...and yet you wonder how a killing machine could bring life to something instead of out of it. Out of life, death, is considered an evil thing, and yet I was going to kill at least 3 men in 3 shots each, but still life would result from their death, like a phoenix made completely of water and steel and iron, their copper-colored water would be spilt and their blue-toned bodies would fall, and the two opposites of red and blue would reflect life and death, and now I would use the life-bringer of water to kill.
That gunshot that opened the pipe was beyond deafening to me this time. The pipe opened went from calm and solitary to an erupting water spout. The steam from the pipe clouded the warehouse until I could barely see myself, and I screamed, "Get down!" over the flowing water, but to the avail of nothing as far as I could see, and still I'd think that it helped at least one in here.
In here, in Hell incarnate, the heat rose extensively. The next shot I made was to the rafters above me, now that the steam gave me cover and the water a driving force to help weaken it.
The third gunshot was never fired by me, but instead by the gangster to my opposition, and the third gunshot was fired to me instead of by me. I felt a sharp pain in my left arm, but I never saw the bullet through the mist and my excitement to end this before more lives had to be lost or threatened.
Of course, we were all threatened in this line of work. Sometimes, that's why I liked it. Sometimes, I liked the possibility that I wouldn't make it home one day.
Now, back into my threatening instead of my enjoyment of so, I had to get back to the gangster and put him into custody, so as to make sure we could get whatever he's hiding about this case.
The rafters above me were ready to come down, and the gunmen knew it. I shot a support beam that would bring a section of the rafters down. As soon as that fell, they would collapse. Now, I was on my last shot on this round, so I was going to make sure it counted.
Now, the steam was starting to clear. And remember that gun? The really big one? It was in my face. The stakes were, "Move, and you're shot. Hold onto your gun, and you get shot. Hold your badge up like it means something now, and get shot."
I dropped my gun and dropped my badge onto the ground. He wasn't paying attention, though, and both landed on my feet. Then, I whistled.
A snarling dog behind you while you hold a gun to his master is not a nice thing. He wasn't happy, and that was for sure. He tackled him from the side and put him on the ground.
Only seconds later I held the gun and the badge again. Seconds more, and I had kicked his gun from his reach. And By 10 seconds going by, I was reading him his rights for his arrest.
Now, it was in the hands of the CAPD. The officers took him after we arrested him, and told me to go get some lunch. Then, they bade me a farewell and took him to the station because of his supposed partaking in this case and his violent resisting of his arrest. Even if he was innocent, he was awfully stupid for resisting that much.
The men who fell from the rafters were all taken to the hospital, alongside the injured officer. I learned later that day that the gangsters lived, but the officer died from his gunshot wounds. So much for protecting the law for him.
Now, my job was to help the police find out if this was their man. "Jess, come to the station in an hour or so after you get some lunch, okay?"
I nodded in agreement. Our next job was to confirm the enemy's identity.