Killshot Apocalypse 4

Trace Taylor crouched in the lobby of The Evergreen Gun Range, her back against the wall, a thin slit of windowpane right above her head. She saw broken glass strewn across the front door. Someone who clearly didn’t understand the meaning of the word inconspicuous had smashed his way in and was now monologuing to himself in the firing room as he made wide and sweeping gestures.

“And yet, this placid place may suit my needs.” There was a pause. Trace peeked through the crack of the door, seeing the dark figure incline his head and place a hand on his chin. “Do you surmise the same, RQ-3-3?” His voice was almost rhythmic; it seemed to jump and leap from one word to another, hopping over a metre with each syllable. Unstressed, stressed. Unstressed, stressed. Repeat.

RQ-33? That had to be his AI. So, he wasn’t just giving a speech to himself. The realisation made Trace furrow her brows. Wait, is that what I sound like when I’m talking to you all alone, Ex?

[Affirmative.]

She scowled. That was a rhetorical question.

The man— the intruder— shuttled across the tufted carpet, his footsteps softly muffled as he beheld the targets at the back wall. “These shadows plague my sight, come lambent light.” Specks and motes of dying embers came to life by his fingertips. An inchoate flame was borne from the darkness, a lugubrious display of magic betraying his ardour. “I spot a seat. This soft divan for me.”

Trace watched as he made himself comfortable on a chair. The sight of seeing someone create flames from nothing would’ve left her speechless a week ago, and it was still oddly disconcerting, but now it was also just a fact of life. She was more concerned about how she didn’t know what to do.

Call the police? The intruder appeared to be harmless— just a crazy homeless man trying to find a place to sleep. Except, he didn’t dress like one. He wore tapered trousers and a turtleneck sweater, with his blond hair gelled back and a set of spectacles on his face. Fair-skinned and fancily dressed, he either stole everything he had, or he was a rich twat with a lawyer for a father. Those types believed they could do whatever they wanted because their dad would save their arses.

She wasn’t having any of that; Trace pulled out her phone as she headed through the kitchen back to the stairs, preparing to phone the cops. Her brightness was set to one per cent— she wasn’t going to blind herself in the middle of the night with a flashbang. Setting a single foot up the first step, she unlocked her phone and—

Ding!

The redhead halted mid-step. She glanced down at her phone and saw a notification pop up.

Liz the bitch - K

Ding!

Liz the bitch - This D is hella LIT

Ding!

Liz the bitch - U shld defo come w me next time

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Trace hurried to switch her phone to vibrate as she heard a shuffling. The messages kept coming. Why was she so goddamned stupid? She disabled silent mode before she went to sleep so Liz could call her if she didn’t bring her keys or lost them.

Ghost-quiet footsteps crept out of the firing room as Trace swiveled around. The intruder loomed over her from across the kitchen, and she hid her arms behind her back. The prickling feeling of ants crawled down her fingertips, itching for her pistol. She bit back against it, instead fumbling her other hand for her phone, dialing 9… 1… 1.

“It seems I’m not alone as I believed,” he said, amused. “How long have you been hiding there, young miss?”

“Me, hiding?” She squinted as she heard the soft beep from her phone. The muffled voice of a female operator was barely audible a moment after.

“Hello, 9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“You’re the one fucking breaking and entering The Evergreen Gun Range. I should be asking you that question!”

“Hiding? Perhaps you have mistaken me.” He gestured at the shattered window. “I have not been discreet in coming in.”

“The Evergreen Gun Range… is that at South 3rd Street?”

“Yes,” Trace said.

For whatever reason, the man smiled. “The air has cleared so now surcease, young miss.”

“That’s not going to happen.” She raised her pistol as the operator asked her to stay on the line. The man stood by the firing room, about ten metres away from Trace, the small wisp of flame still hovering over his shoulder. “Don’t you fucking move. The police are on their way.”

Like a deciduous tree in the autumn, his languorous demeanour vanished. “This taste, how so acerbic on my tongue. Do you condemn me to perdition, miss?”

“Stop talking like that.” Trace dropped her phone, still on the line with the operator. Gripping her pistol with both her hands, she aimed for his head.

“I thought to have entreated your goodwill. Alas, it has become uncouth. So, die.” He snapped his fingers, and she fired a shot.

Trace winced as she did, fearing that she may have just ended a man’s life. It was a stupid thing to think in the moment. But she had her own problems to worry about, so she didn’t mull over it for more than a millisecond. The man’s hovering flame flickered into a spark, turning into a bolt of lightning and streaking out.

She threw herself to the side as it tore apart the walls, shredding the concrete on the stairs. Grains of dust and smoke clouded the dark room as Trace scrambled behind a kitchen sink. She poked her head out as the destruction settled. Is he? ...

Her eyes grew wide. The man raised his hand, and the bullet was slowing its approach. Finally, it stopped completely and dropped to the ground with a clink.

“How is he doing that?” She couldn’t help but stare for a moment. “What is he?”

[Energy Caster – Lvl 15.]

“Level 15? He’s three times my fucking level!”

A wicked grin appeared on the man’s face. “Perhaps you should have paid obeisance first.” He raised a hand, and everything in a cone in front of him began to burn.

Trace managed to fire another two shots before making a mad dash away from the flames. The kitchen sink burst open, and water sprayed out, but it wasn’t enough to quell the fire. It leapt and raged— a roiling red stained black by the shadows it stole.

Once again, the man halted the bullets with some kind of magic. Their kinetic energy rapidly decreased the closer it got to him before losing the force behind it to stay afloat. Trace’s dash brought the man out of sight as he disappeared behind a wall. She readied for him to enter the kitchen, her gun raised and steady.

But another flash of electricity shot out, bouncing across the metal in the room, coming straight for her. Dropping her pistol, Trace rolled to the side. The lightning struck the metallic gun, sparkling over its surface as the man sauntered in.

He was apoplectic. Whatever affable front he previously wore deformed into fury and rage. His gaze was focused on the phone Trace dropped. The operator was still on the line, the number clearly visible on the screen.

“This could’ve been resolved with peace. Now, I have to kill you.” He flicked a finger, and her phone exploded.

“That cost me nearly a grand, you bloody arsehole!” Trace stood up, hands raised, pistol flashing into her fingers. Five shots rang out, each of them stopped by the man as expected. The magazine should’ve been empty. But Trace squeezed the trigger once more.

A bright light lit up the room. A magical bullet shot out, dyeing the kitchen with its gleaming blue glow. It streaked through the air like a solid line, headed straight for the man. He frowned before vanishing.

Her Last in the Chamber skill blasted the wall apart. It was as if someone had detonated a small explosive where it struck. The debris bounced off the floor, striking pots and pans, knocking them off the countertops and clanging on the ground.

Trace lowered her weapon, blinking. Where did the man go? It was like his entire body blurred before he took a single step. Surely, she didn’t blow him apart, did she?

Gritting her teeth, she quickly reloaded her pistol. She kept spare magazines on her after her meeting with ‘Bob’ and dealing with the tutorial sequence. She snapped her weapon between the kitchen entrance and the stairway at the corner. Those were the only places the man could’ve gone.

He leapt out from the stairs, and Trace frantically fired shot after shot. The bullets barely whizzed by him, ricocheting off the back wall as he raised a finger. Everything he pointed at began to smoulder. This radiation struck her on the shoulder as she ducked under a counter.

“Fuck.” She grasped at the red mark. It had instantly burnt through her jacket, but the actual injury wasn’t too bad. Still, it fucking hurt.

[Trace Taylor,] Ex said, causing her to jerk back.

“What is it, Ex? Can’t you see I’m a tiny little bit busy right now?” An oppressive heat bore down on her as flames flickered overhead.

[It is not recommended to continue this engagement. His level far exceeds yours.]

“I’d like to do that, if he wasn’t trying to fucking murder me!” Without looking, she shot in the direction of the man. One thing she noticed was that he never attacked her when he was blocking her attacks. That gave her a moment to act.

The loud bang of a gunshot would cause anyone to flinch, even if it wasn’t aimed at them. The man halted his attack for a second, and Trace ran out. She fired more shots straight at his head, and he caught it with his magic. But she interspersed them. One for every two steps she took. It forced the man to back up as he blocked her attacks until she fully closed the distance between them.

Trace heard a click as she reached him before flipping her weapon over in her hand. She tried to pistol-whip him as he made a sound. The attack slowed too. She narrowed her eyes as she felt the gun grow heavy but not her arm itself. So, it only affects non-living things.

She let go of her weapon and punched him in the face. The man recoiled… then sneered. “Do you believe you’re stronger than a man?” He struck out with his own fist, but she stepped back.

Thank you, boxing lessons. However— Trace didn’t follow up with a jab or a hook. She didn’t throw an uppercut then a cross. He was a twenty-something-year-old man, and she was a barely eighteen-year-old girl. She wasn’t deluded into thinking she was stronger than him, especially when she only took two years of self-defence.

Maybe if she chose to become a Warrior, she’d be physically stronger than him. Or maybe if she levelled more, saw a boost with her traits as her class evolved, then she could overpower him, but that was only if he didn’t see his own increase in strength from levelling up.

No, Trace only had one advantage over him. She stepped into his guard, feinting a right hand. The man raised his arms to block it, and she kneed him in the balls. Hard.

“Hghghhh—” Air squeaked out of his lungs in a weird sound. He doubled over, grasping his man parts as the pain echoed through his body. Whatever laurels or approbation he may have had over Trace was forgotten, and she snatched her pistol back up and hit him in the back of the head.

He collapsed as she backed up—

[You have defeated an Energy Caster – Lvl 15!

(G) Improved Accuracy has reached level 5!

(G) Improved Accuracy has reached level 6!

(F+) Recall Weapon has reached level 3!

Spellshot has reached level 5!

Spellshot has reached level 6!]

Credits

Chapter 4 Proofread by Dominion Editorial

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