Broken Masks

Chapter 8 - Realisation

(A/N: K. Imma make Saturday my chapter-uploading day, so every week you can tune in like on one of those weird tv show things!!!)

Dexter Avenue was havoc. Blockages were placed at both ends on the street, police officers were desperately trying help get civilians out the avenue, swat teams tried to round up any members of the Wolf Heads they could find.

Machiavellian stood at the window of Aston Bank, a pair of earbuds in to block out the sounds of the terrified hostages behind him.

Out of the 16 people captured by the Wolf Heads, he knew four of them.

Obviously, they didn't recognise him because he was behind a mask, but he still felt the guilt in what he was doing.

He hated it.

Machiavellian closed his eyes, nodding his head lightly to the soft piano music playing in his ears, trying to distract himself from the scene behind him.

Then, he heard something. The shouting of the Wolf Head gang members. Quickly, Machiavellian took out his earbuds to turn to look around the room. The voices had gone silent.

Suddenly, the window behind Machiavellian smashed in, broken glass raining down on him as none other then The Red Hawk crashed down behind him, seized the assassin around the waist, and flew out the window.

The Red Hawk threw Machiavellian to the street, the force creating a dent in the paving.

But the assassin's armour held strong to the force and he stood up again. He positioned his fists close to his chest, his stance ready for battle. It was time to fight.

The Red Hawk landed in front of him. Machiavellian waisted no time in delivering the first punch straight to The Red Hawk's face. The man was sent staggering from the force behind it.

You wanna fight? Let's do this.

The Red Hawk ran foreword, his fist drawn back. Machiavellian blocked the first punch, ducking down and delivering a kick to the other's side. He wasn't quick enough to block the second punch that sent him tumbling to the ground. He rolled, quickly getting up again and throwing himself back into the fight.

The Red Hawk's blows kept coming at Machiavellian, who could almost feel how big The Red Hawk's advantage was. But he could also tell the hero was holding back slightly. His chest was starting to ache from how many times he had been hit, and there was a cut on his forehead that was leaking blood into his eye, blurring his vision with red.

Machiavellian kept trying to block The Red Hawk's attack's, shoving the hero back as much as possible, throwing elbows, knees and fists where he could, but barely any of them touched the other man. He managed to punch his opponent in the jaw with all his might, the other staggering to the side. Machiavellian took his opportunity and delivered a harsh roundhouse kick to The Red Hawk's ribs, and the other suddenly collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain as he clutched his side.

Machiavellian was confused. That reaction could have only happened if he had...

Cracked his ribs.

Machiavellian quickly removed his shocked look as the hero looked up at him, fury in his eyes.

"I'll finish you next time, scum." The Red Hawk growled, spitting blood at the assassins feet. Machiavellian grinned as well as he could with the pain he was in.

"I'm sure you will at least try." And he turned and sprinted. But instead of leaving entirely, he accented the nearest building. He watched from the rooftop as Lena, who had been helping with the evacuation, approached The Red Hawk, the latter offering a salute before reaching up and taking off his mask.

No.

It couldn't be.

TJ