"Hold it right there! Drop the item and walk toward me slowly with your hands on your head—or I'll fire!" Silent barked, with his gun leveled.
The figure clutched the silver case and bolted, but escape routes were already blocked. Cornered, the intruder dropped the briefcase and placed hands behind their head. The crouched silhouette straightened. It took on the shape of a woman.
Astra tightened his stance. "Oh, I see. Let me remind you: we kill women, too. If you think this stunt will work, you picked the wrong enemies." He raised his voice the way people do before they try to sound terrifying.
She flicked her fingers and, with a low laugh, said casually, "I'm Galliard—not 'women.'"
Christan's jaw went hard. "You've got balls, kid. Think telling us your name adds honor to your death? It doesn't. Listen: if you somehow manage to escape—which you won't—there are seven agents waiting outside. Any last words? Make 'em good; I only give one chance."
Galliard chuckled. "Fine—tell the little bastards who sent you that Galliard beat the s—out of you. And they're next."
Silent raised his gun and squeezed the trigger. Galliard vanished.
They all stared. Astra and Silent turned their vision toward Christan where Galliard stood behind her—but before either could move, Galliard slammed into Christan with a brutal, silent strike that sent her head-first into a scatter of chairs and tables. Christan went down hard.
Astra and Silent opened fire. Bullets spanged off metal and concrete—then, as quickly as they'd started, Galliard blinked out of sight again. From somewhere in the room Silent screamed. A shot had caught his leg.
"I don't want to kill you," came Galliard's voice, amused and distant. "So this is the last shot I'll take, okay?"
Another round slammed into Silent's shoulder. He howled. Astra, unnerved, flared light from his body in sweeping arcs, trying to pin her down. He blasted beams in every direction, forcing Galliard to dodge, but then a heavy metal rod slammed into the back of Astra's head. The impact folded him to his knees. He tasted stars, vision bleeding out; Galliard laughed as she struck again, methodically beating him until his world went black.
She walked over to Silent, who crawled away, dragging his wounded leg. Galliard used the rod to snap at his ankle; the bone popped free with a wet, sickening sound. "God, you're pathetic," she sneered. "At least crawl faster, pretty eyes."
Silent gurgled, trying to reach his gun. Galliard stepped onto his back like taking stance on a golf tee, swung, and finished him. His eyes went white; he dropped, motionless.
Galliard tossed the rod aside, picked up the silver case, and turned to Christan—who was rolling back toward consciousness. The woman's grin curled behind her mask. "You sure you want to open your eyes in front of me, kid?" she mocked.
Christan raised a hand weakly. Galliard grabbed a low, four-legged chair, forced a leg down against Christan's trapped hand, and drove pressure until pain cracked through bone—then forced the chair upright so the leg pierced flesh and the scream choked off as Gilliard slams the briefcase and sent her unconscious again.
"Great. Now what do I do with those idiots out there… oh, I got it."
She yanked a missile launcher from a locker, dragged it to the window, and aimed at a uilding across. The missile screamed into the night and struck a random building, exploding in a fireball. Sirens and shouts erupted outside.
As the chaos drew the rest of the agents away, Galliard escaped.
When the smoke cleared, three of the heroes lay broken and bleeding. The silver briefcase was gone. The intruder was gone. And the only evidence left of her presence was a trail of destruction.