots against one of the soldiers, both centre-mass; a pool of blood spread out underneath the man. Another shot hit the third man in the skull.
The remaining two leapt to their feet, realising that they had no hope in direct combat, and approached quickly while Valentine reloaded. They closed the gap in seconds, and Valentine discarded the rifle, drawing his combat knife and his revolver. One of the men swung at Valentine with his knife; they knew to aim for the gaps in his armour, and Valentine barely managed to pull his arm away in time for the blade to cut through empty air. Valentine brutally punished this mistake, slashing twice across the man's collarbone, where the vest didn't protect; after that, he slammed the blade down his throat, behind the sternum, before ripping the blade out, shattering the man's entire ribcage and coating Valentine in blood. He screamed horribly as he fell, and Valentine followed it up by knifing his partner in the eye socket, twisting it around to break through the skull. The man sank to the ground, already dead, his face disfigured beyond recognition.
Valentine turned and started running, the first man he'd knifed still screaming on the ground; he took no notice of it. He grabbed the duffel bag from the ground, moving in the direction that Blue Jay had gone. He felt a pulsing pain in his chest; he must have had a bruised or broken rib from all the impacts. He suddenly felt all too aware of his own mortality...
((I love writing close combat scenes like that. Makes a nice change from the usual clean, elegant kills you see in assassin RPs; I find that it drives home just how horrible, just how brutal fighting really is. It's a point I've tried to make everywhere I go on this website; that murder is not a fun, enjoyable, exciting thing, but a nightmarish, brutal affair that can leave people with permanent mental scars.))