[Warehouse DF3, Dock 7, Port Shelby | 1425 Central Time, Day 1]
Mendez walked out the ring to the ecstatic roar of the fight club audience.
He'd just won against Foy, the man who ran the fight club itself. While he certainly felt good about it, he felt that the crowd was at least twice as enthusiastic on his victory. Does he have an unbeaten record down here?
Becks waited for Mendez with all his gear at the side of the ring exit, whistling as he expressed his amusement at Mendez.
"Record's fifty to none you know," informed Becks.
"Heh, now it's fifty to one?" clarified Mendez as he slung over his holster and slipped on his rainjacket. "You're not as hyped as the rest of these guys."
"Yeah, I my put money on Foy."
Mendez scoffed. "Why am I not surprised?"
Foy lied just beyond Mendez, his face just slightly battered but definitely dazed out of his bearings. He was still conscious however, which showed by him noticing Mendez' presence as the latter approached him.
Looming over Foy, Mendez bowed and stretched his right hand, beckoning Foy to grab it.
The rest of the crowd went quieter, screams and shouts becoming whispers and murmurs. They also made way for Foy, Mendez, and Becks like a window curtain.
Without much hesitation, Foy threw his right palm at Mendez' hand, grabbing it as Mendez pulled him up from his spread-eagled position.
And with that gesture from the two fighters, the crowd exploded again, this time with applause and approving whistles. Turns out ragged dock workers and journeyman fighters alike love to see good sportsmanship, after all.
"You alright?" asked Mendez as he patted Foy on the shoulder.
"Not really, to be honest," answered Foy. "Didn't expect this to happen when I woke up this morning."
"To be honest, me neither," said Mendez. "So, you in?"
"Yeah, I guess I'm in."
"Good," affirmed Mendez as he panned his attention towards the catwalk above him. "So tell me--" he interrupted himself.
For he saw something on the warehouse catwalk. Not something, really. Someone.
Looking directly at him. Holding something.
A gun.
Registering the threat, Mendez went for his own.
But before he could line up a perfect shot at that someone's head, he was tackled off-balance.
As he went to the ground, Mendez heard the bullet went as it whizzed through the air--before hitting one of the audience at the chest behind him, where he was milliseconds ago!
Now Mendez' aim is obstructed by the rest of the crowd standing above him. He got no shot.
Irked, Mendez shifted his attention towards whoever the hell tackled him to the ground, denying his shot but also saving his life.
Foy.
And before Mendez could find Becks, the latter had already disappeared into the catwalk in pursuit of the would-be assassin.
***
The zig-zag stairwell leading to the catwalk wasn't too hard for Becks. Hopped on the railing, vault into the next one. That's almost two flights cleared in one motion.
And before he knew it, he was already on the same catwalk the shooter was on.
Becks saw the catwalk bending right towards a warehouse office. On one side was a huge aquarium-like window. He thought--no, he knew--that's where the shooter was heading to next.
The shooter was already at the end of the catwalk, him a little over halfway through.
Becks' target turned right and made for the office.
There's no telling if the office had some sort of backdoor that leads outside, which will make Becks lose his target. He has to take a detour.
The large aquarium window. And he's got the momentum, so why not?
Without even losing his pace, Becks stepped on the right-hand guardrail and leaped diagonally towards the office window.
There was a solid second where Becks was fully suspended in the air.
Coming at the window with breakneck speed, Becks put up both his forearms and covered his space.
Shards of glass scatter like confetti as Becks made his explosive entrance towards the office.
Becks stumbled, but regained his balance--and bearing--instantly.
And that's where he saw the man that tried to cap his employer.
Clad in black with a trench coat, a pair of sunglasses, and a shaved head. Wasn't it supposed to be sunny outside?
He noticed that the shooter still got that gun on his hand. It looked too compact to be an assault rifle, but too bulky to be a pistol. A submachine gun, maybe?
Whatever the gun may be, first thing to do is to prevent that gun from spitting its product(s) at him. In other words, disarm him.
And so Becks went and tackled the shooter against the office wall, his left hand grabbing and bashing the shooter's right against the wall in an attempt to knock the gun off his hand.
But the shooter wasn't going to just stand there and let Becks have his way.
Even though Becks shoved his right forearm against the shooter in an attempt to hold him down, there's still space for movement on the shooter's side. Namely, the legs.
And so with that in mind, the shooter launched his right knee at Becks' rib.
"Oof!" went Becks as he got stunned, releasing his lock on the shooter.
Relieving himself from the grip, the shooter landed a huge kick on Becks' diaphragm.
Becks was knocked back, stumbling into the office desk by the window.
He knew the shooter must be lining his shot by now. He's got to think fast...
Then his right palm happened upon a 800-page thick book.
Without even thinking, Becks swung and hurled the book at the shooter's face. Even if it doesn't hit him square, it will at least knock off his aim. And he was right.
With no time do duck, the shooter shielded his face from the book shot with his left arm.
That gave Becks a window to counterattack, small as that window may be.
Dropping from the table, Becks set his eyes on another impromptu weapon. An office chair.
As he got up, he picked the chair up and swung hard at the shooter in one motion, sending the four-wheeled office apparatus at the shooter's face.
Obviously that did the trick, as Becks saw the gun get knocked off from the dazed shooter, who lost his balance after such a big blow.
Now he's on the floor. Only one way to see this through, as Becks lifted the chair over his head for the finishing blow...
...not noticing that the shooter has a move up his sleeve.
A switchblade, which he slashed against Becks' left calf.
"Fucking--" cursed Becks as went down on one knee. But even so, one low blow isn't going to kill Beck's fight.
For as Becks went down, so did the chair on his hands against the shooter.
Now both of the men are on the ground. The shooter stunned after that big hit, Becks after that small slice.
His head on the floor, Becks noticed something lying not too far from his reach. The shooter's gun that got knocked off earlier.
Becks would know not too spring towards the gun with a bad leg. It's going to worsen the injury, not to mention it's also going to hurt like hell.
On his blind spot, Becks can hear the shooter getting up to his feet.
Better hurt than dead, he thought, as he kicked his left leg and dove towards the gun. It burns, like someone had poured boiling water at that very calf.
But all the pain suddenly got washed away after Becks' hand got a hold of the gun's grip.
Rolling to the right, Becks was met with the shooter already on his feet--and lunging towards him!
BANG! BANG!
***
Mendez entered the room with La Mutilar on hand, Foy trailing behind him.
Right in front of him, nothing. To his right, Becks and the man that shot him.
Becks, with a gun on hand. The man, nothing.
There were two bullet holes on him, though.
One on the shoulder, one a little closer to the chest on the collarbone.
Becks had managed to shoot the man before the man could get to him with the knife.
Noticing the switchblade lying near the man's hand, Mendez kicked it away while Foy helped Becks up. Pointing the imposing revolver at the shooter, Mendez began his interrogation.
"So my new guy right here told me a bit about your little meeting. I know there's a shipment coming to this port tomorrow. So now I need you to tell me the contents, who they are for, and where you're taking."
The shooter has an easy answer to that. "Fuck you! I'm not telling you shi--"
BANG!
Mendez shot the shooter on the knee.
"Three out of four. You'd think that they learned their lesson," mused Mendez. "Now, as you can probably tell I don't got time to do this all day, so I'd really appreciate it if you cooperate here."
"Time? You're the one that doesn't have time, Fernandez. You don't have time and you won't have time. Time to catch a breath, to say goodbye to your loved ones or whatever they are, and we'll even make sure you won't have time to beg for mercy when we finally get to you. You, Foy, this fucker right here, and everyone you care about, even that lady with that little cafe of yours--"
BANG!
At this point both the gunshot and the screams are starting to sound like a broken record.
"You had my interest at 'lady with the little cafe'," explained Mendez calmly.
"Yeah, and we know she's your weakness. You won't let anything happen to her, same as you won't let anything happen to those you care about. We're gonna grab her, make you watch as we break the shit out of her until you give yourself in, and then that's where--"
BANG!
Same shit, same day.
"Smart guy," scoffed Mendez. "Well, no reason to stick around now. Thanks for the intel."
He then stepped forward and drove his boot towards the shooter's face, knocking his lights out.
Mendez then addressed his two allies. "Foy, Becks, we're moving out."
"The cafe?" asked Becks.
"Yeah," said Mendez as he rummaged through the shooter's pockets, where he found the shooter's phone. Should be able to gather some information through here, he thought.
Pocketing the phone in his rainjacket, Mendez turned to Foy. "You called the cops yet?"
"Not yet. I was with you the whole time, remember?"
"Ah, you're right. Well, call them in," he then turned towards Becks. "We stop them from snatching Morgan, then we lay low and figure out our next move since the cafe's not safe anymore. Sound good?"
"Question," chimed Foy. "Is Morgan your wife or something?"
"More like a co-worker really," answered Mendez. "But I'm not gonna let anything happen to her. If I end up dying after all this, fine. Her? Not a chance. That convincing enough for you?"
"Well, I can certainly get behind that reasoning."
"Good," reaffirmed Mendez as he reassessed the aftermath with the unconscious shooter and the poor dead guy at the club below. "I guess you gotta take care of all this and the cops once they arrive, so you can join right after. Also, sorry for the mess."
"Definitely owe me a drink for that. Nothing too bad though, I can have the boys handle this."
"So you can just ride along with us right now?" asked Mendez.
"Yeah, no problem," said Foy. "I mean, I got a ride myself."
"Neat, you know how to get to the cafe? Cafe Aurores, down on Lumina Lane?"
Foy clasped his jaw after hearing the name of the venue, thinking hard. "Lumina Lane I'm pretty familiar with, but I'm not so sure about Cafe Aurora."
"Aurores," corrected Mendez. "Right, so Becks here got a ride, all you gotta do is follow until we get there, got it?"
"Yeah," said Foy as the three went for the office exit. "Let's not waste any more time."