Ghost - An Avengers Fanfiction

Chapter 3

I'm sorry for the short chapter. I'm not great at writing action sequences, but I'm hoping that this story will help me get better at writing them. I'm open to any tips or criticism that will help me become a better writer! Thanks :) 

-Ruby.

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SMASH

Nobody moved. Clint held his breath. The only sound came from the rain that was pattering against the window.

 Larson was the first to move. He rushed forward, eager to make up for his clumsiness. His arm shot out and he grabbed the collar of the Ghost Thief’s jacket. This snapped the Thief out of his frozen stance. In the blink of an eye, the Thief had spun around, breaking Larson’s grip on the leather jacket. A strategically placed elbow to the nose left Larson howling in pain as blood spurted from his face, the liquid looking black in the shadows as it sprayed into the air. Before Larson could move away, the Thief ducked down and swept Larson’s legs out from underneath him. The young agent hit the ground with a loud thud and lay there groaning in pain, his hands cradling his bloody face. This spurred the other two agents into action. They were both more experienced agents, and knew better than to try and tackle the Thief individually. Larson was proof that this method would not work. The first agent, a tall, muscly man called Hartwig, jumped over the couch and aimed a kick at the Thief’s head. The Thief blocked and countered with a jab to Hartwig’s ribs, which he managed to just dodge. Before the Thief could strike again, the second agent, a lean, agile man called Jones, leapt over and put the Thief in a head lock. The Thief froze in shock but a sudden punch to the stomach from Agent Hartwig made the Thief struggle. Jones tightened his hold on the Thief and Hartwig sank several punches into the Thief’s gut. The Thief stopped struggling and sagged in Jones’s grip. Both agents paused, and when the Thief didn’t move, they relaxed. Clint watched all of this through the mirror above the bar, not wanting to reveal himself just yet. Something about the Thief’s sudden surrender made him suspicious. And rightfully so.

 The Thief jerked back suddenly, the back of his head hitting Jones in the face and stunning the agent. The Thief jumped up in Jones’s arms, letting the stunned agent take their weight while using both feet to kick Agent Hartwig in the chest. Hartwig fell backwards and smashed through the glass coffee table. The Thief used the momentum from the kick to flip Jones over onto his back and sent a heavy steel cap boot to his stomach, before kneeling down and grabbing a fistful of his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. The Thief pushed Jones back down to the floor suddenly, his head hitting the ground with a resounding thud, knocking Jones out cold. The Thief stood but was knocked down again by Hartwig. They both struggled, thrashing and rolling around the ground, Hartwig sending wild punches that occasionally hit the target, and the Thief striking with more calculated precision. The Thief managed to straddle Hartwig and struck him across the face, knocking him unconscious. The Thief stood slowly, calmly looking around at the destruction and unconscious bodies in the penthouse. A quiet click, barely louder than the rain that was pelting on the window, made the Thief turn quickly toward the bar. Clint was standing there, the expression on his face as cold as the metal of the gun that was aimed straight at the Thief’s head.