I jerked sideways and the shot tore the air apart near my head, a crack so close I could feel the bullet's slipstream. My superior reflexes yanked me sideways, body weaving between obstacles like a machine running pre-coded maneuvers.
But another guard cut me off—submachine gun barking as he erupted from behind a generator. Bullets hammered into my back and shoulders, kinetic jacket soaking the impacts and sending ripples of force crawling over my ribs. It still hurt like hell, each shot a hammerblow in my chest.
"This is a fucking demon!" He shouted in russian.
I didn't stop. Didn't slow. Two rounds into his chest, one into his face. His skull burst backward like rotten fruit under a mallet, fragments of bone and teeth spraying into the night.
