Two gunmen headed to the left, a pistol and an uzi. Two to the right, a pistol and an SMG.
Mohawk walked straight, tactically clearing every angle with a modified submachine gun in his hands.
Slowly, the man's profile grew in the shard's reflection.
Two more steps, and he'd check behind the cart.
One.
Two.
Arthur acted first.
Just as Mohawk stepped forward to check behind the cart, Arthur threw himself back from the opposite end, pistol in hand, laser-sight set at the Jack Boy's chest.
He fired twice. The loud gunshots briefly broke through a ripple of sound before drowning in the car alarm's overwhelming noise.
The Shock Absorber had done well to stifle the recoil of his Koji.
The two bullets bit into Mohawk's jacket. He took two steps back, seemingly frozen in space, dropped the gun and held his chest, now gushing with red. He dropped dead.
Arthur crouched, staggered, fell and picked himself up, then rolled to a flipped over metal table with the grace of a clumsy dog.
A curvy line of bullets trailed behind him, but he ducked to cover before anything hit. The shots came from the right side of the garage, where the pair of assailants caught sight of his blurry figure.
"Fruck! He killed Jev!" a voice shouted. "Jev!"
Then, a lever clanked, followed by a long, echoing creak.
The hydraulic lift holding up the tireless but heavy carcass of a car had swung off its hinges, abruptly crashing down against one of the Jack Boys, flattening his torso to an unappetizing meat pancake. The crunch was loud, and so were the screams.
His duo had just a second to react before two bullets pierced him. Stomach, then head, painting the wall behind him with a splotch of red.
A third shot silenced the screams.
Two remained.
One fired aimlessly around the garage with panic, shouting curses. He pulled the trigger until all he could hear was click, click, click.
Arthur poked out from cover and pointed the gun at the man's head, aim shaky from adrenaline and nerves. He fired, missed, and fired again, this time hitting the bearded man's shoulder.
He shouted in pain, cursed and fell to cover.
Movement caught Arthur's eye behind a scissor lift.
A wrong end of a barrel.
His eyes widened, and he yanked his head back.
A bullet caught him straight in the ear lobe.
He groaned in pain, falling back and dropping his pistol, ear ringing with a deafening pitch. He clutched his head, felt blood warm his face and stain his hand.
He squinted through the hot pain, slowly prying open his eyes, hands blindly sliding across the ground for his gun.
Through a stroke of luck, he'd found the tip of a mag, pulling it closer to him…
Just for a bullet to knock it out of his reach and render the Koji useless.
Arthur stared at the gun with a hole in the barrel. He'd paid for it with savings over the course of two and a half months.
Gone, just like that.
Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously, flashing with anger. He looked over his shoulder. Just behind him was the screaming Vilero, defiled and lacking the usual charm.
To the right, the gunman's position was near perfect: a tall stack of thick, heavy duty tires meant for a truck that bounced back incoming fire.
Sparks flew overhead and clanged against his cover. None hit him.
Fire responded from the left where Jerry hid, a quick exchange of bullets.
But the bullets from Jerry's side had stopped for a while now. Long enough to make Arthur think he'd ran out. He cursed under his breath.
The injured Jack Boy hiding in the corner laughed loudly.
Something had to be done. Fast.
Shots echoed at the front of the chopshop. Sadie had her own battle. He couldn't spare her a second thought, and neither could she.
He was alone.
Again.
Then it came to him. A reckless, dangerous and highly risky idea, but one he had no choice in committing to.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Vilero's key fob, clutching it in a hand which no longer trembled. Pain had that stilling effect.
Arthur pressed the unlock key. The alarm hiccuped and went silent. The bullets from the Jack Boy's side hadn't.
No better time than now.
Arthur lowered himself and crouched. A moment later, he leapt forward and jumped to the Vilero's side, leaving his cover and feeling exposed.
BANG! BANG!
Bullets whizzed past his figure, none finding their mark. He slammed chest first against the glass-cracked ground.
Arthur yanked the door open, crawled inside the black faux-leather seat and had no time to admire the interior of the Pereira. He thumbed the ignition button.
The car roared alive. A stark contrast to its prior sound. Like an enraged beast intent to viciously feast on its harmers.
The gunman caught on and raked the Vilero's flank with a burst of gunfire. The metal thumped and shrieked beneath the hail, each impact kicking off sparks and flakes of red paint. Hail on a rainy day.
Arthur pulled the stickshift to R, then slammed the pedal and veered to the left.
The car jolted backwards and to the side, knocking over tables, carts and hitting something blunt, but the vehicle now pointed straight at the two Jack Boys.
Arthur ducked low as bullets sliced past his head, too close for comfort. His neck was cranked to the side, just below the dashboard and steering wheel.
He yanked the stickshift forward to D.
And stomped the pedal.
The car went from a low growl to a high roar as it closed the distance at full speed.
The gunman repeatedly shot at the car, hoping, praying one of the bullets hit Arthur.
But none did.
The Jack Boy attempted to leap away at the final second.
It was too late.
The Pereira caught him by the knees and slammed him to the wall, bluntly smashing him from the navel down. He coughed a mouthful of blood, staring at Arthur with shocked, wide eyes, slowly folding limp. It'd take a while before he was dead, and it would be damn painful the way there.
The engine hissed. Smoke rose from the crumpled hood.
Arthur had slammed into the steering wheel pretty damn hard. Everything ached.
He kicked the car door open and slid out with a groan, putting his back against the step.
"You forgot about me, runt?!"
Arthur's eyes widened. The injured Jack Boy. The one he'd clipped in the shoulder. He was still alive, clutching his oozing arm with one hand, pistol gripped on the other, barrel pointed straight at Arthur's head.
BANG!
Jerry had popped out of the darkness, metal arm arching past the Jack Boy's temple.
The sheer force of impact produced an ungodly crunch. Like wet wood breaking apart.
His feet lifted off the ground. An eyeball got crushed, his skull dented inward like a deflated football. His head jerked to the side and he fell like stones, twitching and moaning his last breaths sprawled on the cold ground.
Jerry shook off his metal hand, breathing heavy. He looked at the dying man and let out a deep sigh, then turned to Arthur.
He extended his bloodied metal hand.
"Well done, son," he said proudly, voice low. "Well fruckin' done."