This was supposed to be an easy job. Or at least this part of it. Dodging alarms and armed guards for the payoff is where all the stress tends to come out, but dropping it off? Christ, even the double-crossing bastards used to have more class: maybe a standoff or two, a few guns and a tight exit. Hiring a pack of thugs to do them in is just beneath the bloody belt.
Normally her talents also mean she's the one sat out behind the steering wheel, not crouched low behind a stack of crates at the opposite edge of the warehouse, clutching a bloodied Turkish amulet (not her blood) in one hand and her defender in the other, with the other pair of mates that'd cut her in dead somewhere off behind. Chloe's not sure whether or not she ought to be relieved for it; she doubts anyone else could've held onto the thing and gotten half as far. Of course, she still has the rest of the way to go--
And the warehouse shakes. Creaks from the shockwave of an explosion not too far off. A solid wall of heat seeping through the air in its wake and stinging her nostrils as she steadies herself to scramble closer to where Charlie's waiting. Something she tells herself because she believes it. Because no matter how soft he might get, he'll never stop throwing some of the nastiest punches she's ever seen, and because if they meant to catch the lot of them off guard, the bulk of their efforts would likely be focused on the bulk of her group, not the lone muscle pacing the exit.
She darts off with the sound of gunfire echoing at her heels. Distorted and dispersed via stacked crates and steel beams to the point that Chloe can't quite make out the distance between them. But the bullet-riddled car comes into view around the next bend enough for her to scope out a line of lackeys returning the occasional flash of a fired handgun with interest, and it's enough of a promise that he's still in the fight for her to duck in behind their flank and give him at least a bit of support.
Not that she'll last long if that group stays stuck in between the pair of them.
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This was supposed to be an easy job. Or at least this part of it. Dodging alarms and armed guards for the payoff is where all the stress tends to come out, but dropping it off? Christ, even the double-crossing bastards used to have more class: maybe a standoff or two, a few guns and a tight exit. Hiring a pack of thugs to do them in is just beneath the bloody belt.
Normally her talents also mean she's the one sat out behind the steering wheel, not crouched low behind a stack of crates at the opposite edge of the warehouse, clutching a bloodied Turkish amulet (not her blood) in one hand and her defender in the other, with the other pair of mates that'd cut her in dead somewhere off behind. Chloe's not sure whether or not she ought to be relieved for it; she doubts anyone else could've held onto the thing and gotten half as far. Of course, she still has the rest of the way to go--
And the warehouse shakes. Creaks from the shockwave of an explosion not too far off. A solid wall of heat seeping through the air in its wake and stinging her nostrils as she steadies herself to scramble closer to where Charlie's waiting. Something she tells herself because she believes it. Because no matter how soft he might get, he'll never stop throwing some of the nastiest punches she's ever seen, and because if they meant to catch the lot of them off guard, the bulk of their efforts would likely be focused on the bulk of her group, not the lone muscle pacing the exit.
She darts off with the sound of gunfire echoing at her heels. Distorted and dispersed via stacked crates and steel beams to the point that Chloe can't quite make out the distance between them. But the bullet-riddled car comes into view around the next bend enough for her to scope out a line of lackeys returning the occasional flash of a fired handgun with interest, and it's enough of a promise that he's still in the fight for her to duck in behind their flank and give him at least a bit of support.
Not that she'll last long if that group stays stuck in between the pair of them.