The Crey and the Telepath Apr 27, 2006 12:40:32 GMT
Post by Luke on Apr 27, 2006 12:40:32 GMT
Adventures within an Office Block
That thought, concept, instinct slashed across the black-suited man's mind. It was not his own thought, but that of someone else - as was nearly always the case. The difference, to him, of his own thoughts and those of others was clear enough, but yet not quite to the level of complete distinction. He paid it no heed, and unknowably darted his strongly glowing eyes towards the source of the impulse.
The person who had produced the feeling was silenced quickly, the Crey security officer's neck snapping internally as his body fell to the blue-carpeted floor. The man in the black suit swore. Probability dictated that such accidents would happen once in a while, even when not intended. And especially within the way the black-suited man fought, there was always a risk. Neither of those facts particularly made him feel better, though. Hired murderer or not, the Crey peon likely had a family, children.
A bullet snarled past the black-suited man's ear. He quickly raised a hand and concentrated, more bullets flying towards him as he did so. The lower-powered bullets of 9mm pistols dropped or deflected off and away, and the faster, more powerful submachinegun bullets slowed as if they had encountered dense water and slowly made an arc down to the floor. The dark, metallic grey canister of a grenade sailed through the air and was slapped back untouchedly with an almost casual gesture of the man's other hand, detonating with a deafening crack and sending tiny shards of metal and ball bearings in all directions.
The pall of smoke that had formed from the explosion dissipated as the black-suited man strode forward. New opponents met him, body-armoured and visored soldiers with snub-nosed, bulbous riot guns. These new weapons began their low, bellicose spitting, joining the staccato reports of the submachinegun and the almost feeble-sounding pops of the handguns.
The retaliation from the black-suited man came quickly and his eyes narrowed, raising his free hand and mentally slapping the riot guns from his enemies' hands. The same hand gestured forwards and slammed the now-weaponless soldiers into the wall behind them, their helmets and armour crashing into the concrete and plaster and leaving them to fall limp to the ground.
The three remaining security officers redoubled their efforts, still firing uselessly into the invisible telekinetic barrier that rendered their weaponry ineffective. Their thoughts were frightened, adrenaline-filled, base, simple. A tell-tale clacking sound from one pistol and the subsequent shifting of focus for that opponent was all the black-suited man needed.
Not even gesturing any longer, he narrowed his eyes and picked up the reloading officer with a thought, sending his body thudding into the other two at ninety miles an hour and mercifully blacking out the man-projectile with the G-forces. They sprawled, the submachinegun user sitting against the wall, weapon dropped from his broken arm and hand. He flicked a switch at his waist and spoke.
"The Telepath has broken through position one! I rep-"
The officer's repitition was cut short by the slamming of his helmeted head against the wall, the rounded indentation of crumbling plaster looking slightly comical as his head dropped forward onto his chest in unconsciousness.
The Telepath stepped over the five knocked-out bodies and headed up the stairs, brushing a small fragment of plaster from the ceiling from the side of his smart formal suit and pulling open the pine-wood door.