Brick vs Dagger

Brick's muscles tensed.

The casino hallway echoed with distant shouts and alarms. He had just reduced a squad of guards to a pile of broken limbs. But his target had slipped away.

A figure dropped from the ceiling. Tall and lean, all in black. Dagger.

Brick had seen Dagger before. A shadowy assassin, cold and precise. They had worked for the same boss once, but they had never faced off. Until now.

Brick tightened his brass knuckles.

"If it isn't Mr. Black's prized killer. Come to see how real men fight?"

Dagger's eyes, visible through the mask, narrowed. "You've overstepped your line, Brick."

Brick chuckled. "We'll see about that."

Dagger's movements were quick, like a snake striking. He lunged, a blade glinting in his hand. Brick's deflector shield shimmered as the blade met an invisible barrier. Dagger's blade couldn't penetrate.

Brick swung his fist, aiming for Dagger's head. But Dagger was quick. He ducked and rolled to the side. The wall cracked where Brick's fist landed.

Dagger slashed at Brick's legs. The shield flared again, repelling the attack. Brick could see the frustration in Dagger's eyes.

"You can't touch me," Brick taunted.

Dagger retreated a few paces, analyzing. Brick took the moment to press forward. His fists, heavy and powerful, struck out like hammers. Dagger evaded with graceful precision.

The hallway was too narrow. Brick needed more space. He forced Dagger back, step by step, towards the casino's main floor. As they broke into the open space, the cacophony of alarms and sprinklers intensified.

Dagger moved to the side, blending with the shadows. Brick tracked him, his movements heavy but deliberate. Dagger slipped behind a roulette table, disappearing for a moment.

Brick knew better than to chase blindly. He readied himself, muscles coiled like springs.

Dagger emerged, seeming to materialize from the darkness. He threw a series of small, sharp objects at Brick. Tiny blades and needles, each aiming for a weak spot. The shield deflected most, but one needle managed to slip through, grazing Brick's cheek.

Blood trickled down, a thin red line. Brick wiped it away with a snarl.

"You think that'll stop me?"

Dagger said nothing, his movements precise and calculated. He darted in again, aiming for Brick's neck. Brick caught the blade in his fist, metal scraping against metal. With a violent yank, he pulled Dagger closer and delivered a crushing headbutt.

Dagger staggered back, momentarily dazed. It was the opening Brick needed. He delivered a swift kick to Dagger's midsection, sending him sprawling across the floor.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

But Dagger was resilient. He recovered quickly, rolling to his feet. Brick knew this fight wouldn't end easily.

Brick advanced, his heavy footsteps echoing in the near-empty casino. Dagger circled, looking for another opening. Each clash was brutal, strength against precision, force against technique.

Dagger moved in a blur, his blades an extension of his will. Brick's shield held, but it was draining his energy. Each strike, each deflection, sapped a bit of his reserve. He needed to end this, and soon.

Brick feinted with his right fist, drawing Dagger's attention. With his left, he backhanded the assassin with a force that sent him crashing into a slot machine. The machine sparked and tipped over, the noise deafening.

Dagger groaned, struggling to stand. Brick loomed over him, ready to deliver the final blow.

Before he could strike, a group of armed men burst into the casino. Reinforcements. Mr. Black's men. They immediately started opening fire and Brick scowled.

"You got lucky," Brick growled. He stepped back, fists unclenching. The fight had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit.

Then, a strange sensation coursed through his body. His vision blurred for a second. Brick shook his head, trying to clear it. He looked down at the small needle wound on his cheek.

Poison.

Dagger's voice was low and cold. "You'll be feeling it soon, Brick. Slow, paralyzing. Fits a brute like you."

Brick's anger flared, but he forced himself to think clearly. His target had escaped, and now he had poison coursing through his veins. This wasn't going according to plan, and it would have dire consequences.

Disengaging wasn't his style, but he had no choice.

Dagger watched him, satisfaction in his eyes. "Is the mighty Brick backing down?"

Brick took a deep breath, suppressing the dizziness. "This isn't over, assassin. Not by a long shot."

Dagger managed a dark chuckle. "I'll be waiting."

Brick turned away, teeth gritted. He had failed to capture the girl. His orders were clear, and the Boss wouldn't be pleased. More worrisome was how this altercation would strain their already tenuous relationship with Mr. Black's organization. They were supposed to be maintaining a truce, balancing their operations to keep the police off their backs.

Fighting within Mr. Black's territory was bad enough. Leaving his men dead and causing such a disruption was even worse. The Boss had made it clear—they needed to keep things calm. The police were already a big issue; they couldn't afford to make enemies of their allies.

Brick's head swam again, and he leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to steady himself. His thumping heart and the roaring alarms combined into a disorienting cacophony. While Mr. Black's men cleared the area, Brick made his way out, each step feeling heavier than the last.

As he left the casino, Brick's anger simmered under the surface. He had failed, not only in his mission to capture the girl and avenge his fallen comrades but in maintaining the delicate balance of their underworld dynamism. His Boss would not take this lightly.

The fear of his Boss's reaction gnawed at him, fueling his rage. Brick knew he had to retreat. He needed to find a way to counteract it, fast, and that was back at base.

His body shook, and sweat beaded on his forehead. This wasn't just another fight lost or a mere setback. The ramifications would bleed into the fragile peace they had worked to maintain. And knowing his Boss, there would be no leniency for failure—only ruthless expectation and retribution.

Walking through the streets, Brick punched a nearby wall in frustration. The poison might weaken him temporarily, but it wouldn't break him. Not now, not ever.

Brick's anger simmered under the surface. Whoever had taken the girl would pay. He would remember that cloak, the face he had missed but there were somethings he could remember. The way he walked, the trench coat he wore the odd clack of his step.

Was he crippled? Brick shook his head eyebrows creased, it didn't matter. Cripple or not he would break them.

The next time they met, Brick wouldn't let him escape.