A Simple Train Ride - Part 2

The bullets stopped for a moment and John took the opportunity to catch his breath.

John laid there, breathing hard, the smell of gunpowder burning his nose. Across from him, the woman who had literally been seconds away from killing him.

Perfect, he thought, Thrown headfirst into another goddamn death fight and this time, my dance partner is the assassin who still has murder in her eyes.

"You just had to show up! Why now?" John hissed.

"I told you why," she snapped back.

John risked a quick glance up.

The helicopter was still there.

The machine gunner was still there reloading everything. This was his small window of time and he wasn’t going to wait to see if he’ll get another.

"Alright," said John, "I've got a plan—"

Buzz!

Something fired in his skull. His body moved before he could think, reaching out for something he caught in the corner of his eye.

On instinct, he twisted, grabbing Mango’s wrist mid-swing.

The blade she had hidden glinted under the cheap train lights—an inch from his throat.

<<<>>>

[Talent: Underworld Legacy already activated]

[Anticipation of betrayal detected]

[Status: High alert]

[Automatic measures in effect]

<<<>>>

"Are you out of your mind?" John barked, wrestling the dagger from her hand.If it hadn’t been for his FOCUS not trusting her, he didn’t know if he would’ve reacted in time.

"You are still my target!" Mango shouted, struggling against him. "That hasn't changed!"

"You insane woman—" John ducked as another bullet ricocheted through the window. "Do you not see the helicopter trying to murder us?!”

“Not us, just you!”

“FOCUS: Activate Skill Three!”

<<<>>>

[Accessing Spy Skills]

[Skill Three: Combat. Level 1]

[Activating…]

<<<>>>

The system responded instantly. A burst of clarity, adrenaline, and calculation firing through his muscles.

Mango’s eyes widened. “FOCUS? Y-you have one too?!”

“Yeah, I went through a bit of an upgrade. Thanks to you, actually.”

Before she could process that, the back door to their compartment slammed open. A big guy stomped in, decked out in a black Adidas tracksuit, a cheap 9mm dangling from his fist. Looked more like a street enforcer than a professional hitman.

The gun came up right at John’s face. For one awful second, John knew he couldn't dodge. He was pinned under Mango. No room to roll. No chance to duck. No options. Plus he was lying on the ground. Even if he missed, it would be hard to fire a second time an inch away.

“Say goodnight, motherfucker,” the thug said with a smile.

SHINK!

In a blinding silver flash, the thug titled his head back and stumbled.

The thug dropped instantly, a knife buried dead-center between his eyebrows.

Mango had her arm extended aimed directly where he was standing

"If anyone's gonna kill him, it’s gonna be me!" she shouted.

John jumped on the opportunity. He shoved the collapsing body aside, scrambled up, and sprinted out the door.

"Hey!" Mango roared behind him. "Get back here!"

John prayed she wouldn’t be on her feet fast but he was wrong. She was quick to recover. He heard her boots hammering the floor as she took off after him.

John took stock of the situation in his mind. He needed to know what he was dealing with. Needed to get bearings.

<<<>>>

[Enemies Identified]

[Helicopter above. Status: reloading. Equipped with a submachine gun. Two hostiles: pilot and gun operator]

[Hostile chasing from behind. Identification: Mango. Thief / Assassin previously thought deceased]

[Agent Hawk for backup not found]

[Thug identified. Status: deceased. Talent: Underworld Legacy commencing…]

[Estimated at least 15 other hostels]

<<<>>>

That’s not helping! thought John.

<<<>>>

[Suggestion: Abandon Mission]

<<<>>>

How do I do that?

<<<>>>

[...]

[...]

[Leave the area?]

<<<>>>

You don’t know?!

<<<>>>

[I am limited only by the information I’m given]

[Right now, all calculations say that you will die]

<<<>>>

Son of a…

John burst through the next train car, his dress shoes clanking hard on the ground.

It was a dinner cart and families were eating. There was a small bar off to the side. They all were stunned to see John come in so manic and sweaty.

John looked back at them awkwardly and then changed his pace to a quick walk.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Mango was right behind him, firing her gun into the ceiling. Families screamed. Plates crashed. Someone dropped a baby bottle.

Bang! Bang!

She was firing at him now! Her accuracy with a gun wasn’t as good as it was with a knife. Still too close for comfort. He could feel the ripples of wind tear through the air.

“Everybody down!” John shouted, ducking, weaving, barely dodging Mango's shots.

"You won’t get away from me!" Mango roared.

<<<>>>

[Note: You skill, Combat, has been activated]

[Your talent, Underworld Legacy, has been activated]

[You are currently running away]

[This is not the optimal use for either of these abilities]

<<<>>>

Shut up, thought John. Stop talking to me in my own brain. I’m trying to think!

<<<>>>

[I am not preventing you from thinking]

<<<>>>

Shut up! John barked again, vaulting over a fallen stroller.

Mango’s gun clicked dry. John looked over to see. Mango was still chasing him. Without missing a beat, she hurled it straight at him like a missile. She then pulled a knife and chucked it at him.

BUZZ!

John’s instincts fired. His body snapped sideways, hand grabbing a dinner plate off the nearest table and CLANG!—blocked it just in time. He swatted it out of the air with ease as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

Mango’s face twisted in frustration. She walked toward him like a lioness hunts her prey.

"I see you’ve improved," she hissed. "Guess you really do have a FOCUS now. Doesn’t matter, you haven’t had it very long."

She grabbed handfuls of silverware from a nearby table and started chucking them with deadly precision.

Spoons. Forks. Knives. All flying like tiny missiles.

<<<>>>

[Combat Skill active]

[Now activating]

[Overriding hand-Eye coordination]

<<<>>>

His body moved faster than normal. Reflexes sharp. Reaction time blazing. Not quite slow-motion. More like instead of moving at normal 1x speed, it was at .8x.

He swatted each projectile away with the plate, side-stepping and ducking through chaos.

“Will you calm down?!” John shouted, “We’re both about to die, you psycho!”

“I’m not going to get distracted from this again!” Mango screamed. " And I’m not psycho!"

John gritted his teeth. He grabbed more plates like a frisbee and hurled them at her.

THWACK!

It smacked Mango dead in the chest, knocking her flat with a heavy THUD.

John sprinted to the end of the car.

He shoved open the next door and went into the connecting medium. Just as he reached to open the next door.

Smash!

A knife shattered the glass past his ear.

He skidded to a stop, turning just enough to see her still coming. Mango rising like a demon out of hell. Not even slowed down.

Tough broad, John thought grimly. Real tough.

He needed to lose her.

Now.

He yanked open the door leading outside the train onto the narrow side platform.

The wind hit him like a wall. He had to brace himself to prevent him from falling off.

He looked around but here was no helicopter in sight.

Perfect time to lose a would be ex. No matter how good she looked in those jeans.

John grabbed the side rail and hauled himself outside, shimmying along the exterior of the train as it thundered over the tracks.

The ground blurred below him. It was a bunch of grass and rocks whipping past at blinding speed. One slip and he'd be paste.

The newer trains moved faster than old models. No handholds. No safety lines. Just bare steel and rushing death.

The wind battered him. His face stung. Tiny insects slammed into his skin like shotgun pellets.

If a branch hit him or a big rock he’d be possibly ripped in half. He gritted his teeth, inching forward.

What am I doing? What am I doing? his mind screamed.

A knife whizzed past his hand, so close it split the air.

He twisted his neck and saw Mango shimmying right behind him. Her top was torn and she had a wild look on her face.

Oh yeah, I’m running for my life, he thought.

She was fearless. Relentless. It would be attractive if she wasn’t coming after him.

"You think you can get away that easy?!" she screamed over the roar.

"I can’t hear you, I’m on the side of the train!" John shouted back. She pulled out another glint of silver.

"I told you," she screamed. "I’m going to kill you!"

John kept shimmying, heart banging against his ribs, knowing one thing for sure:

If he didn’t think of something fast, this crazy woman was gonna finish what she started.

John clung to the side of the train, knuckles white, body screaming.

"I saved your life!" he shouted back at Mango over the roar of the wind. "He would've shot both of us!"

"That was a coincidence!" Mango screamed, hurling another knife.

John couldn't let go of the train to block it, not without getting killed, so he did the only thing he could: he kicked up his foot hard, knocking the blade off its deadly course.

Not perfect, but it worked once. He couldn’t keep it up, so he just had to start blocking with the side of his arm. Mango pulled out another handful of throwing knives, the glint of steel flashing in her hands.

John’s stomach dropped.

I can’t block that many.

He shimmed faster, scrambling toward the gap where the cars linked. Desperate.

Mango threw more. One, two—

The first missed.

The second slammed straight into his side.

"AHH—!" John gasped, feeling the blade pierce through his ribs.

It wasn’t deep, thank God for the bulletproof suit. However, the pain was white-hot and sharp, sending a shudder through his entire body.

"Remind you of something?!" Mango shrieked, wild-eyed.

"Fuck you!" John roared back.

He yanked the blade free, teeth gritted against the pain, blood darkening his suit.

Then he looked up and his heart stopped. Ahead of them, the train was barreling straight toward a patch of dense forest.

Thick branches. Low-hanging limbs. But worse than that-

A stone house.

Old. Abandoned. Built too close to the tracks back in the railroad boom days.

Solid stone. Zero forgiveness.

If he didn’t move fast, he was about to become roadkill. Well technically, house kill but he wasn’t about to be picky about the name.

He glanced back at Mango.

"Something’s about to knock us off! You gotta move!" he yelled.

"Shut up!" she screamed, pulling out another knife.

Pointless, John thought bitterly. She's not going to listen.

No time.

He shimmed faster, ignoring the knives Mango hurled at him. One lucky shot to the head or hand, and it was game over. The house loomed closer.

Hundred yards.

Fifty.

His hands were slipping. Blood and sweat slicking his grip. Every muscle screamed.

Move. Move. MOVE!

"You’re not getting away!" Mango screeched.

Twenty yards.

Ten.

At the last second, John swung his body sideways and dove between the cars just as the stone house whooshed past in a violent gust.

He hit the passageway floor hard, rolled once, twice, slamming into the far wall. His ribs screamed in protest, but he caught a handle just before rolling right off the opposite side of the train. Panting, he yanked himself fully back inside and slammed the door behind him.

He wiped sweat from his forehead, heart pounding. No sign of Mango. He wasn’t about to hang around and check if she made it.

Gotta keep moving, he thought.

John stumbled into the next car, heading deeper toward the back of the train. His mind raced to find cover, find help, find anything.

He climbed into the next passenger car and froze.

His heart went up into his throat.

At the far end of the train car stood a group of men.

Tracksuits. Hard faces. All armed.

Gangsters. They must be the rest of the gang that had followed the guy from before.

Between them and him were civilians. Families. Kids. Travelers caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

John raised his hands slowly.

"Don’t—"

Too late.

Before he could say anything, the thugs reached into their jackets and pulled out their weapons. Gunfire erupted instantly.

John dove sideways, crashing under an empty booth just as bullets shredded the seats above him. The screams of children and parents filled the car.

The cushions exploded and shrapnel flew.

John finally drew his pistol the first time he’d even had in a long time. He had a sudden flashback to when he was running errands for his own family and adrenaline ripping through him. The memories. The things he tried to forget.

Then new gunshots.

Louder. Sharper.

Not aimed at him but he could hear them flying. They were yelling at someone.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The gangsters turned, shouting.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The thugs started dropping, their bodies falling hard to the floor.

John stayed crouched, weapon ready.

The train car filled with panicked screams as civilians bolted toward the front, away from the gunfire.

What the hell—?

Then he felt it.

The cold steel barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his skull.

"Don’t fucking move," a voice growled.

John dropped his weapon immediately, hands up.

Damnit, he thought, Even with FOCUS, there was no clean counter when you’re blindsided cold.

Slowly, carefully, John turned his head.

Standing there, gun raised, was a red-haired man with green eyes and a stone cold face.

Agent Hawk.

"You finally show up," Hawk muttered, shaking his head. "Been lookin’ all over for you."

John grabbed his weapon off the floor, stood up fast, absolutely livid.

"Where the hell have you been?!" John barked. "I’ve almost died like a million times already!"

Hawk shrugged, casually.

"Yeah, well..." he said, glancing around the wreckage. "I’ve been a little busy, obviously. And how about a thank you for saving your ass?"