SCENT

June - The Breathless (7)

"Max kicked the door open, sending it flying ten feet inside and we rushed into the building, right into the storm of bullets coming from all sides. Hot lead poured from cold steel like it was lifeblood spilling from open veins, the supersonic metal passing our heads by the hair's breath as the gangsters unleashed the firepower of the entire battle at Gettysburg just to drive us into cover. From the opposite side of the hall, the dark-clad, inexorable vigilante unleashed burst after burst of detonating death, the high-explosive shotgun shells shattering the cover and splattering the mobsters in a rain of gore like ripe watermelons. Caught in a lethal crossfire from both sides, we raised our trusty guns to our shoulders and-"

"Cuthbert, if you don't shut up this instant I swear I'll shoot you myself."

A grave silence confirmed the rest of the team shared the sentiment.

"Sorry," the gunslinger superhero muttered. There was genuine remorse in his voice, somewhere deep beneath apprehension.

"You're only making me more jumpy."

I realised that he was trying to lift the tension, but it wasn't working. If anything, thinking about a firefight made me want to turn and flee. Run for the hills or jump into the nearest cover and curl into a ball. Didn't matter. Just get the hell out of here.

As though the smell of our collective fear wasn't bad enough. We were all tense, ready to spring into action at the first loud noise. Anxiety and suspense hung in the air like a cloud, driving the lower parts of our brains mad.

Six people with loaded guns working each other up into panic. A recipe for a disaster.

"God, just listen to it," Max said quietly.

The worst thing about Cuthbert's crappy narration was – it was accurate.

The warehouse resounded with gunfire. The snappy pistol shots, the deep bass of assault rifles, the booming shotguns – judging by our ears, there was a regular battle inside. All sides had brought all the firepower they could muster and now they unleashed it with no restraint. Well, at least the mob and Kowalski did. I couldn't imagine the SWAT going trigger-happy.

Thank God we weren't there.

The moment we'd located the explosions, practically all SWAT teams in the city were deployed to suppress the fight. That included the e-SWAT, brought in to take Kowalski down. It still wasn't enough.

The cordon around the building was manned by hastily-armed officers, drawn from the riot squads or straight from the streets. Naturally, we were drawn in as well. It was our case, and the commissioner wanted all Empowered officers on the spot. That, or he'd sent us in because we were already armed and geared.

Fortunately, no one wanted detectives in a major fire-fight. Cuthbert had volunteered, naturally, but SWAT wouldn't hear about a 'civilian' in the operation. In the end we were sent to guard this spot: A rear wall with a bunch of windows on the first floor. It held some importance since it was close to a parking lot. In practice, we couldn't be further from the action.

None of us would complain, but didn't make us any less anxious. Our minds clung to Murphy's Law for some weird reason. The danger was minimal, yet it was the only thing we could think about. What if the fight spilled onto us? What if someone chose this avenue of escape? There was a one-in-a-hundred chance, at best, but we couldn't see the other ninety-nine. Only the darkest scenarios.

It was the wait, I knew. Things always rolled once I was in the thick of action, one way or the other. Like in our last fight with Breathless. Everything had gone so fast we didn't have time to get scared. Today we stood watch in the back, listening to the gunfire and waiting for the worst. It was still better that taking a stroll in the bullet drizzle, but the suspense was eating us alive.