Die for You

Chapter 47

It happened like every other time the shit hit the fan in my life, in the blink of an eye. Between one racing heartbeat and the next the red light went out and I was off; rifle in my shoulder tracking the course with my eyes, hunting down the signs that would tell me that something was going to appear in front of me.

As I had told Richie at Armstrong Manor, the key was to balance speed with accuracy to avoid hitting friendlies or missing hostiles. Crossing an invisible line, the first stage materialized with tall, grey "hijacker" targets. I raised the sight to my eye and aimed for the nearest target, firing a burst that hit the kill zone and shattered the plywood. It was crucial to ensure hits on the figure, not just the target, to avoid point loss.

Moving systematically, two more enemies fell to the accurate fire of the HK. Eliminating close targets, I focused on farther ones with the HK's longer barrel. Switching to single shot, I picked off targets with ease. Running and shooting became my rhythm, my focus on the task. It's a combination of speed, reactions, and nerve. It was a skill I rediscovered and silhouettes appeared before me, causing me to fire or pull away. I ran with sure footing, smashing apart the last hostile with a three-shot burst. 

I advanced to the next section where new targets magically appeared. As I dashed around barrels, I had a déjà vu moment and brought up my rifle to fire at a spinning target. It was like the first run at Armstrong Manor when I was shocked into shooting friendlies. But this time, I was better prepared. I aimed past the 'good guy' and went straight for the 'killer'.

This section was more of a challenge, there were more 'friendlies' and more of the 'hostiles' hidden behind cover. I was forced to slow my relentless pace sightly, the adrenaline coursing through my veins causing me to curse under my breath at the delay. I wanted to be sprinting from one place to the next, running and gunning as I did so; but I knew it was useless. Slowly and steadily, I took it, maintaining my accuracy, avoiding those penalties, the penalties that would give James the win. Before I realized it, I'd cleared that arena and was sprinting for the markers again.

The next section I came across was through a wooden frame, already showing the signs of errant rounds. It was obviously designed to be the 'kill house', the close quarter battle training simulator I had thrived on in the CPU. I was on familiar ground, now. It wasn't about pure speed and accuracy, no longer about running and shooting; now it was all about sure footedness and quick reactions; and as I made my way into the opened topped "building", I felt immediately at home.

Five hostiles and three friendly targets later I was hoping that I was on the final stretch. Time meant nothing in here, so focused I was on clearing each of the 'rooms', but I knew from some underlying instinct that I couldn't be far from the end; the previous competitors not taking all that long to complete their runs. As I swung the HK through a doorway, following the arrows on the floor to indicate the direction I needed to go, I faced every soldiers worst nightmare; the hostage situation. 

In slow motion, three targets span around in front of me, two of them were the classic terrorist, the balaclava wearing figure carrying an AK47, six shots later they were both riddled with bullets and I was already drawing down on the last target; the one in the center, the most difficult one to get right... the single sunglasses wearing 'hostile' with a huge mustache and a gun to the head of a child. 

Knowing that every second counted, I lined up the headshot and pulled the trigger, the barrel swinging into place in one smooth movement. As the recoil smashed into my weakening shoulder, I sent the rounds into the head of the attacker, missing the hostage by the tightest of margins. In the real world, I wouldn't be on that kiddies Christmas card list, but in my world, it was better scared and alive than stone cold dead.

As I looked for the next move a bright orange light started flashing and a hooter went off somewhere above me.

"End of round, make safe your weapon." A stentorian voice bellowed out over a concealed speaker, and I hefted the HK and clicked the selector to safe. Breathing heavily at the exertion, I unclipped the C-Mag placing it on the floor and emptying the breech by cocking it three times.