Gunshots. Loud, deafening, obnoxious gunshots. He woke to these sounds. Glass shattered, a woman shirked in fear, a man howled angrily, children were sobbing. He could not see clearly in the dark room, could not make out the hazy figure standing at the foot of his bed. It was tall"the figure"and it was holding something in its hand. It was silhouetted against the light of the hallway behind it, where his bedroom door had been thrown ajar. The children's cries rose in volume and the man cursed painfully at the sound of another bang. It was followed by a heavy thud, something had hit the floor.
He squinted at the figure as its arm rose and stretched out toward him. There was a sliver of silver light coming from a crack in the drapes of his window and it illuminated the matte black finish of a gun. He stared at it long and hard. The figure spoke, it was a man. The words came out distorted, as though the man were speaking underwater. Justin blinked blearily and then rolled to the side as the muted sound of a gunshot sounded in his ears. His pillow had a smoldering hole in it, a feather floated in the air.
Time, as far as he could tell, had slowed. To the man, Justin was a blur of movement in the dark. He had a gun in his hand one second, and the next he was sprawled on the bed, a knee digging into his back. The barrel of his gun was pressed to the back of his head, and another bang split the air. Justin left the dead man there and whirled around as the sound of footsteps stomping down the hall reached his ears. Everything was much louder, and much faster.
A shadow filled the doorway; it cursed, and lifted its arm. He ducked out of the way and charged as the first shot was fired, his own gun letting loose two wild shots. One was lucky enough to graze the attacker's arm, which made him pause to inspect for further damage. Justin was on him in an instant. His free hand caught the man's wrist and slammed it against the doorframe. The gun fell to the floor and he brought his own up to the man's gut and emptied another two bullets into his stomach. The man fell and Justin reached down to retrieve the second gun. He stepped out into the hall and glanced left, then right.
A third man stepped out from the door down the hall, where the sound of children crying could be heard. He shouted something at Justin, who turned, lifted both guns, and then fired. The first shot hit the man in the shoulder, the second in the chest. He dropped to the floor with a yelp of surprise, pain, and then was silent. Justin rushed down the hall and stopped at the door, peeking around the corner into the room.
A man was lying on the floor, clutching at his bleeding leg. A woman was beside him, sobbing uncontrollably. Behind them was a bed, and behind it, two children, both crying and clutching at each other for dear life. He stepped in and opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp pain spread from the back of his head and throughout his body and the floor rushed up to meet him. He was caught by a strong arm sheathed in black and a man shoved him against the wall with enough force to make his teeth crash together. He dropped the guns in a daze and looked up at his attacker.
The man was bald, with cold eyes and a hard lined face. His head reared back and jutted forward, and everything went black.
When he finally came to, he was alone in a gray room with his hands bound and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
He squinted at the figure as its arm rose and stretched out toward him. There was a sliver of silver light coming from a crack in the drapes of his window and it illuminated the matte black finish of a gun. He stared at it long and hard. The figure spoke, it was a man. The words came out distorted, as though the man were speaking underwater. Justin blinked blearily and then rolled to the side as the muted sound of a gunshot sounded in his ears. His pillow had a smoldering hole in it, a feather floated in the air.
Time, as far as he could tell, had slowed. To the man, Justin was a blur of movement in the dark. He had a gun in his hand one second, and the next he was sprawled on the bed, a knee digging into his back. The barrel of his gun was pressed to the back of his head, and another bang split the air. Justin left the dead man there and whirled around as the sound of footsteps stomping down the hall reached his ears. Everything was much louder, and much faster.
A shadow filled the doorway; it cursed, and lifted its arm. He ducked out of the way and charged as the first shot was fired, his own gun letting loose two wild shots. One was lucky enough to graze the attacker's arm, which made him pause to inspect for further damage. Justin was on him in an instant. His free hand caught the man's wrist and slammed it against the doorframe. The gun fell to the floor and he brought his own up to the man's gut and emptied another two bullets into his stomach. The man fell and Justin reached down to retrieve the second gun. He stepped out into the hall and glanced left, then right.
A third man stepped out from the door down the hall, where the sound of children crying could be heard. He shouted something at Justin, who turned, lifted both guns, and then fired. The first shot hit the man in the shoulder, the second in the chest. He dropped to the floor with a yelp of surprise, pain, and then was silent. Justin rushed down the hall and stopped at the door, peeking around the corner into the room.
A man was lying on the floor, clutching at his bleeding leg. A woman was beside him, sobbing uncontrollably. Behind them was a bed, and behind it, two children, both crying and clutching at each other for dear life. He stepped in and opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp pain spread from the back of his head and throughout his body and the floor rushed up to meet him. He was caught by a strong arm sheathed in black and a man shoved him against the wall with enough force to make his teeth crash together. He dropped the guns in a daze and looked up at his attacker.
The man was bald, with cold eyes and a hard lined face. His head reared back and jutted forward, and everything went black.
When he finally came to, he was alone in a gray room with his hands bound and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.