The kitchen was a battlefield. The assassin's world shrank to the small area of space that provided him with safety, and he crouched behind the counter. He watched in horror as the boy moved closer. The sight was unthinkable.
Adam advanced, protected by his fallen comrade's body weight. It was a grotesque strategy, a move that defied all logic because it was so cold and brutally pragmatic. The assassin's professionalism was completely destroyed. All he was was a man up against a monster.
He took the only action that came to mind. He fired. He repeatedly squeezed the trigger, launching a barrage of bullets into the body Adam was using as cover. The bullets thudded pointlessly into the deceased man's flesh and body armor.
Fueled by pure adrenaline, he continued to fire a desperate and frantic barrage. He drained his magazine. His pistol's slide locked back onto an empty chamber. The storm of gunfire was followed by a sudden and deafening silence. It was the sound of his own death.
