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1 mins


Most kitchens rest at night. In this one, a guard stood decorating a sandwich. When he bit into his sandwich, it took revenge, decorating his blazer with mustard and tomato juice.

“Shit!” He walked over to a sink and attempted to rinse off the mess. His machine gun leaned against the counter. When he finished fussing with his jacket, he turned around into a seven-inch blade. His grey eyes bugged out, and his mouth expanded into a scream that came out as a gurgle. Blood leaked from his mouth and neck, further wetting his protruding stomach. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he dropped to the floor in a heap. I shouldered his machine gun and peeked out of the kitchen.

A hall extended to the left and right. The carpet flaunted a linear pattern in green and gold, while the wall displayed paintings of nude women. Two guards leaned against the walls near a large door that ended the hall on the right. They distracted each other with useless chatter, but I still didn’t see an easy way past them. The hall was well-lit and straight-forward.

One man slumped to the floor with my blade filling his eye socket. The other one had enough time to say, “What the-” before I slammed his throat with my fist. He crashed into the door, gasping for air.

The knife left the dead man’s eye and I inserted it into the sternum of the other rasping man. Too much noise, so I traded stealth for speed. The door crashed open as I kicked through it. The machine gun led the way, and I rolled into the room, seeking cover



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