“Molossus” by Hans Zimmer
“Get down!” I shouted.
There was a blast and the wall behind Two exploded into a cloud of splintered wood. Feelings came shooting into the apartment and turned the furniture into Swiss cheese. I grabbed Two by his collar then dragged him behind the couch while we loaded our guns.
“Who are they?” he asked, clicking his magazine of rejections into his pistol.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” I told him. I popped a few rejection shells into my shotgun, cocked the barrel, then took a deep breath. “But they’re goin’ down.”
I popped out from behind the couch and saw three men dressed in black standing in the new hole in my living room wall. I didn’t bother checking their faces or what kind of guns they were carrying. I just aimed at the one in the middle and fired. The room shook with the blast and I watched his body fly through the air and back through the hole.
The other two idiots aimed at me, but they had no idea how quick a southern girl could reload and shoot. And in two seconds flat they were getting blasted back with their first friend.
“Anyone else?!” I shouted. “You want a fight, come get it!”
I heard gunfire behind me and spun to see Two firing away at two other men. He took them out with a quickness, but once they were down, two more crashed in through the window. I took them out before they even had a chance to aim.
I caught movement out the corner of my eye and pivoted just in time to block a punch. The guy tried a bunch of kicks and elbows, but I blocked all of them like clockwork. Then he reached for my belt and grabbed Lulu. I had my fingers around his throat before he could pull him away.
“No one…touches…the bunny,” I breathed. And I blasted his forehead with a rejection.
“Eight, watch your back!” Two cried.
I spun and another guy was two feet away from me, sprinting and firing away like his life depended on it. The feelings came at point blank range. I didn’t have time to move.
But it didn’t matter.
I stood my ground and let the feelings hit me straight in my chest. The guy kept shooting until his gun clicked empty and he stared at me with the dumbest look on his face. I pulled my shirt up and showed him the Kevlar vest underneath.
“You can’t hurt me, buddy,” I told him. “But I can hurt you.”
And I did. With a rejection straight to his head.
Original artwork by Jessica Bryant