Before McAlistar could blink, two knives slid out of the sleeve on Kroc’s good arm and he threw them straight at the General’s face. McAlistar dodged, just barely. Carnegie raised his arms and aimed the metal coils around them toward McAlistar’s position. McAlistar saw the other assassins also springing into action, and he dove behind his desk just as high caliber slugs began to tear through his study.
Dust and smoke filled the air when the gunfire stopped, and the wall of the home collapsed. McAlistar popped out with his revolver firing off shots as he retreated from his position, exiting the room. He ran with the hobbled grace of a 68 year old man down the hallway and took another position in his guest bedroom. He waited near the doorway, back pressed up against the wall, and listened carefully. He heard the footsteps of two of the assassins approaching his position.
They split up, he thought. Must be covering the exits. He heard the footsteps approach the door, then stop. McAlistar waited patiently. Then, the door was kicked in with such force that it flew across the room and crashed into the far-side wall. The first of the attackers, Carnegie, with his big metal gauntlets, started to rush in, but McAlistar stopped him in his tracks, stomping hard on his foot. He put his revolver up against the bottom of his chin, pointed toward his brain and pulled the trigger. Still caught up in the momentum of his blitz, Carnegie’s body fell forward.
McAlistar rushed out of the room, revolver still drawn, and felt a whip wrap around his arm. It electrified and his muscles seized. The revolver fell to the ground. McAlistar stayed standing, gritting his teeth. He looked at the attacker holding the whip, a blonde woman with tightly braided hair, wearing a red leather jacket. The whip extended out of her wrist.
“You killed Jacob, you fucking asshole,” she said. Surging with rage, she zapped him again. “I’m going to pry your teeth out one by one.” She zapped him again. “Then your fingernails.” She zapped him again. “Then I’m going to take a blowtorch to your eyes.”
McAlistar’s vision blurred. The woman was still yelling at him, but he was becoming woozy. Periodically the voltage struck him.
“GO. DOWN,” she said. McAlistar heard that. He pulled his energy together as best he could and tugged on the whip with all his strength. The woman went hurtling into the wall, leaving a body-sized crater, knocking off the plaster and exposing the brick below.
McAlistar opened the door to the front yard and limped outside. He saw five figures gather to confront him. He coughed blood onto the ground and pulled his second sidearm out of its holster. He aimed it toward the figures, his arm shaking. Then, he felt the whip wrap around his neck from behind him. Another jolt hit him and he dropped to his knees. The figures began to casually approach.
The night sky darkened even further as the assassins took turns beating him. After what seemed like an eternity, the pain stopped. McAlistar felt a hand lightly tapping on his face. He opened his swollen eyes as best he could and saw Kroc leaning over him.
“You really are a tough old mutt, aren’t you? I think we’ve all had enough of this. You deserve a swift ending,” he said. McAlistar felt the blade go into his solar plexus. His eyes widened for just a second, and then relaxed.