Rolling in the 'Deep [Exemplary]

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The ex-Turk planted his foot hard on his captive’s face, vaulting backward behind the cover of the iron doorway as gunshots rang out through the air. Bullets whizzed past through the open throughway, punching holes in the back wall. Vincent shot a glance to his left, watching the formerly downed man scramble to his feet, groping for his own firearm. He found it and drew as a pair of his similarly suited brethren dashed into the room. The trio of mercenaries stood opposite their assailant, guns leveled.

“And who might you be?” One of the newcomers inquired.

“Who cares who he is,” the initial attacked squawked, spitting a mouthful of blood, “Kill him!”

Vincent quickly tumbled across the threshold as the trio leveled their guns once more, firing haphazardly after the dark-haired man. The Prime glanced around quickly at his surroundings; the room appeared to be a storage area of some sort, filled with a half dozen crates, but no exits. Thinking quickly, Vincent ducked behind a crate, Cerberus in hand. He doubted that he could take out the trio all at once, even with a functioning gun. He silently cursed his luck.

“Hide-and-seek, eh?”

The gunslinger heard footsteps falling closer, echoing off of the empty walls. He gazed around once more at his surroundings, finding nothing useful save more boxes. He kept Cerberus at the ready, prepared to shoot his way out if needed.

“Let’s get this over with.” His unseen foe chuckled.

The gunslinger lifted his gun to fire, only to drop it a moment later as searing pain tore through his head. His breath caught in his throat, both hands balled into tight fists. He pressed his fists to his temples as he tumbled forward onto the cool metal. Had he been shot? It certainly felt as if his skull were being torn in two, though he had heard no gunshot. He gritted his teeth tightly, his eyelids following suit as agony swallowed his consciousness.

“Where did he go?”

“What do you mean ‘where did he go’?”

“He was just here, behind this box…”

“Spread out, look in the crates!”

Confusion permeated his mind as the pain rapidly subsided. He lay in the fetal position on the floor of the room, not a foot from one of the armed gunmen. They seemed to glance past him, shooting gazes rapidly around the room. They began to rip open the crates, paying no attention to the armed intruder in their midst. Vincent silently raised his hand to retrieve his weapon, stopping abruptly as it entered his field of vision. He gazed long and hard at it, blinking slowly, waiting for whatever mental deficit he was under to dissipate; no such event happened. The gunslinger raised his other hand, noticing the same effect; they were transparent.

“There’s nothing in these boxes but gunpowder!” a gruff voice grunted. The mercenary associated with it gently closed the lid, wiping his hands off.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as the bewildered men continued their search efforts. Without a second thought he sprang silently to his feet, nabbing his gun from the ground. He dashed away from the trio, back through the doorway. In a moment he was at the eastern side door, pulling it open effortlessly. As if the sound chased away whatever had taken hold of his body, his hair became solid black in his peripheral, with the rest of his body following suit.

“There he is!” the wounded attacked roared, pointing in Vincent’s direction.

The Prime smirked, leveling his gun at the man. He grasped at the open door’s locking mechanism with his free hand. Just as the loudmouthed mercenary began to make chase, Vincent lowered Cerberus’ trio of barrels at the nearest gunpowder crate. The ex-Turk saw a brief moment of realization cross the man’s face as he pulled the trigger.