Ice In My Veins Pt 2

There were people clothed in black, mourning. “They should celebrate it, such a heroic ending,” I think to myself. I tear my mind away from the ending of my fellow officer, but it seems to be coming back to haunt me every day since it happened. The day he looked death in the eye and met it, accepting it. But not without a fight. I was his junior and his apprentice. Prior to the showdown, he had appointed me to a particular apartment in which there was a certain individual who had aroused suspicion in my fellow’s excellent senses. I had to trust him because he was hardly wrong. At the time of executing the criminal, I had managed to sneak into the apartment at a later part of the night, when I knew the criminal would be sleeping, according to some pattern analysis, and there I waited for the guy to make a single bad move. What went wrong then, you might ask. Peter, for once, put his guard down and so led me to back up from my target, whom I was aiming at continuously for the past half hour,r from a gap through the cupboard. When he assumed the criminal, outside of the apartment in the parking, not to be guilty I wavered and let my gun down, and just in a little more than five seconds, some nasty events unfolded,d and three men died. One hero, two villains. I kill the criminal in front of me, a split second too late, for he shoots Peter right in the chest. Peter kills the beady-eyed criminal, shooting him twice. We both complete our jobs. Now you would wonder if the story goes on, well, yes, it does. So a few days ago, I looked up the files, and it turns out the guys we were after were part of a gang. A narcotics gang based in New Mexico, probably stemming from parts of South America. Hence, I am inside mystandard-issuee Ford Explorer heading for the pinpoint location. My man in the chair, Darry, has devised a full plan for my fellow officer and me. We’ve gone over the plan dozens of times and have performed it in the field. Espionage has gathered the intel that we need, and now all that awaits is for two of us big boys to step onto the battlefield and finish the job. The sun is starting to set, and the shadows are starting to get stretched when we are within sight of our site. It was a big building with sand colored paint and illustrious paintings, seemingly inspired by the favelas of brazil I thought. Huge light blue and yellow-tinted windows reflected the gleaming sunlight onto our eyes, and we were compelled to put on our sunglasses. We advanced towards the gate,e and to no one’s surprise, it was heavily guarded. No wonder, because this was their empire’s stronghold. Proceeding with the plan, we took the route that led to a back window of the kitchen of this base. It was usually left open because of frequent use to let out smoke from cooking. Approaching the kitchen window, we crouched under it. “Hey, boss says we’re expecting guests tonight.” “Which guest do you mean, my man?” Ya know.” He might’ve made a gesture, but we were unable to see. We now know they might know of our arrival somehow. We wait there for some time till we can no longer hear their voices, and then try the window, it’s unlocked, and we climb in. its dark inside, and there is a smell of many foods and spices. I resist the urge to cough. Wetiptoee in our boots to the door and open it ever so slightly, and I peer in. Four men are having a drink and are apparently watching TV. I gesture to my fellow to toss it in. He unpins it and, after a second,d throws it in. Shouts of alarm are heard,d and within seconds, the room fills with smoke;, that’s our green light. “Unleash hell!”, spontaneously both of us press on the triggers of our automatic rifles, and there is heard for many a miles the thunderous roar of the rifles, and birds flee from confusion. Unable to confirm the kills we don’t waste any more time and climb up the ceiling and break through the roof, fo rwe know in the next moments the room will flood with mercenaries. Thankfully, the research proves useful,l and the roof is actually a weak wood, and we drill a hole into it with our tool. We open the attic door to reveal the ink-blue dusk sky ahead of us and make a break for our vehicle. Running on the dunes, I discover something new: our car is missing. We are standing like a little speck in the giant desert, and our followers are catching up to us, as I can hear their cries. I hear them circling round like a pack of hyenas circling a lion. I grip my assault rifle and rest it against my shoulder. I go to a prone position and take aim, while Jack is off into hysterics, uttering nonsensical words. Hearing their footsteps, I take the pin of my grenade. This was supposed to be my last resort, sort of like a fallback if things don’t go to plan. “Pity it's come to this,” I think, and jumping up, I toss it to the mercenary’s feet. With my cold-blooded hands, I release fire. I shoot down two more of them; there are three incoming. They shoot at me and hit me in the leg, but I am able to shoot precisely at their bodies and deal greater damage. In doing so, I look back and find myself a whole new threat, a thug with a silver dagger approaches me and takes me on. After struggling to break free of his grasp, desperate for breath, I break into a run. I count the seconds before I get shot down. “10..12..17” I glance back, there’s no one. With flailing steps, I collapse to the ground and wait for something, but nothing happens, and I am left staring at the dark sky, and I now find that it is raining, and so I wonder if it always rains when a hero is about to fall.