A simple job

[Ryker]

The window exploded just as he rounded the corner into the kitchen.

A natural reaction would have been to duck back around that corner, to hide from whatever was coming in through that window. But of course, most people didn't enter a house through a window into a space of unknown dimension and layout. Sure, maybe whoever was after the old man had the building's blueprints, but probably not an actual living floor plan. Not enough time to have done that sort of recon.

So the window was a distraction; it's what he would have done, after all. And he still hoped that whoever was coming for that wanna-be playboy's friend was worth the time Hood had taken out of his busy schedule.

So as the window exploded inward, he knew it for a bluff, went for the door as it surged open and someone burst into the kitchen.he dived and rolled deeper into the kitchen, towards the back door and its jimmied lock. As he dove, that door burst open, as he tucked his shoulder and rolled through the rain of falling glass, someone was surging in. As he came up to crouch, his gun was trained. It wasn't often that he got to kill someone in 'self defense' with an actual officer and a witness on the scene to corroborate.

One shot fired; five left in the cylinder, but wet-works shit that whatever ass in the government had sent knew how to storm a room, and the first round grazed just shy of the attacker to slam into the sink, bursting a pipe and causing a spray of water to come jetting out.  Hood sought to close the distance. Incapacitate the man at the door; Hood was a heavily built man, who wasn't one to skip leg day or cardio. He could move fast, and knew how to throw his weight around in close quarters. He would shoulder the attacker against the counter, and in the moment the attacker was off balance, clear the door; barrel aimed out towards the yard, ready to plug whoever was following, if there was anyone else.

But maybe this guy came alone? Maybe he'd be worth the time Hood had taken out of his busy...the water from the sink suddenly changed direction, splashed towards Hood and across the floor between the two of them. He fell forward, dive forward into the spray. A fucking Channeler.

A forward dive, a roll; new plan. Smash into the man's legs, knock him to the floor. He wouldn't be expecting Hood to be able to control his momentum so well, or be so willing to press the attack. Most people would have been confused, would have sought to shield their face, to protect their eyes. Hood just closed them and continued through; he'd charged worse in his time, and a little water (as much as it stung for the added force it was being thrown) wasn't about to stop him.

But the fuck wasn't an idiot either; he cleared the door quickly, a leap forward away from the counter and spray of water, a gun shot that went wide, punched a hole into an expensive looking refrigerator door. Hood came up from his roll with one shoulder pressed to the counter he had sought to smash the fuck into, his back now to the open back door. A risk, but he couldn't take his eyes off the fucking walking bomb. A gamble that whomever had sent the ass figured he could handle an old man alone.

He kept his revolver tucked close to his chest, and as he smashed into the counter, now wet and annoyed, he fired another shot at the assaulter, only to find it punching through a hurled heavy wooden table that came tumbling through the air with an ease that was not possible for something simple flipped by a strong man. Four left in the cylinder. But the aim of the table throw was off; against the counter as he was, the table smashed partly against it, only managing to box Hood in for a moment before he stood, revolver up and over in line with his eyes, seeing the attacker moving for the dining room door; it would lead back around to the front room.

"Dining room! Channeler!" His voice was loud, but calm. No fear, no urgency to it. Stated facts, cast with a disciplined voice; one used to be heard over the roar of war. He smashed the sole of his boot into the flipped table, easily kicking it a few feet across the floor, as he put two more rounds through the wall, into the dining room along the course the assaulter would be taking through the room. Low, hip height.

Then he was moving for the hallway he had first taken into the kitchen, absently wondering what the officer at the front door was likely to do with all the gunshots and noise in the house.