Swinging out around the vehicle on one knee Deckard gained target acquisition on the nearest asesino standing a few meters behind the corpse he has just made. With his finger tightening around the trigger a crash thundered down in front of him, throwing him on his backside, finger tightening on the trigger he accidentally discharged a round into the air.
The man had been split end from end, a 30mm round tearing down through the ceiling had sliced through flesh and bone, cracking him open like a lobster. Two arms and a leg could be made out amid the intestines strewn out across the floor but that was about all that was recognizable. Deckard swallowed, his nose filled with the sickly smell of blood, he realized he had been hosed with bits of bone and blood.
Wearing khakis and a collared shirt left open to reveal a large gold cross, Ramirez sat at the edge of the pool of blood and gore. His pistol lay at his side while he had both hands on his head trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Snarling at the turn of events Deckard got to his feet as Ramirez’s face suddenly bulged outwards, the back of his head disappearing. At this point he was so deaf he didn’t even register the shot. The drug lord collapsed backwards, his blood mixing with that of his late comrade.
“Mission complete,” a voice said from the darkness.
Deckard spun toward the sound.
Reflexive Fire 