Franz’s POV (continued)
A shadow crossed the hallway. Heavy boots. Measured steps. Franz watched the angle—judged the distance between breath and trigger.
He spun out from behind the pillar like a whip of muscle and smoke.
The first man raised his rifle.
The bullet hit just above the brow. A mist of pink sprayed against the wall.
Franz didn’t stop moving.
He closed the distance to the last guard, sprinting low.
The man flinched, raised his sidearm—
Franz slid under the arm, caught the wrist mid-motion, and slammed his elbow up—
The wrist broke backward with a sound like snapping branches.
Franz twisted, grabbed the dropped pistol in mid-air, and shoved it up under the man’s chin.
The top of his skull burst like an overripe fruit. Blood and bone sprayed upward, splashing the ceiling.
Just the hiss of smoke from the barrel.
Franz exhaled. Stepped back.
Franz rolled his shoulder, not feeling, the stinging graze across his ribs.
Then he crotched down taking the gun from dead.
The second floor wasn’t as empty as he hoped.
His back slammed against the corner wall, marble cold and rough. Blood stained the edge from the last kill. he took out the gun
checked the mag—two shots left.
Franz spun around, pressed flat.
A shadow passed the corner.
The guard moved cautiously, rifle raised, footfalls precise. Franz took a breath, leaned out just a fraction, then—
He fired into the man’s thigh. A clean sidestep, then a pivot.
The guard howled, staggered.
The second shot slammed into his head.
Skull burst back against the wall like a melon. Blood and brain smeared across white marble. The body dropped in a heap.
He crouched beside him, yanked the weapon from his hands. Checked the ammo. Half-full.
He shot the corpse again.
Swapped the mag with one he’d taken earlier. Kept moving.
Another corridor. Another shadow.
This one didn’t give him a chance to aim. Franz ducked just as a bullet scraped the wall beside his face.
[Arcadia: You sure your skull isn’t magnetic or something?]
He breathed heavily—fatigued. His side was still bleeding from a graze earlier
"Shut the fuck up, useless fucks," Franz muttered, slamming into cover.
He peeked again, eyes narrowing. Two more guards.
He stepped out low—fast.
The first one dropped with a clean shot to the chest.
Franz ducked. The bullet grazed his jacket.
The first guard dropped before he even saw it coming. Blood misted across the wall behind him. The rifle clattered.
The second man flinched, drawing his pistol, but Franz was already close—too close.
He crashed into him, knocking him and the shot wide.
Both tumbled. The gun slid across the floor.
Franz was first to his feet.
But then the wall moved.
A new figure stepped out—A bear of a man.
At least a head taller than Franz. Arms like tree trunks beneath a tight black suit. Neck thick, jaw like a cinderblock. Face expressionless, like violence was simply part of his routine.
Franz turned, gunless now. His knife was somewhere far behind.
Franz sidestepped. Barely.
The man’s punch slammed into the wall—marble cracked. Debris exploded.
Franz countered—two fast jabs to the ribs, a low kick to the shin. Fast. Precise.
The mountain spun, swinging a backhand like a freight train.
Franz ducked—just barely—then grabbed the arm, rolled over the giant’s back, landed on the other side.
The man turned faster than expected.
Franz took a hit to the shoulder—blunt and heavy like a mallet. His body hit the bookshelf hard.
He grunted—more from the impact than the pain. He still couldn’t feel anything.
He rolled right, grabbed a fallen pistol from a nearby corpse.
The mountain reached him. Grabbed him by the collar, lifted him off the ground, shoved him against the wall.
The man roared, fists pounding like clubs.
Franz twisted. Slid through one strike. Grabbed the man’s collar. Slammed a forehead into his nose.
Franz stepped in close and delivered a brutal headbutt to the nose.
The man recoiled—His eyes watered. He blinked furiously, off-balance—but didn’t go down. Blood poured from his face, but he roared and swung a wild backfist that clipped Franz’s cheek.
"Okay," Franz muttered. "New approach."
The man grabbed him by the neck Trying to strangle the life out of him. Franz’s feet kicked off the floor.
Franz’s hand clawed backward.
Fingers closed around something on the shelf.
First a quick knee to the groin then—
With a growl, he slammed the pencil into the man’s ear—right side, deep.
The giant’s scream tore the air.
Franz twisted the pencil.
The mountain staggered, tried to punch—
Franz ducked, slid behind him, grabbed his belt and collar, and yanked him backward with a brutal takedown.
The man hit the floor hard.
Franz dropped to one knee, mounted him, and slammed the pencil in deeper.
Blood erupted from the ear.
Franz landed hard, rolled, grabbed another fallen pistol, and fired behind him without looking.
This time it was not empty.
The second guard— crawled for his weapon still effected with impact about to pull the trigger—jerked once, then stilled. Red pooled beneath his cheek.
[I guess we’ll never know.]
Chest rising and falling. Sweat mixing with blood. Cuts across his forearms. Shirt torn, bruised body
His breath fogged in the air.
[System Notice: Remaining Balance – 1 Life]