Thread: A Royal Catastrophe (Mali and Quix)

With sunglasses covering the stranger's eyes, Ben couldn't see them, but he possessed no doubts that, under the black lenses, they'd be a cold, steely blue, and that knowledge, combined with the size of the stranger, almost as wide as he was tall, and the firmly pressed together, unsmiling lips, visible when he turned to look at the man who'd interrupted, caused goosebumps to snake their way down Ben's spine. These were not men to be fucked with. To his rear, he could hear the soft breathing of Sky, however, he didn't dare glance around to see if she'd followed his instructions, but instead kept his ears attuned for the sounds of movement as he stepped up to the counter, and placed his bulk between the assassin and Schuyler's hiding position. The clerk in the meantime, continued to stare at Ben, mouth agape, stuttering and trembling, with the news item in the background, announcing the name Schuyler Lassiter over and over. Ben coughed to cover the sound of a scuffling sound behind him, and tensed, when the Russian's hand moved to his breast pocket, He, in turn, lowered his. This woman. The man-in-black's accent was thick, as with Ben prepared to withdraw his weapon and shoot from the hip, he pulled a photograph from his pocket one that matched the woman's on the television screen and leaned over the counter to grip the shaken clerk by his shirt collar, and roughly lifted him off his feet. Have you seen her. The kid's legs kicked out in a vain search for the floor as the Russian dropped the image on the counter, and jabbed at it with a thick forefinger. I, I, I. The pimply youth's voice shook and his face drained of all colour as his shirt collar tightened around his neck, and tears begun to roll down his cheeks. That's when Ben sensed a shadow slip past him, and as he winced at the noise of a door being opened, three sets of eyes turned towards her. Thump. The boy's torso hit the tile floor, and the Russian screamed, You. Stop. as he pulled a semi-automatic weapon from inside his jacket, and moments later the sound of bullets shredding metal echoed around the foyer, just missing Sky as the fire-entrance closed behind her. With the man otherwise occupied, Ben dived to avoid the fusillade of shrapnel, and had freed his weapon by the time he'd somersaulted, and landed on his feet behind the gunner. Bang. The Russian didn't see it coming. One bullet to the back of his head, that split his skull and misted the air with a spray of red blood and gray brain matter before he lumped forward and face-planted the wooden counter. Knowing his missile had done the job the second it'd been fired, Ben didn't pause. His acrobatics having taken him beside the entrance door, he swiftly locked it, then bounded the counter , grabbed the boy, who was on his back, panting and moaning with fear, feet scrambling on the tile, by the collar as the Russian had done, and jammed the gun in his face. It was still early, and with night clientele who rented the rooms by the hour having departed, and the Hookers catching up on their beauty sleep, Ben hoped to be able to buy some time before the murder was discovered. For that, he needed to ensure the clerk's silence. He pressed the hot muzzle against the terrified kid's lips, and shook his head. That woman? he said harshly, hitting the man's teeth with the metal, and inclining his head to her image on the television screen. She ain't no fucking hooker. As to whether he heard it before Ben twirled the gun in his hand, and tapped the butt against the man's temple, causing his expression to go blank and for the boy to fall to the floor, unconscious, was debatable. The duo taken care of, Ben's next immediate thought was for the safety of Schuyler, and as he raced for the fire-escape, he heard her screams. Shit. Roberts kicked the bullet-ridden door open, and sprinted out, scanning for cover even as he took in the scene before him. One man was dead, or at least knocked out, and there was another, covered in blood, on top of Schuyler. Drop the fucking weapon. A shiver of fear, both for the woman, and at his own failure if she were dead, coursed through his veins as he approached with arms extended. He didn't dare shoot, in case the bullet hit Sky. Then he realised it was the man who was dead. Damn, Ben muttered as he pushed the corpse off Schuyler with one foot, reached for the screaming woman's hand, and pulled her to her feet. Are you okay, are you injured? The urgency in his voice was evident as he appraised her for damage, and grimaced at the unfairness of the situation that caused the tears to flow down her cheeks, which only increased when the sound of screeching of tyres pierced the air, and two more black SUV's appeared in a puff of rubberised smoke. Fuck, these bastards don't give up, do they. The MI6 agent fired one shot through the windscreen of each as he swiftly dragged Skyler towards his own vehicle, and gunfire exploded in return to his. With bullets flying all around them and pinging off the reinforced steel exterior, he opened the drivers side door, and placed the keys in her hand. Pull yourself together, Sky. You drive, I shoot. Ben was going to have a lot of making up to do for his apparent lack of compassion when and if they reached safety, however, first, they needed to remain alive in order for him to be able to do that.