The rounds kept coming – POP, breathe, POP.

Pitcher had scampered over to the load bearing column between the small windows. Both of them spidered from high calibre rounds.

“Think Pitcher,” he had his pistol, not that it would do much against a sniper adversary, “think!”

POP! The cot took one right to the pillow.

Pitcher surmised that this assassin was fairly pathetic since he missed on his kill shot – the first one. Now he was just peppering the flat to keep him from firing back or leaving.

POP! Goodbye LED wall lighting. The room went dark.

Pitcher took this opportunity to reach out and grab the HoloTablet and start the crawl toward the door to 1-F. Then he stopped, because he noted the shooting had stopped.

“They’re coming.” He assumed the sniper had heavies who would hit the door to finish the job. Pitcher scrambled in the dark under the cot and waited with pistol leveled at the door.

Pitcher had learned long ago to avoid wondering who wanted him dead, just to focus on surviving the fight.