The snipers, snapping back to their senses, had already started to return fire. Bullet after bullet crossed the void in eerie silence, appearing in front of the gate of Devil's Paradise.
But in that dense hail of bullets, Fatty's leaping, rolling figure was so agile it was almost unreal.
Not a single round could hit him—never mind hit, they couldn't even keep up with his footsteps. It was like he wasn't dodging the bullets; the bullets were dodging him.
On the ground, tiny craters bloomed in an instant, dust exploding outward.
Fatty rolled once, and as he came up into a half crouch, the sniper rifle was already leveled.
The muzzle flared for the third time, another clean headshot. The sniper who was hit took the round through the eye; it blew out through the back of his skull in a bloody hole. He toppled straight off the rooftop of Space City, like a puppet dropped headlong into hell.
Over Hydefield's city skyline, the gunshots were almost inaudible.
