>>5405101Battlefield still glistening with flying piss, you let go of your rifle and let it fall to your chest on its sling. You pivot back on your non dominant foot and draw your knife with the opposite hand. More of a cutlass or machete than a knife, it has more than enough girth to block the incoming blade.
*CLINK!*
A small chunk of your blade chinks off and you falter back a step, not expecting such formidable power from this one.
Without making much commotion at all, you fling the young man's katana back, leaving him open for a perfect counter attack.
You plunge your weapon deep into the offender's chest cavity. Before he can gurgle out blood or a deathcry, another agent of the PBRTF swoops in silently and muffles his lips with a black-gloved hand. A third agent jumps in quietly and disarms the now-punished offender, and in the same movement, jams a second knife in the chest.
Seconds later, the hand is removed from the mouth, no sound ever coming from that portal again.
The incident was a bit of a shake-up, and by the time your nerves are settling, the putrid odor hits you. Your helmet can no longer block out the smell of this place, and you begin feeling the effects of exposure. Instantly, you are woozy and find trouble staying on your own two feet. That punk must have splashed you all over when he pulled that stunt. Direct contact with this substance is the last thing you want to encounter in the line of duty, but sometimes it's unavoidable.
While you were recovering outside, the rest of the task force finishes in a very short amount of time, coming out with their haul in record time. And luckily so, because the police sirens start blaring only a few blocks away.
The haul...
