Miles Johnson
excerpt:
10,000 thoughts tried to edge their way into the foreground of Miles Johnson's mind, but were kept at the periphery by one single, overriding purpose: 'safety'. "Safety is a funny word. It's usually referenced when discussing rescuing people alive, or when discussing keeping someone from harm or injury." Thoughts like this swirled somewhere in the supressed consciousness of his mind. Tonight, safety meant more - it meant something akin to refuge or comfort.
Creeping around a corner on silent feet, a figure came into view. Miles noticed the dulled reflection of the ambient light on the muzzle of the shotgun pointed roughly in his direction, and his tendons flexed in his right hand. At the same time, his left hand reached across the frame of the weapon, making a backstop and basket for the soon-to-be expelled cartridge. The pistol actuated in Miles' right hand, while his left hand gripped the hot brass before it could drop to the floor, alerting others of his presence.
The figure collapsed in a heap, and Miles pulled the trigger one more time, aiming this time for the base of the skull, sighting for both the medulla oblongata and the cerebellum through the nose of the man on the ground. Accounting for the 2 spent rounds, Miles slipped the cartridges into the pocket of his tux jacket, and silently stepped over the corpse. Checking the hallway intersection for more threats, he briefly glanced behind him to make sure the others had remained down.
Proceeding around the corner, Miles could see light from under the double oak doors leading to an office, according to the fire escape route map. He knew this was the most likely place to find his targets. As he prepared to enter the room, a voice from behind it called out
"Please, agent - come on in. Your bourbon is getting warm."
Miles opened the door, pistol raised. The sight before him was...uncomfortable. He prepared mentally for this and many other possible situations, but seeing is more than imagining. There, naked, bound, and gagged in the center of the large area rug was his younger sister, Caroline. Standing above her was a handsome man in his late 40s, pressing the barrel of a pistol to the back of her head. The man's expression was cold, even though he wore a grin. He was dressed in an upscale woolen dark suit, and carried his weight like a soldier. Miles instantly recognized the face from the briefing documents.
"Peters." Miles said. Gabriel Peters went rogue from the CIA a little over 6 months ago. He was officially presumed dead, though no one really believed that.
"Took you long enough." Peters responded. "We've been getting anxious here."
With a gesture, the door on the other side of the room opened, and 4 men carrying battle rifles entered. Miles glanced quickly at them, while maintaining attention on Peters. These additional guards were not unexpected, but still complicated things.
"Your whore of a sister has been taunting us with her pert little ass." Peters said lustfully.
Miles knew this was a ploy to get him riled up. It was working. Swallowing the rising anger, Miles simply said "You have one chance, and once chance only to let her go."
Peters scoffed and shook his head slowly. "You know, Miles - I thought you were different. I thought you were past the futile and inane ego-driven posturing that so often grips men."
The men who entered the room were now stationary, arrayed across the room at angles which granted them perfect sight lines to Miles and the open office door.
"You can't mean those threats, Miles. Not really, anyway. You're outgunned, and you can't get us all before both you and this slut are dead." Peters shoved Caroline's head forward with an acrid tone as he spoke the last.
"Your only hope of getting out of here alive is her unconditional release, Peters. Your friends might get me in a firefight, but not before I put a new hole in your head. You die first, you understand?" Miles said calmly.
"Well, it appears we are at an impasse." Peters sighed. "I was hoping you were different, but I guess I'll get her ass after you're dead, instead of offering it to you, first. It's a shame - all you had to do was take her one time with me watching, but now she'll be raped to death. Not beaten to death while she's raped... not choked to death... "He paused, then smirked before continuing.
"I was going to tell you that she will be raped dry in every hole until she dies from having her skin worn away and her bleeding out, but we both know she will be wet... either with her own pleasure or with her blood. Maybe her heart will give out from her orgasms first. Who knows? I guess we'll see... for science, of course."
Peters shifted his weight slightly, then said "Good bye, Miles Johns..."
Miles knew what was coming, and had pulled the trigger before the final syllables were spoken. He felt the motion of the pistol's slide coming forward and he aimed the pistol at the target nearest the muzzle's direction before pulling the trigger again. He was already moving across the room towards cover when he heard the first shots from the riflemen ring out. Aiming again, Miles pulled the trigger a third time, and one more assailant was down before Peters' hand came to rest, the index finger of the right hand still interlaced in the trigger guard of the pistol he was holding. The desk drawers behind which he hid was full of papers, providing Miles enough time to perform a battle reload to top off the round count in the weapon.
Miles' keen senses were assisted by the wearable tech on his wrist, showing a top-down view of where the assailants were in relation to him. One was making an end-run around the desk, while the other was keeping him pinned down with automatic fire. Miles' gamble worked, he had expected that the riflemen were not interested in killing Caroline, but would be focused on him, instead. Watching the movement and synchronizing with the footsteps, Miles traced the trajectory, and pulled the trigger as the muzzle of his pistol cleared the desk drawer. In his rush to get around the desk, this rifleman showed his inexperience, and was exactly where Miles intended him to be. The bullet found its mark, and another followed swiftly, entering the left ear of the falling corpse and exploding the right side of its head.
By now, the last assailant was frantically trying to change magazines to continue his assault on Miles' position. A smile crossed Miles' face as he heard the tell-tale sound of an improperly inserted magazine, and the impatiently released charging handle of the M4 the Rifleman carried. Miles knew that there was now a jammed cartridge in the chamber, so took this opportunity to swing to his left, around the desk and took quick aim at center mass of the last remaining gunman. The projectile entered the chest of the man between 2 ribs and ruptured the right aorta. The kinetic energy of the bullet transferred to the soft tissue as the hollowed tip expanded, causing a large wound cavity. The man's mind overloaded from the increased hydrostatic pressure, and he began to drop, unconscious. A second bullet intersected the falling body in the left nasal cavity, shredding bone and brain. The last threat to Miles was dead before his body finished falling.
Miles stood and walked over to the floor where Peters' body lay. Paying little attention to the shocked and sobbing girl next to him, Miles kicked the pistol out of the dead man's hand. Having made the room safe, he then turned to his sister and began to unbind her.
