Sam Fisher- Rooftop Gunfight

The shot cracked the mech­a­nism, and Fish­er shoul­dered the hatch open, com­ing out of no­where to piv­ot to­ward the clos­est of the gunmen. The guard saw the move­ment and was bring­ing up his MP7 when Fish­er’s next two squeezes of the trig­ger put 5.7mm rounds through his throat.

The guard’s hand twitched as he per­ished, and a burst of fire chat­tered from his weap­on as he crum­pled to the roof, the shots spark­ing harm­less­ly off a line of ven­ti­la­tion ducts.

As Fish­er rolled from the hatch and out of sight, he heard two voices shout­ing. Three of them up here, then. He men­tal­ly re­cal­cu­lat­ed his tac­tics as the re­main­ing guards snapped on the tac­ti­cal lights be­neath the muz­zles of their SMGs, sweep­ing the beams back and forth.

He weighed the SC-IS in his hand. The mag­a­zine was still three-quar­ters full, which gave him some op­tions, and the gun’s in­te­gral sound/flash suppressor would hide his fir­ing po­si­tion.

Fish­er moved right and popped up over a waist-high air-pro­ces­sor unit, fir­ing a shot into a met­al pan­el near to the spin­dly gan­try of the an­ten­na. The bul­let ric­o­cheted off with a flash of sparks, draw­ing the at­ten­tion of the clos­est guard. Fish­er saw the tac­ti­cal-light beam veer away, and as soon as it was point­ing in the wrong di­rec­tion, he sent three more bul­lets into the spot where the guard was stand­ing. He heard a pain-filled cry and the se­cond man fell.

The last guard fired a burst in Fish­er’s di­rec­tion, meant to drive him out of cov­er. He scrambled around the edge of the air-pro­ces­sor and sprinted to­ward the an­ten­na. There was no time to en­gage in an ex­tend­ed gun­fight up here. He had to fin­ish this quick­ly.

Fish­er threw him­self over a duct and land­ed hard, scant me­ters away from the third gun­man. Both men squeezed their trig­gers si­mul­ta­ne­ous­ly, but Fish­er let him­self drop out of the line of fire, as a spurt of cord­ite flame licked the air.

He hit his mark in the bel­ly, and the guard toppled like a felled tree, dis­ap­pear­ing out of sight.

- Firewall, Chapter 16