Sam Fisher- Choking Gator

Re-eval­u­at­ing his sit­u­a­tion, Ga­tor started a slow re­treat, mov­ing back the way he had come, as an­oth­er truck raced past down on the street. The ve­hi­cle’s head­lights threw a fan of light through the win­dows, and for a mo­ment the jump­ing shad­ows took on the shape of a man.

Ga­tor fired with­out think­ing, put­ting two rounds up into the dark fig­ure. The Glock’s stifled cough ech­oed through the open space, and spent brass pinged off the wood­en par­ti­tions, but he hit noth­ing.

The shad­ow was just that, a hazy black form that melted away as the truck car­ried on its jour­ney. Ga­tor curs­ed in­ward­ly, an­gry at him­self for let­ting his ea­ger­ness get in the way.

His pa­tience waned, and he de­cid­ed to even the odds. The Rang­er felt for the cy­lin­dri­cal shape of a flashbang gre­nade clipped to the in­side of his jack­et. If Tre­ble was in the room, it was the best way to force him into the open.

He fumbled for the gre­nade as a low whis­tle sounded from above him. Ga­tor twisted, spin­ning around to bring up the gun, and he had the im­pres­sion of a fig­ure sus­pended in the gloom, dangling from one of the pipes.

Be­fore he could get off a shot, the man was on him, grav­i­ty bring­ing them to­geth­er with enough force to put the thick­set Rang­er down on the floor.

Ga­tor fought to keep con­trol of his pis­tol, but his as­sail­ant snaked a wiry, mus­cu­lar arm around his neck and pulled him in close. Un­a­ble to call out a warn­ing to Lynx, his air choked off, Ga­tor’s vi­sion be­gan to fog as the sleep­er hold took ef­fect.

He jerked the Glock’s trig­ger and the shot went wild, ping­ing off the floor. He had the dim im­pres­sion of a black-clad stalk­er, of rasp­ing breath sound­ing near his ear. In a last-ditch at­tempt to break free, Ga­tor kicked and punched, feel­ing his blows hit body ar­mor.

Blood roar­ing in his ears, Ga­tor des­per­ate­ly tried to fight back as the col­or bled out of his world and the shad­ows closed in. He pulled the flashbang’s pin in a last act of de­fi­ance – but as the cyl­in­der rolled away from him across the floor, he had al­ready lost con­scious­ness.

- Firewall, Chapter 1