The Legion

Chapter 14: Bad Business

Thomas was tired. He was tired of running, he was tired of fighting, and most of all he was tired of getting his ass handed to him.

The further he went, the more his muscles ached from the relentless pace, but he didn't dare slow down. They didn't have time.

As he rounded a corner, Thomas skidded to a halt and pressed himself flat against the wall. His heart raced as he peeked around the edge. Several men in black suits roamed the floor, their faces obscured by sleek black masks, each carrying a pistol. They moved methodically, scanning every room, checking every corner.

Thomas slowed his breathing, forcing himself to think. His hand instinctively reached for the sword that wasn't there, reminding him of his lack of weapons. He cursed under his breath, knowing he'd have to improvise. His eyes narrowed as one of the masked men drew closer, his footsteps slow and cautious.

Now or never.

Thomas waited until the man was just close enough before he acted. In a swift motion, praying he wouldn't mess it up, Thomas grabbed the man from behind, covering his mouth with one hand while kicking out his leg.

The man grunted as his leg snapped under the force, collapsing into Thomas's grip. Without hesitation, Thomas took the man's pistol and, gritting his teeth, fired one shot into the man's abdomen. The muffled shot echoed through the hallway, and Thomas shoved the man's limp body to the ground.

I hope that didn't kill him... but I don't have time to think about it now.

Thomas glanced at the pistol in his hand. It felt unfamiliar, heavy, and awkward. He was no marksman—he'd always been a terrible shot, even during training. Still, it was the only weapon he had.

Hearing more footsteps approaching, Thomas raised the gun, aiming for the other masked men further down the hallway. His first shot missed, whizzing past one of the men and embedding itself into the wall. He cursed under his breath, squeezing the trigger again, but his aim was erratic. The men noticed the shots, immediately reacting with a barrage of gunfire in his direction.

This isn't working.

Panicked, Thomas bolted down another hallway, weaving between rooms as bullets whizzed past his head. He ducked into a side room, closing the door softly behind him. He scanned the area quickly, noting a strategic hiding spot behind a row of filing cabinets where he could ambush anyone who came through the door.

Seconds later, one of the masked men entered, his gun raised. Thomas didn't hesitate. He aimed carefully this time, waiting until the man was directly in front of him before pulling the trigger. The shot landed clean, taking the man down. Thomas exhaled sharply, moving to reposition himself as more footsteps approached.

The second man burst through the door, gun blazing. Thomas ducked behind a desk, feeling the bullets tear through the wood just inches above his head. He fired back blindly, trying to keep them at bay. The men were becoming cautious now, their movements more careful as they attempted to flank him.

Thomas grabbed the body of the first man he'd shot, using it as a makeshift shield as he bolted through the room. More gunfire erupted, bullets thudding into the corpse as he sprinted down another hallway, still clutching the stolen pistol.

These guys are even worse than the ones we fought at Mason's manor.

Thomas's footsteps echoed in the narrow hallways, his breaths shallow and rapid as he darted from one shadow to the next, narrowly avoiding another group of men scouring the building.

His mind reeled, fractured images of what had just happened searing into his thoughts—the look of shock on the guard's face, the way he stumbled, the final, terrible stillness. He was aware, painfully aware, that a man had just died because of him.