them that he was staying for Christmas before heading home to Britannia and his wife.
The man hated him. Every time they met, Lord Andrew never hesitated to let it be known to all and sundry how displeased of the fact that his daughter was dating a commoner. It was as if the man cared not that his precious daughter had been saved from a Ukie prison camp by the commoner now engaged to her these past six months. The lord’s wife, a Taslian noble rescued after a failed diplomatic mission several years ago was more understanding. She at least, never cared whether he was noble by birth or not , and accepted him at face value.
Shaking his head, he looked around wildly as a single, sharp gunshot rang out , the sound making a whizz-crack tone with each pull of the trigger. The slugs ricocheted off cobblestones by his leg, causing small chips of stone to rattle against the ruined car and galvanising him into action. Rolling to the side, he ignored new stabs of pain and found his fingers latching onto the grip of the pistol.
It was slick with blood, but he tightened his grasp and forced his eyes to focus. Beside him, another body laid stretched out with a series of holes stitched across the midriff, a military issue gauss rifle still held in an arm stretched out to one side. It was one of the attackers. With the pool of blood spreading from beneath the body, he discarded it as an immediate threat.
“I'm gonna kill ye, so jest stop will ye?” The owner of the voice announced again, the strong accent reminding him of the run-down Liberties area of the city. “Come here, ye feckin traitor, I got a present fer ye.”
Sirens blared in the distance, but they were too far away to make a difference. At the end of the ruined limousine, he saw a figure raising a pistol in the flashing of brilliance from the sign. Her long dark hair hung in lank, oily strands that reflected the light with dullness, while the pasty white skin of her face blared hatred. It was a rounded face, almost moon-like in form and the dark eyes searched for him as she brought the pistol around to aim in his direction.
Squeezing the trigger of his own weapon, he sent a burst of gauss slugs to strike the rear of the limousine. It sent a shower of sparks past her face from the impact and ricochets, but none hit. Ducking for cover, the movement gave him enough time to pull closer to the open door he'd dived out after the collision.
The door on the other side was blown open but there was no sign of his fiancée. She’d been sitting there before the truck had struck them, but was missing now. The body near his feet a reminder to his slowly recovering memory that he'd already used the pistol to take out one of the attackers. Presumably the woman’s father according to the curses she continued to throw his way.
Through the window, he caught sight of his attacker creeping around the rear to shoot from the other side. Ducking his head lower, he saw the ground-skirt on the limousine blocking his sight-picture of her feet. Rising back up, he forced himself to his feet and saw her crablike crouching movements clearly. Her body was highlighted against the shop windows in the background where stunned onlookers watched the assassination attempt unfold, no one daring to intervene. Releasing his breath, he fired another stream of gauss slugs and watched as the top of her head exploded like a melon, fragments of bone, hair and flesh spraying into the cool night air.
Sliding back down to the road, he checked the clip in his pistol to see how many rounds remained. The illuminated display on the magazine gave a dim blue glow at the press of his finger on the indicator. It was half-full, ten rounds remaining.
There were three people in the truck that hit them, a dim memory surfaced while he rubbed his chin. One carried a rocket launcher that ripped open the armoured limousine after the collision, but he had been caught in the blowback from the weapon and killed by shrapnel in the
The man hated him. Every time they met, Lord Andrew never hesitated to let it be known to all and sundry how displeased of the fact that his daughter was dating a commoner. It was as if the man cared not that his precious daughter had been saved from a Ukie prison camp by the commoner now engaged to her these past six months. The lord’s wife, a Taslian noble rescued after a failed diplomatic mission several years ago was more understanding. She at least, never cared whether he was noble by birth or not , and accepted him at face value.
Shaking his head, he looked around wildly as a single, sharp gunshot rang out , the sound making a whizz-crack tone with each pull of the trigger. The slugs ricocheted off cobblestones by his leg, causing small chips of stone to rattle against the ruined car and galvanising him into action. Rolling to the side, he ignored new stabs of pain and found his fingers latching onto the grip of the pistol.
It was slick with blood, but he tightened his grasp and forced his eyes to focus. Beside him, another body laid stretched out with a series of holes stitched across the midriff, a military issue gauss rifle still held in an arm stretched out to one side. It was one of the attackers. With the pool of blood spreading from beneath the body, he discarded it as an immediate threat.
“I'm gonna kill ye, so jest stop will ye?” The owner of the voice announced again, the strong accent reminding him of the run-down Liberties area of the city. “Come here, ye feckin traitor, I got a present fer ye.”
Sirens blared in the distance, but they were too far away to make a difference. At the end of the ruined limousine, he saw a figure raising a pistol in the flashing of brilliance from the sign. Her long dark hair hung in lank, oily strands that reflected the light with dullness, while the pasty white skin of her face blared hatred. It was a rounded face, almost moon-like in form and the dark eyes searched for him as she brought the pistol around to aim in his direction.
Squeezing the trigger of his own weapon, he sent a burst of gauss slugs to strike the rear of the limousine. It sent a shower of sparks past her face from the impact and ricochets, but none hit. Ducking for cover, the movement gave him enough time to pull closer to the open door he'd dived out after the collision.
The door on the other side was blown open but there was no sign of his fiancée. She’d been sitting there before the truck had struck them, but was missing now. The body near his feet a reminder to his slowly recovering memory that he'd already used the pistol to take out one of the attackers. Presumably the woman’s father according to the curses she continued to throw his way.
Through the window, he caught sight of his attacker creeping around the rear to shoot from the other side. Ducking his head lower, he saw the ground-skirt on the limousine blocking his sight-picture of her feet. Rising back up, he forced himself to his feet and saw her crablike crouching movements clearly. Her body was highlighted against the shop windows in the background where stunned onlookers watched the assassination attempt unfold, no one daring to intervene. Releasing his breath, he fired another stream of gauss slugs and watched as the top of her head exploded like a melon, fragments of bone, hair and flesh spraying into the cool night air.
Sliding back down to the road, he checked the clip in his pistol to see how many rounds remained. The illuminated display on the magazine gave a dim blue glow at the press of his finger on the indicator. It was half-full, ten rounds remaining.
There were three people in the truck that hit them, a dim memory surfaced while he rubbed his chin. One carried a rocket launcher that ripped open the armoured limousine after the collision, but he had been caught in the blowback from the weapon and killed by shrapnel in the
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