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Third Host: Excerpt, Amitiel

April 9, 2008

Amitiel made sure that the men in the office heard him coming. The shots ringing out and men screaming were a dead give away that something had gone wrong. He timed it perfectly, kicking the door hard into the face of the man on the other side. He followed up with two shots into another of the lackey thugs, then kicked a chair into the leader. A shot to the last standing thugs leg sent him tumbling to the ground. He absently shoved the door shut and locked it.

“Now, I had a few questions,” Amitiel said, delivering a sharp stomp to the hand of a lackey reaching for a gun, getting a squeal of pain as a reward. He continued across the room and pulled the leader to his feat, snagging the gun from his belt and tossing it behind a set of filing cabinets.

The leader snarled and tried to take a swing at Amitiel. Amitiel snagged the other mans hand and stopped it midair, then countered with a heavy blow to the mans stomach. He gave the man several moments to recover before straightening him back up.

“Records on the kids you’ve been trafficking through here. You’re going to pull them out and set them on the table for me,” said Amitiel.

“What the hell are you talking about? Man, you’re in so much trouble,” said the lead thug.

Amitiel sighed and stepped in, catching the mans wrist and shoving his hand down onto the table. The man struggled to get free first, then started trying to grab at Amitiel’s face, trying to get a grip to pull him off. Amitiel just stood his ground, calmly drawing out the the revolver, spinning it in his hand and bringing the butt down hard onto the mans fingers. The man snarled in pain and jerked, but Amitiel kept him in place, bringing the gun down hard a second time before finally letting the man  pull his hand in to cradle it, staggering to the ground. Amitiel followed up with a sharp kick to the man’s face, sending him smashing back to the ground, blood oozing from his noise.

Dropping to one knee, Amitiel reached down and tightened the man’s tie and drug him upright. “Do you keep the records here?”

The man coughed and weekly pointed to the desk, “Bottom drawer… false back.”

Amitiel drove a fist into the creep’s face, bouncing his skull off the floor and leaving him still. He stood up and brushed himself off crossing over to the desk and opening the drawer, forcing it past the initial stopping point to get at the thick folder of papers in back. Amitiel pulled it free and tucked it under his arm, glancing to the door. Not the best way out. He glance around the room again, then crossed to the filing cabinet, shoving it over on top of the the unconscious leader in white. He grinned at the small door hidden there and pushed it open, slipping out the emergency escape route and back into the night.

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