Breaking Down

[hexon]

The sun was high overhead, blazing heat filling the golden desert, the dunes supplying little to no shade for anyone who was crazy enough to wander through the area that was even dryer than it normally was. If anything, any organic being that passed through lost every ounce of water in their being and withered like a burning leaf. It was difficult to last for long without being properly prepared.

However, some people didn't notice the heat, a massive hedgehog-like being clad in black and gray sitting at the very top of a dune in direct sunlight, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Dark rings surrounded his eyes, bangs falling over his eyes and past his chin, ears pinned back as a wreath of tobacco smoke swirled around him.

Hexon was in a foul mood. Rather, he STILL was. He had hit bankruptcy two weeks back and with the fact that his job seemed quite useless at this point, he wasn't getting any money to use in the first place. He growled in annoyance at this thought, coughing several times before flicking his bangs out of the soulless midnight blue eyes that stared at nothing in particular at all.

Foul mood, he had said, was an understatement.

Now, Hexon was an HONORABLE man. That meant absolutely NO stealing or trickery. He would EARN money through WORK. Sadly, though, his profession was... I would have to say 'out of practice' at this moment.

Nobody needed a hitman at the moment, and that meant Hexon was losing money by the second. He was losing time. And, furthermore, he was losing his supreme levels of patience. Growling, he tore at the metal gauntlets that were practically locked to his forearms and, with a snarl, ripped them away completely, throwing the black and silver armoring aside and letting it land in the sand next to him before rolling down the side of the dune.

He would get them back later. He hissed in pain, though, quickly replacing the bandaging wrapped around his forearms. He had broken the bones a while back and, even though it had long since been healed, the blasted things still hurt like Cerberus had bitten him mere minutes ago.

After wrapping crisp white cloth around his arms, he adjusted his trench coat, the almost invisible midnight blue runes fading into sight for the briefest of seconds before he exhaled another cloud of smoke. Bad mood. Cigarettes were supposed to calm the nerves. Ah, for once he wished they DID have an actual effect on him at this point, but he had become far too used to them to get any decent use. But it distracted him, ever so slightly, which was what he needed at this moment.

He glanced around at the currently empty desert and growled in annoyance. He had come to a deserted location like this to calm his nerves, but it only made him all the more pissed off. But he wasn't about to kill someone to cure his annoyance, no. He wasn't THAT far gone yet.

He didn't grin at the thought that Maya and his little sister were probably worried about him. Had he even told them where he was going?... No, he couldn't say that he had before casually leaving. They hadn't thought much of it, or they would have followed him. Started asking questions, like 'Are you okay'... As they NORMALLY did, as his mood seemed to grow even worse every day in comparison to the last.

Now that he THOUGHT about it, it was a MIRACLE that he HADN'T sunk to a level of lowness that would bring around an innocent death. But he didn't plan on that happening any time soon.

Hexon was unemployed, in a bad mood, and NOW he was almost out of cigarettes. He snarled in annoyance at the knowledge of THIS fact, and casually pulled the combat knife out of his boot. Moments later, it was spinning and dancing through the air, razor-edged blade flashing through the air in a blur. It brought at least SOME sense of peace. The slightest hint. It had to do, for now.

It was distracting, too. His mind had shifted from his problems to the problems he WOULD face it he stopped paying attention and removed a finger or two... Maybe even his entire hand.

Now focused on something OTHER than his anger, he sat in the sun spinning a combat knife expertly. It was as much of a habit as his smoking. And it was in the same category - Unhealthy.

Not that he CARED. He had BIGGER problems than unhealthy habits.

[Pyre]

Nearby was another of the same profession. But he was scarcely in sight. Maybe if Hexon turned his head a little to the left, he'd see a flash of white light that was the scope of a sniper rifle upon a distant dune.

Gyre usually got jobs in big cities. Against the bustle of daylight and the confusion of big crowds. This was different, this place could be an advantage or a disadvantage. If he suceeded, no one would notice for weeks, maybe more. But it was far more open here--hence he'd brought along the rifle.

He'd heard this guy was good. He took careful aim, one eye closed as he took a moment to calm his harsh breathing. Well, no matter how good this guy was...he couldn't dodge bullets.

...Could he?

((As for why someone's going after Hexon...well, that idea's still forming, but I have a vague concept of it))

[hexon]

((Oooh, this sounds good. Can't wait until you get the full concept of it. X3 [Yeah, I've started using that one... <<]))

Hexon fell onto his back, unknowingly causing a moment of confusion to the sniper that was targeting him, and continued spinning the knife between his fingers. He winced, stopping the rotations of the blade, and turned his hand over, a thin cut on his ring finger. Hm. First he was losing his job, now he was losing his focus? And here, Hexon had thought that it wasn't going to get any better. Grumbling in annoyance, he started lowering the knife to set back in the sheath in his left boot.

That's when he decided that the cut which forced him to stop spinning the knife was a GOOD thing. His eyes caught the glint of light in the reflection on the blade... And the sunlight wasn't able to reach the side he looked at from this angle. His eyes narrowed, his focus quickly returning as he shifted his free hand to one of the Desert Eagles he kept hidden in the black and midnight coat. Silver plating remained out of the sunlight, no warning that he had a weapon. But it wouldn't do any good, not yet. But he had his suspicions...

Either this was some random tourist that had an odd taste in pictures [since when did they start taking cameras to photograph SAND? They might as well go to an Oasis...], or someone was out to get him. More likely to be the latter, as well. Grimacing, unnoticed to that of Gyre, he kept the knife at the same level and returned to spinning it, a flash of light catching the scope that the hitman out to claim HIM was looking through.

Hexon didn't think too much of it. If it WAS a tourist, like his first thought, then he just screwed over a picture. No big deal, they could take another...
But if it was the more LIKELY of the two options, then he just temporarily impaired the unseen enemy's aim. But he didn't smile. No point. Impairing the aim would take luck... If the guy had sunglasses and it WAS a sniper? He might as well wave and shoot HIMSELF. But if he was lucky, he would get himself a MUCH better idea of what trouble he had apparently gotten himself into.

[Pyre]

Gyre did indeed get the flash of light. He flinched, snapping his eyes shut and letting out a hiss as he looked away. Now squinting, he shifted in the heat. Having black fur was misery here, sweat dripping off his bangs. He was wearing a white hoodie at least and lowered said hood over his eyes to block out some of the sun. He took aim again, but not a full aim. He'd be warning this guy to his presence if he missed, but he wanted to act fast before he could be blinded again--moving in closer was suicide.

He fired, the shot muffled by the surrounding sand, as the bullet flew for its target.

[hexon]

If anything, Hexon's timing couldn't have been more perfect. The shift of the reflection of light on the knife was enough to tell him that whoever it was had gotten the impairment, lights dancing in their eyes distracting and cutting the ability to aim precisely... It was a minimal movement, but Hexon's eyes had always been fairly sharp. He sat up at the same second, and the extremely quick resetting of the aim ended up saving his life. The bullet NEARLY got its target... But 'nearly' didn't cut it when you had to snipe someone. The bullet shot just behind him, passing through the wild, spiky hairstyle that was Hexon's. He felt the bullet pass by him for the nanosecond it did, and it was gone. The seriousness of the situation hit him - That had been ALL too close for comfort. A few millimeters difference, and he would be bleeding in the sand right now.

The cigarette he had been smoking was now lying in the sand next to him, and Hexon spat out the stub that had remained in his mouth when he had bitten down on it. Sharp teeth meant a quick severing of the paper and tobacco, and the reflexes had kicked in the second the bullet grazed him. Eyes turned in the direction Gyre was, and he unholstered the silver-plated magnum, Bliss flashing brightly for the moment it was visible before Hexon ducked out of view behind the dune, skidding down [sheathing the knife on the way] and grabbing his gauntlets, tossing Bliss upwards and pulling them on before catching one of the two Desert Eagles he kept with him.

He didn't say that he LIKED wearing them, the bulky metal gauntlets SLIGHTLY hampering his dexterity... But they were, at the very least, comfortable enough to forget they were there after the time he had actually worn them.

He didn't laugh, but a smirk certainly crossed over his face. Oh, that was lucky. He finally realized the irony. He dodged a bullet. And he was wearing a trench coat. Yes, Hexon had seen the Matrix. Go figure. But he was surprised he was making the reference...
Also ironic, he was about to get into a fight in the landscape that matched his home's. Another distraction from his fury had gotten to him.

Now, this could be a bit of a problem, though. He REALLY couldn't get anywhere without getting shot in SOME way. He couldn't escape this without taking at least ONE bullet to the torso... Unless he used Flashstep... No, he couldn't do THAT. Not yet, at least. He needed to keep his body in prime condition if he wanted to get out of this alive, and that meant that he couldn't overstrain his muscles by putting on that burst of speed so early in the day.

This was just like the old days... The only difference was, for once, HE was the target!

[Pyre]

Gyre swore softly and saw his target move towards where he was crouched on top of the dune. He tossed the sniper rifle aside--it would do no good now he didn't have decent time to aim. He wished he'd brought along a machine gun or something, but he honestly hadn't thought he'd need it. Now he pulled out a Russian handgun--what kind of gun exactly wasn't clear because it had so many modifications, but the original had been Russian. He stood up and fired repeatedly at the approaching figure.

[hexon]

Hexon's eyes saved him once again. Shifting from his advance, he dashed aside just as Gyre opened fire, ducking behind another dune. This time he stayed put, pulling the clip from Bliss and quickly checking it. Thirteen rounds... That meant one had already loaded. Good. A full clip. That was good. His ears twitched slightly as the clip made an audible click, setting back into place. Alright, then...

He dodged around the side of the dune, lifting the Desert Eagle and leveling it with the target. He didn't aim for a truly fatal shot. He was barely aiming at all. Make the opponent a bit jumpy. They made decisions faster. More of a challenge, although some of the decisions were rather brash in some cases.
He pulled the trigger and started returning fire, six rounds fired before he ducked back into cover behind the dunes.

It had been a while since Hexon had been in a FIREFIGHT. For that matter, he had been relatively non-violent for a while in general. But an actual FIREFIGHT? He couldn't remember the last time he was actually in one. He could recall countless times he finished a fight with a blade, but firearm against firearm? He couldn't really remember it. Besides, he wasn't about to run at his opponent with one of the Katanas. He had been GRAZED by a sniper round. He wouldn't put it past this guy to get a headshot with a pistol if he was stupid enough to charge him head on.

[Pyre]

If Hexon had been aiming for a deadly hit, it's not like Gyre could have done much about it. But that's what a gun fight often was between those who actually knew how to use a gun--about six percent skill, and the rest sheer dumb luck.

After the shots were fired, Gyre slid further down the dune to get some more sand between him and any more shots fired. Not that there was a heck of a lot sand could do against a bullet, but it was something.

The black hound pulled something from his belt and ripped out the pin with his teeth--you guessed it, a grenade. He waited a split second before throwing it hard for Hexon's shelter--really, to fly just over it and explode right where the hedgehog was standing. Hopefully. Gyre hated basing things on chance.

[hexon]

Hexon went wide-eyed as he saw the grenade tap the sand, bouncing ever-so-slightly as it tapped down. Okay, now THAT was a problem. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he stared down at the small, explosive weapon that now lay at his feet. Thoughts rushed through his head, and it finally came down to one conclusion. He was too late to get rid of it, so he would have to just avoid it. Time reset as the grenade exploded, Hexon suddenly lancing off almost instantly and seeming to warp to one of the dunes. One use down... Only one or two more tries he could use that.

Losing his balance on the dune, he tumbled down, out of view and landed on his feet, hissing in pain as he glanced down at his left shoulder... More importantly, the small piece of shrapnel that had been blown from the grenade casing and straight into his shoulder the second he used the Flashstep. That was too close altogether... And now he was having trouble moving his arm, as well. That was a major problem for the left handed hitman. As ambidextrous as he was, his right hand still was nowhere near as steady as his left, and the fact that his arm had gone stiff from the metal that had lodged in the joint in his shoulder meant he was going to be forced to switch hands.

Grumbling in annoyance, he flicked the Desert Eagle to his right hand, quickly checking the clip. He had fired six shots... That meant he had eight left. NOW the question was 'will I get to fire all of them?' rather than 'Where should I aim for'.

Then he got at least SOME idea. He wasn't sure if it would work, or if it would even DO anything, but Hexon had a relative thought and he was going to use it whether he liked it or not. Still crouched down, he quickly etched a few marks into the sand and remained set in place, eyes narrowed as he waited, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head as he turned on one foot.
Remain motionless, he told himself mentally. Wait for an opportunity. If this works, I'll be able to avoid a meaningless death... No, the guy that hired him will be the one to take the fall for this one... Should be able to convince a killer for hire ta' part with some information...

He briefly glanced down at the mark and quickly traced over it once more. The problem would be if a gust of wind covered it again... If it would even WORK when etched in the sand. If only he had more time to think...

[Pyre]

Sorry Hexon, no can do.

Gyre was shocked by this man's speed. Holy crap...

But he rolled down the hill, landing behind Hexon's previous shelter and putting it between himself and the hedgehog. Still at a distance, Gyre whipped out his sniper rifle again and shouldered it as quick as possible. These things required excellent aim--and time. But Gyre didn't have time and he wasn't about to give Hexon any. So he fired, fired twice, three times, each one ear-blasting yet oddly muffled by the sand. "Give up and die already!" Gyre hissed, though it was probably inaudible to Hexon.

[hexon]

It has been said several times that 'third time's the charm'... And Hexon promptly realized that this came true in several occasions. Ducking down, the first shot burst through the dune just over his head, the second passing just next to his arm. He quickly shifted his position, and that's what got him. The third round shot through the dune just to the left of his spine, and the bullet simply ripped through the hardened muscle that formed Hexon's natural 'armor' to your average blunt weapon. Piercing completely through, Hexon realized exactly what had been hit and exactly how it was going to cause trouble.

Coughing blood, he noted the hole that had pierced completely through his torso, hand twitching as he began having trouble breathing. He never liked injuries like this. It was not only painful, but it was annoying. And, although he would manage just fine, temporarily getting a lung disabled was more than enough to result in a severe handicap.
"M'aynira'n!" he snarled, coughing violently once more as blood stained the dark-gray fur of his muzzle, fangs bared as his sickly blue eyes took on a violent light.

Luck was quickly becoming his friend. The position he had rolled into had put the dune between him and Gyre from both directions available for use at the moment... But it certainly didn't do much to stop the bullet from hitting him. The only GOOD thing, he decided, was that it didn't LODGE in his lung instead of just tearing completely through. He quickly took the momentary peace to rip the shard of metal from his shoulder, hissing in pain as he flexed his arm and got the blood flowing again.

This just wasn't right, was it? Growling in anger, he swept the mark from the sand at his feet and balled his free hand into a fist before reloading the Desert Eagle and grabbing the second. Silence and Bliss now dual-wielded, Hexon got one advantage. He could fill the air with more lead. He quickly rose to his feet [albeit not at his full height due to the lung injury], and turned on one foot before climbing up the dune. How many shots did that sniper rifle's clip have? Four had been fired... But he had seen versions that had five.

Well, there was always the hope that he could get one last bit of luck.

Now standing at the top of the dune, he carelessly lifted Silence and Bliss and leveled them with the dune that he had been hiding at before. The bullet had come from that general direction, hadn't it? He glanced around briefly, then wasted no time in emptying the clips, twenty-eight rounds total unloaded in a matter of seconds.

Maybe I should start carrying a rifle, Hexon thought as he heard the now empty handguns click quietly as he pulled the trigger one last time, letting the empty clips fall to the sand at his feet before taking a single step back. Now, this was the moment of judgement. Either he had gotten lucky and at LEAST temporarily disarmed his opponent long enough to evade death, or he was about to get shot one last time. He wasn't sure if either was actually a good thing.

[Pyre]

Gyre had been hit...twice. Once through the shoulder, another through his chest. A third had nicked the side of his neck, but no real damage had been done fortunately...to that part of him.

The black hound had collapsed. Blood seeped from the hole in his chest. He wasn't Azekaran by any means. A bullet hurt a lot more to him than it did for Hexon. It was all he could do just to keep from screaming at the top of his lungs. Instinct told him not too, and when his head started to clear he remembered that it was because he didn't want his enemy to know he was injured...this badly. That'd be even more deadly. Keep up the act...

Gyre couldn't help but let out a soft grunt, hissing, teeth clenched and eyes watering. His hands made a vice grip on his guns, though he knew the sniper rifle was empty and he didn't have time to load another clip.

Time...time! That's right, he had to shoot!

He struggled to push himself into a sitting position, to twist 'round enough to get his injured shoulder to lift his hand and his smaller firearm over the dune and at Hexon...Only that killed his lungs, a sharp blazing pain not allowing him to take another breath. Gyre panted, tried to fight back a whimper.

He wasn't even sure if Hexon was still there any more, or if Gyre was aiming right, but he managed to just make a final jerk to shoot over the dune in the general direction Hexon had been. He didn't expect to hit anything. Only to convince the hedgehog that he was still in fighting condition and to stay back... Because the truth was that Gyre certainly was not in fighting condition...and for the hedgehog to come any closer would be very deadly indeed.

[hexon]

This time, Hexon certainly let a shout of pain echo through the dunes, dropping his magnums and grabbing his left hand. First his shoulder, now his hand... And, as stated, he was left handed. Temporarily reduced to a right-handed man, he crouched down and holstered both firearms with his right hand. He had to give this guy points for being stubborn. EXTREMELY stubborn. Maybe a little TOO stubborn. The corner of his mouth twitched towards a grimace.

He ducked down behind the dune once again. Okay, so it was fairly clear that this guy wasn't about to let him off the hook with a truce. And, for the record, Hexon didn't know how much this guy was being paid to take him down, which was also a bit of a problem if you had to bargain with a hitman... Then again, this guy clearly hadn't been given the exact specifications of this job, had he? If he had, he probably would have been more aggressive... and brought more weapons. He coughed blood once more, clearing it out of his lung and growling in annoyance.

Maybe his injuries were worse than he thought. As an Azekaran, he always overlooked injuries until the last possible second. Once, that had cost him an arm, even though he DID take his foe down with him. He grimaced.

"We're both in no condition to fight!" he finally yelled over the dunes to Gyre, voice strained. Losing the use of a lung never did turn out well. "I can tell a blind shot from a decent one! Lets just call a truce and BOTH of us can make it out of this day alive!"
Well, it was worth a shot, he decided.

[Pyre]

Wait, I actually hit him?? Gyre had heard the shout. He wouldn't exactly call this a whole lot of luck, considering he was still bleeding out his chest, but it was something.

He struggled to sit up straight, trying to ease his breathing. His body suddenly spasmed in a choking fit, but he fought it back as much as he could--he didn't...he didn't like the taste of blood in his mouth. Or the idea of it flooding his lungs, but...

A truce? Well that didn't sound half-bad. But how did he know this guy meant it? And even if he did, did Gyre really want to have to deal with that.

Don't learn the face of your enemy. It's hard enough to kill people without a conscience getting in the way. That was one of the first things he'd learned.

But he was by no means in any condition to fight.

At last he chuckled--a throaty laugh choked with blood, and cut off abruptly when he had to cough, sharp pains lancing through his chest.

"Put your gun down, and I'll put down mine," he called back as clearly as he could. Though he was still debating the truthfulness of his own words. At last he set down his sniper rifle--it was empty--and his handgun. He still had knives in his belt, but they wouldn't do much if this guy still carried his own guns. Gyre stood up, wincing, and leaned his head back to peer over the dune at the hedgehog but not going into the open.

[hexon]

Hexon shrugged. Well, technically, he wouldn't put down his guns, but they were holstered... And weren't loaded, either. He finally rose to his full height, wincing in pain as he did, then slowly stepped around the dune into view and made his way forwards, stopping between the dunes and patiently waiting. He was unarmed, at least... If you could ever consider an Azekaran being unarmed in these situations.

In truth, Hexon couldn't be considered unarmed in these cases. There was the knife hidden in his left combat boot, and he could summon both of his katanas if need be. But he didn't and he didn't plan on it, either. He impatiently crossed his arms, the wound in his shoulder and chest throbbing violently as blood dripped from the hole punched in his left hand. It wasn't comfortable... But he could get patched up quickly enough, and he knew hitmen. They knew how to play their cards right, and he knew that this one was going to try.

Hexon found himself in a violent fit of coughing a brief moment after, blood spattering the sand. This was getting much worse as time went on... Only a matter of time, then. It certainly felt like the injuries were getting worse, for him... But at least he was able to avoid the annoyance of the blazing sun above them.

"A truce is a truce..." he muttered under his breath. His opponent was probably in an equally bad situation, he had to assume. Agreeing to a truce in a battle meant you were desperate... Well, so was trying to make one, as well.