C6 Kill Switch Deadmans Trigger

I had seen enough movies, enough real life simulated ambushes, to recognize the classic setup before it even fully played out.

Doors would slide open. Guns would come out. People would die. Not me. Not today.

Click clack.

I let go of the wheel with my right hand, pulled out my pistol, and with a swift motion, racked the slide back, sending a fresh 9 mm round into the chamber.

Then, gripping the wheel with my left hand, I turned my head. And just as the minivan's doors slid opened. I emptied the g*dsdamn clip.

The gunshots erupted like thunder, the muzzle flashes illuminating the inside of the van as I fired blindly into the darkness.

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!

The first two rounds punched into the chest of the guy on the right, sending him flying backward into the van interior.

The third round caught another directly in the face, snapping his head back like a ragdoll.

The fourth grazed the driver, his body jerking to the side, the van swerved violently, barely missing my car.

The last two shredded through the side paneling, sending sparks flying as the remaining gunmen scrambled for cover.

"F*CK, GET DOWN!"

One of them shouted from inside. I wasn't done.

Before they could recover, I slammed my car sideways, ramming the van into a guardrail, making their driver lose control.

CRASH!

The van flipped, tumbling through the air like a damn action movie, slamming into an oncoming SUV making meat paste out of both of them.

I exhaled sharply, my heart pounding, my hands covered in gunpowder residue only to feel PAIN.

A sharp, white hot agony tore through my right arm.

I gritted my teeth, jerking my head down only to see a fresh gunshot wound, clean through my bicep. I'd been hit.

"Tch. F*CK!"

I growled, my fingers twitching as blood leaked down my arm, soaking into my cargo pants.

Through gritted teeth, I twisted my head to glare at the insane woman next to me.

"YOU WANNA HELP, OR YOU JUST GONNA SIT THERE LOOKING PRETTY?!"

The crazy woman the self proclaimed world's number one hacker, simply grinned as she reached forward and grabbed the wheel.

"Don't worry darling, I got this."

Another jeep pulled up ahead, a gunman perched on top with an M249 SAW.

"F*CKING REALLY?!"

I reached for another clip, but before I could reload, Invicta took the wheel hard left, sending the car into a sideways drift between two lanes.

The M249 sprayed bullets, shredding the air where we had been seconds ago.

She pressed down on my leg with a strength her build shouldn't have with her hand causing me to floor the gas, sending us straight toward an overpass ramp.

We weren't slowing down. We weren't stopping. She f*cking hit the ramp full speed.

"HOLD ON TO SOMENTHING AN DDONT BITE OFF YOURE TOUNGE!"

We flew. For a terrifying split second, we were airborne, the city stretching below us as bullets whizzed through the air.

WHAM.

We landed hard, bouncing as my rust bucket of a car somehow survived.

Behind us, the M249 jeep slammed into an oncoming bus, flipping over in a violent explosion of twisted metal and flames.

I sucked in a ragged breath, my bicep screaming in pain, my vision blurring slightly.

We were alive. And we had one place left to go.

I sped through the streets, my blood soaked sleeve sticking to my skin, ignoring the protests of my dying body.

By some miracle, I made it back to my underground garage, tires screeching as I pulled into the lot.

As I did the engine finally died. Silence.

I just sat there for a second, chest rising and falling, my hands still trembling from the adrenaline crash.

I turned to her, my expression half dead, half livid.

"Next time, just f*cking tell me you're wanted worldwide before I go grocery shopping."

She smirked, popping her gum.

"Where's the fun in that?"

I groaned. This woman was going to be the death of me.

I didn't say a g*dsdamn word. Not as I pushed my beaten body out of the good as dead car.

Not as I dragged my feet across the underground garage.

Not as I hit the elevator button and stepped inside.

And I sure as hell didn't say a word as the insane woman followed me.

I simply didn't give a f*ck anymore.

The doors slid open to my s*itty one room apartment, and I walked in, Invicta right behind me, her heels clicking softly against the floor.

I ignored her and headed straight to the cabinet.

I pulled out the first aid medkit, a habit I'd never broken even after leaving the military.

With a heavy sigh, I slumped into my chair, tossing the kit onto the table.

My right hand moved to strip off my jacket, but the pain in my left bicep made it damn near impossible.

Just as I was about to curse the universe again she spoke up.

"Raise your right arm."

Her voice cut through the room, firm but smooth. I blinked. Looked at her.

She was already standing beside me, her black lipstick covered lips set in a neutral line.

I didn't argue. I just did as I was told.

She took over, grabbing my blood soaked jacket and peeling it off, her movements efficient, methodical.

She grabbed the first aid kit, her fingers moving with surprising precision as she pulled out antiseptics, gauze, and medical tape.

I flinched as the disinfectant hit the wound, the sharp sting making my jaw clench.

"S*it, It f*cking hurts go easy on the antiseptic!"

"Shut up and quit you're wining don't be a f*cking p*ssy."

I glared at her. She smirked. Minutes passed as she worked in silence, pressing the gauze against the entry and exit wounds, wrapping the bandage tightly around my bicep.

Finally, she sat back, admiring her work.

"Done, see that wasn't so hard to bear was It?"

I exhaled. I didn't thank her. Didn't say a damn thing.

I simply stood up, walked to my bed, and collapsed face first onto the mattress after gulping a mouth full of painkillers with left over beer. Like a f*cking deadman.

...

FL POV

She stood by the bed, arms crossed, watching the already snoring man who had just popped enough painkillers to send an elephant into cardiac arrest.

A slow, knowing smile curled on her black painted lips. Yep. It's really him.

After all this time. After years of searching, tracing genomes, hacking classified records, running predictive models.

She'd found him. Her one and only darling. Her smile faded as she glanced down at her bloodstained clothes.

The fabric was torn, stained with dirt, smoke, and crimson. She sighed. Disgusting.

With a fluid motion, she pulled off her jacket, tossing it aside as she walked toward the bathroom, her fingers already working at the buttons of her leather pants.

By the time she reached the doorway, she was stripping off her underwear and sports bra, revealing an inhumanly perfect body.

That looked like It wasn't born, but made by the g*d's themselves

Her tanned skin was flawless, a shade too smooth, too even.

Not a single scar, blemish, or imperfection. Her curves, muscles, hourglass proportions, everything about her screamed engineered precision.

She ran a hand through her hair, stepping into the shower, letting the hot water cascade down her artificial perfection.

Tonight had been the most fun she had In years. And tomorrow? Tomorrow would be even better.

...

MC's POV

I pried my eyes open, the ticking of that old ass clock drilling into my skull like an irritating metronome of misery.

Then, the searing pain in my bicep hit me like a hammer. I groaned, pushing myself upright.

My bandaged bicep throbbed, and as I glanced down, I saw the gauze had turned an even darker shade of red.

So it wasn't an a*cohol induced dream.

I rubbed my face, staring at my bloodied arm, my mind finally registering the reality of what happened last night.

Despite spending ten years in the military, I was never deployed. I never killed anyone.

I used to wonder if one day s*it hit the fan, would I be able to pull the trigger?

Would I hesitate? Would I freeze? Would I feel guilt? Today, I got my answer.

Everything had happened on autopilot. I didn't hesitate. I didn't think. I just killed.

And the most frightening part? I didn't feel a thing. Not guilt. Not regret. Not anything.

It only confirmed what I had always suspected.

And that was that I was broken somehow a defective product called human.

I wasn't sure whether I was born like this or did my childhood experiences or did a term called being an adult and all the s*it that came with It made me like this.

But right now It didn't matter, after all I had far more pressing matters to attend to.

I exhaled sharply, pushing the existential crisis thoughts down.

Then my stomach growled. Loudly.