1.1-Hit

“Trey, get out here!” Jackson banged on our apartment’s door.

I was still eating my breakfast, a bowl of three different kinds of cereal.

“Trey. Come on.”

I finished my cereal, walked to the door, and unlocked the three locks. I’d always rather be safe than dead.

“Trey!” He yelled.

I opened the door.

“Yo,” I said. “What’s up?”

He exhaled violently. He was exhausted. “There’s a hitman coming for us.”

“Goddamnit, again? This is the second time this month.”

I moved towards the counter. I threw on my grey gambeson—medieval padding armour that works better for me than a kevlar vest. It went from the nice collar to just under my knees. Then, I grabbed my reagent bag. It was mostly rocks, but also had eyes, glass shards, and cheap wolf necklaces. I pulled out three rocks. I clasped them in my hand and gave a short prayer to Ret of the Trinity.

“Alright, let’s go.” I swung the door closed behind me.

“Strategy?”

“Nah. We’ll be fine. Where is the hitman?”

“Taking the stairs.”

“Floor?”

“Six.”

We were on the seventh floor. The hitman would be at the end of the hall in seconds.

I threw the rocks at the door. A circle of arcane runes enveloped my hand. The rocks merged in midair then hit the door as it was being opened. The rock exploded into nine shards. The door, now with rock embedded in it, flew off of its hinges down the stairwell.

A moment passed. The door was blasted towards us. There was a faint white glow behind it. Jackson grabbed chicken bones out of his reagent bag. He crushed them. A shield of bone grew out of his arm. The door’s impact cracked the shield. The shield retracted.

A man in a black coat with the signature white lines of the regulatory cell stood where the door used to be.

“We’re screwed,” I said.

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