Sidestep

THEW. THEW. THEW. You leap to the side as the night is lit up by the muffled muzzle flashes, moving low to the ground till you make it around the edge of the building, brick exploding as bullets imbed themselves. Damn, your reflexes were superhuman! Or the woman was a terrible shot. A low groan and the clatter of metal on pavement sounds around the corner. Oh, right. She'd probably missed because you'd injected her with quite a lot of some unknown substance. Peeking around the corner you see that the gun has indeed fallen from her grasp as she squirms on the pavement, clutching her stomach.

You walk brusquely over and kick the gun out of reach, bending over the pained woman unconcernedly. Even in the dim light of the nearest streetlamp you can tell her face is flushed, beads of sweat forming on her scrunched up face. Now that you can see her clearly you note that she is quite beautiful, in a severe sort of way. She's probably in her ... mid-thirties? Gasping and clawing at her suit with clumsy hands, she's obviously too weak to do much more than writhe. A twinge of compassion mars your serene gaze as the woman casts feverish pleading eyes up at you. You probably should get her some medical attention ... then again, says a voice in your head, she did try to kill you. Let the bitch get what's coming to her.

You feel both parts of your psyche clamoring for attention and it's giving you a headache. Is this what it's like to have schizophrenia? Whatever you decided to do with the **** ninja, you'd have to be fast: People who work alone don't carry walky-talkies.