Luck or Wits?

Frizz shuddered, his dirtied hands clapped over his ringing ears as he huddled behind the pillar. His knowledge of firearms was at best at the surface level, only recognizing firearms that are extensively shown in video games.

"Shit! Fuck!" One of the shooters yelled, his voice echoing in the warehouse, laced with pain. Frizz cautiously peeked from behind his cover and saw one of the guards on the floor, clutching his shoulder.

(I actually hit him?) Frizz mused, as the edge of the pillar next to him was struck, showering his face with dust. He glanced at the rifle lying just a few feet away. (No… That's too risky.) He hesitated.

(I had to sacrifice my force field earlier.) Frizz paused. (If I get shot, I will die.)

For a moment, the shooting ceased. Frizz peeked out again, seeing the injured shooter crawling toward his ally behind another pillar. "Now's my chance!"

Frizz bolted for the rifle. The guard behind the other pillar saw him and fired three shots, all of which missed. Frizz dove back behind cover, switched the rifle to single-shot mode.

"Toss me your pistol!" The guard who hid behind a pillar shouted to his crawling ally. "I'm out of bullets!" Hearing the opportunity, Frizz moved from his cover, took aim, and shot the crawling guard in the back of his left leg. "AHH!" "STOP!"

Frizz then trained his rifle at the other pillar, waiting for any movement as he crept closer. When the guard peeked out, Frizz fired but missed, hitting only the concrete.

"Stop! Please! I give up!" The guard behind the pillar shouted, he had no bullets left.

"BONG!" The guard bleeding out on the floor, yelled. In disbelief of his comrade's sudden surrender.

The guard behind the pillar tossed his pistol away – it was a gun that looked vaguely familiar to Frizz, though he couldn't place the name.

"Come out with your hands up!" Frizz ordered, his voice raspy. The guard slowly emerged, both hands raised in surrender. Frizz noticed that the man appeared to be around his own age.

Frizz kept his rifle aimed at the surrendering man and slowly walked up to him. When he was in close proximity, he struck the chest with the stock of the rifle and punched the face of the surrendering man as he staggered, knocking him out. Then he walked towards the injured guard on the floor and kicked him in the head, also knocking him out.

Frizz looked around, disbelieving that he'd survived this life-or-death situation, relief washing over him. A smile stretched across his face as he panted and clutched at his hair.

"Agh!" A groan snapped Frizz from his reverie; it was his injured kidnapper, the one who had struck him with the hammer. Frizz approached. The kidnapper froze, fear flashing in his eyes when he saw the rifle.

"What's your name?" Frizz asked.

The injured kidnapper hesitated, surprised by the question. Then he replied, "Jay. My name is Jay."

Frizz chuckled lightly. "My name is Jay too – my second name." He crouched in front of the man. "Tell your boss, Baron, that I'm coming for him." He placed the rifle's barrel against Jay's mouth, the man lying on a pile of dirty rags. Frizz could see his fear, and felt his rapid breathing. "This time, I'll make sure Baron stays down."

Frizz rose and moved the barrel away. "You won't get away with this!" Jay panted, reaching out a hand. "They're going to kill you and your family."

Frizz recoiled at his words, a cold dread gripping him. He feared and believed that Baron would make short work of his family if he wanted. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. (It's better if these criminals would suffer…)

(If they are injured, then their bosses have to take care of them, right?) Frizz mused as he looked at the roof, spotting movement but paying no heed to it. (Their bosses have to have some sort of healthcare, right?)

Frizz considered the options. (If I injure them, then their bosses will have to spend a lot of money to take care of them. Right?)

(If I kill them.... then their bosses will just bury them somewhere and provide no restitution to their families. I think?)

The man below him, Jay, uneasily stared; he could tell that Frizz was thinking about something. Then Frizz aimed his rifle at him, and Jay stared down at the silencer-attached barrel.

"Please! No!" Jay pleaded as he was shot in the right leg and was hit in the head by the rifle's stock, knocking him out.

"I don't like killing," Frizz muttered, as he lifted his rifle. He then shot each of the earlier injured kidnappers in their legs and struck their heads with the butt of his rifle, effectively knocking them unconscious once again as they jolted awake from the gunshots.

(Thank god for that additional effect. Combining telekinesis and force field paid off.)

[System]

New Name is now level 9.

Select a perk: [Righteous Fury II] [Chameleon] [Soaked Strength] [Shocking Hold]

"Fricking finally, some good news." Frizz exhaled as he dropped the rifle and sat on a barrel with sweat dripping down his face while blood slowly trickled out of his forehead. He stared at his options and furrowed his brows.

"Bad pull this time." Frizz rolled his eyes as he panted, mentally noting the fact that he had survived a deadly scenario and all he was rewarded with was some lame perks based on what he read.

"Chameleon sounds promising, though I wonder what it is."

"System, give me that chameleon perk." 

[System]

New Name received [Chameleon]

Displaying descriptions: The user can blend into their environment, becoming nearly invisible when standing still and focusing. Fast movements will break the near-invisibility.

Frizz's brows rose up in surprise. "I take it back. This isn't that bad."

*Vrrrr!* Frizz could hear the roars of several engines. (Motorcycles...) He hurriedly ran towards a window, ignoring the pain in his legs. He opened the window, and all he could see were trees and foliage; however, he could see the faint outline of a city just behind the trees. (I must be in a high and isolated place, which means there's probably only one road here. I think?)

The distant roars of several engines grew closer; he could hear the shouts just outside the main entrance. "No other choice; I must hide." Frizz planted himself in a dim corner, back against the wall, and closed his eyes, slowly easing his thoughts.

Slowly, Frizz's figure faded and 'adapted' to the environment. There was still an outline of him; one could still spot his figure if they were particularly perceptive or focused on his position.

The doors burst open again; their rusty hinges were getting loose. Frizz opened his eyes and looked at the main entrance; two of his previous torturers were at the front. The one with the scar on his face and the big, bulky one, followed by their six henchmen.

Frizz's heart skipped a beat; the fresh memories of being tortured made him shudder and exhale. "Damned underlings of his; if they weren't here, I would have charged at those two and broken their bodies," Frizz whispered to himself as he clicked his tongue at the end of his sentence. 

"Fuck, are they alive? Go check! Weapons ready!" The scarred man ordered his henchmen. They all nodded their heads and approached their downed allies, checking them if they were alive.

"Shit, I told you we should've just killed him." The big man wiped his forehead.

"Baron wants him alive," the scarred man replied.

"Baron is just a zone leader, not our boss," the big man retorted and glared.

"We still have to take orders from him. End of discussion."

One of their henchmen approached the two as they lightly argued. "They're all alive, but they're all wounded; most of them are shot in the leg."

The scarred man was taken aback. (Shot in the leg? Why?)

"Sir! There's an open window; he must've escaped this way," one of the henchmen shouted, peering out the window. The scarred man hurried to the window, pushing the henchman aside.

"He came out from here?" The scarred man paused and looked down. "No tracks though."

"No tracks? Doesn't surprise me, really," the big man behind the scarred man added. "If he can make machetes fly and push people back with his mind, it only makes sense that he can fly, no?"

"That may be, but with those wounds, he couldn't have gotten far."

Frizz listened in on their conversation; he could hear everything. (Just wait for the right moment and then run away.)

"Hmmm?" The hum of a henchman made him turn his head. Frizz snapped away from his thoughts and spotted one of the henchmen, staring at him, or rather the area around him.

(Crap, does he know?)

The henchman slowly approached, his rifle raised. Frizz's heart was pounding. He struggled to keep his breathing under control. A few more steps and they might hear it.

"The hell?" The henchman whispered as he paused, squinting at the corner he was facing. Frizz clenched his fists, ready to lunge at the approaching guard. "Is that—"

"Hey you! Go outside and check the back; he might still be around." The scarred man called the henchman, who turned away, nodding in response. As he did, the faint outline of a figure disappeared.