Snippet #2563767

Viktor rolled himself out of his car as it sat, engine smoking and crashed into a building. He laid flat on the side of his car away from the mercenaries, eyes peering beneath the vehicle to watch the feet of the attacking mercenaries. He couldn't have any of them getting the drop on him, and knowing where they were would be helpful if he decided to engage them again.

He'd play it safe, safer, for now since he was only armed with a pistol and a suit vest. Not exactly gear for a firefight with trained mercenary killers.

"Grenade!" Byron shouted at the sight of the thermal detonator. He and the other Invictus scrambled away from the grenade for cover, a few falling as they took hits to the back. It was to be expected when you were making a retreat like that. Byron noticed one of the security officers turning back and running towards the greade.

"What is he doing? What the fuck are you doing?!" Another shouted towards their stray comrade, the security officer seemed very intent on getting to the grenade before it went off. He played with the dials on a square device ttached to his belt. It was his shield generator, and in seconds energy could be seen coursing around the man.

He had cranked up the energy output much higher than it was meant to be for personal use. It could take one big hit and would fizzle out for awhile. Not that it mattered to the young man, he dove towards the grenade and as it went off he hoped to have used his last moments on Terra to absorb most of the initial explosion with his shield.

Save a few extra lives if he could. Inadvertantly, his death was serving up to be fuel on a fire starting to rage in his comrades down the street. No one came into their home and killed their people. Not when they could do something about it.

The subtle opening of manhole covers around the Jupiter mercs indicated that something was about to be done. Something they wouldn't enjoy. Unless they had weird fetishes and sexual preferences, that is.

John took the distraction from Viktor, or at the very least the lessening of gunfire into the bar, as his chance to get his coat and have a weapon in hand. The young man scrambled to his feet and ripped his coat from the hook it hung on before throwing himself into the kitchen area with the others. Now the playing field was more even.

John pulled his gun from his coat pocket. It was a high-powered, custom black Desert Eagle. A handheld grim reaper to anyone on the other side of it. It cost John a lot of money over the years, money well-spent when you're in the mercenary business and had to kill people before they killed you sometimes.

"Okay, here's the plan..." John said loudly, moving to join the others as they crouched at the back entrance. "We'll head out into the alley and use the garbage containers as cover. Hopefully, we won't be seen and we can find a door into the building next door. Or we can use the tunnels and get into the HQ."

"The HQ?" One of the Irishmen asked, "Uh... the Palace, I mean." John answered, "The Palace."He repeated, "Fuck it. Let's do it." Emily said, "Okay, I'll take lead." John told the group, rushing out to take cover behind one of the dumpsters. He kept his head low, peeking out quickly to figure out where everyone trying to murder him were.

He didn't like the sound of an explosion on the street. He feared what the mercenaries would bring out next, or how far they would go to finish their job.