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Grim Wolf
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The Very Best
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A voice, shouting above the rumbling crash of falling pallets and the thundering hammerstrokes of a gun being fired. Loud, so much louder than Alex had imagined, so much louder than the movies had prepared him for. Here he was, with a fire in his head and in his veins, with blood on a sword he'd swung, with a man trying to shoot him. Here he was, in the heat of a moment that would not have been out of place in any movie he'd ever seen. The innocent victim: her righteous avenger.

Her remorseless killer.

But no, there was no time for these strange flashing thoughts, no time for his fear or his doubt, because the man who had tried to kill him was still firing. He could hear the gunshots: worse, he could hear the sizzling metallic sting of the bullets ricocheting nearby. He was still fighting for his life. And he was not going to die here.

He would do better than that.

Flashes of shirt and skin across from will resolved themselves as Alex hurled himself through the fallen shelves, taking two leaping strides over groaning metal and then throwing himself forwards, coming up right next to the man with the gun. His head was down, his eyes on the bullets in his hand.

The man who had tried to kill him. The man who was still trying to kill him.

Swords lost in the opening salvo. Nothing but his fists and a hundred half-remember martial arts videos and training classes and self-practice fading into a furious haze so it felt like he was wearing blinders, so it felt like all he could see was his would-be killer with the gun in his hand.

He struck in a furious flurry, getting in under the other man's guard, trying not to let that gun train on him again.
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Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

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