He didn’t hesitate, squeezing off their rounds aimed right at the first one’s legs. Two struck the knees and thighs sending the target straight to the ground. 

He fired at the other as he turned to response. This time, he hit both knees and the thighs. With the situation in his favour, he got up and darted across the aisle, and began to approach from the other end. 

The farthest combatant tried to train his weapon, but the angles were far better for him. He squeezed off a round and struck him in the cheek.

Once more he closed his eyes, focusing on the lack of gunfire. The steps transitioned from being muffled and distorted to clear as day. He pictured them just at the threshold, doing as he would do, getting an idea on the layout. 

He chanced a quick peek, and saw them. Their tactical vests meant there was a high chance of ballistic plates. That meant that shooting for the centre of mass, and those helmets would protect them from the nine-millimeter rounds.  Here’s hoping they can get a good medical pension out of this.

He waited until they started walking, hugged the steam lines, while ignoring the intense radiating heat. His right eye and pistol were the first to peel through. The farthest man out was heading towards the rear, while the other was coming right towards him.

This time he closed his eyes and let his other senses take over. Other than the gunfire, there were calm and measured footsteps. They were two sets, nearly in sync, and their trigger discipline was excellent. Short and controlled bursts and nearly in sync, means a military background. 

In about fifteen seconds those two would storm through that door. If he went in deeper through the galley, there was another exit, but he was in no mood to do so under constant enemy fire. Sooner or later they will flush me out and send me into the main group. 

He opened his eyes and peeled to his left. At the end of the streamline there was a little nook. He quickly made his way there, and found there was just enough space for him to squeeze in between the garbage and the counters. 

He sprinted towards the couches while keeping down low. Gunfire peppered the furniture, sending stuffing into the air. Good thing, I’m not allergic to feathers. 

When he reached the gap between the couches and the door leading to the kitchen he squeezed off several rounds from his pistol towards the main entrance. That did little to slow down return fires, and even swore that one ruffled his hair. 

Smythe dove through the door, and immediately scooted over to the stainless steel cabinets from the steam line. The sliding panels deformed as projectiles failed to penetrate. Don’t think about that!

It was the one of the messes and by the looks of it the staff were caught by surprise. Several were dead at their tables, bleeding over the breakfast. Others were shot in the back as they went for the ready use locker in the far corner. 

Smythe peeked inside, but the shell casings were almost exclusively located by the door. That meant he was dealing with professionals. No need to search the kitchen.

As he pulled back he heard the bang followed by the crack of a high velocity round passing by his head. He instinctively dropped to his knees, which looked like a controlled fall into the mess hall. Then again it pays to be certain.

Commander Jack Smythe had his pistol drawn while moving down the hall. The concrete walls were pock marked, scorched, and nicked all tell-tale signs of small arms fire. Not to mention the blood splatter.

For now it was quiet, too much for his liking. Ahead of him he saw an overlay of the complex, and basic biometric data through the compact lens on his left eye. Agents were expected to have them on their dominant eye, which for him happened to be the opposite of his dominant hand. 

He approached a door and moved away from the side closest, giving it a wide berth to give him a clear line of sight. The door was open, giving him a clear view of the bodies piled up.

“Because I’m no-no, no-no-no-nobody’s baby now,” Grace sang as she floored the accelerator and was pushed deep into the seat. 

In her rearview mirror she spotted the wreck getting smaller. In seconds it would be swallowed up by the fog entirely.

“I escaped the Bastille,” She said. “You thought you seriously had a chance?”

Of course the dead never talked, instead blew up another bubble with her gum until it burst.