The ball had dropped, and New York was in a state of pandemonium. No one knew, but there was a major gun battle about to erupt. Dimitri had walked out of his hotel to hear police sirens closing in, and even the hum of a helicopter. He had dealt with plenty of them in his time, but this was different, he was completely open to attack. He climbed a ladder and jumped across onto the roof of an adjacent building.
The helicopter appeared and its searchlight began looking for Dimitri. He duck behind a parapet, and made sure his rifle was ready to fire. He ran across the rooftop and jumped to another that was higher. But as he made the jump, a light engulfed him. The helicopter had circled back and caught him. Dimitri was in a very high position, but the chopper was even higher. Almost within seconds, four squad cars arrived in front of the building.
The officers all had pistols pulled and aimed at Dimitri. He had the high ground, so he had a tactical advantage in that respect, but there were 8 of them, and one of him, a significant disadvantage. Dimitri took some time to survey his situation and peeked over the parapet. One of the officers fired at him, missing very wide left. Dimitri had an escape route, but would need to shed the police to get there. He had arranged on his way to NYC for a boat to be sent to a dock on the Hudson River for him. It was still there, hopefully. Dimitri began to walk across the roof in a low crouch, but shots rang from behind him, and pinged off the roof only a few feet from him.
Dimitri swung around with his rifle ready. As quickly as he spotted the two men on the opposite rooftop, he had opened fire. Two quick bursts, and two blood-curdling screams. Dimitri did not like the nature of his work, but as his father always told him “You cannot change what you are good at.”
This led Dimitri into a series of ego inflating thoughts about his talent for killing. He was snapped out of his trance by the familiar hum of the helicopter. It was back, and this time with a purpose. There was a man positioned out of the side with an automatic rifle, but for whatever reason he was unaware of Dimitri’s position. Then Dimitri realized the man’s eyes were trained on his fallen comrades on the other roof. An unfortunate reality for this man was that he would be joining them. It looked as if an invisible hand pulled the man from the helicopter as the bullets tore through him, and he landed in a heap next to his buddies.
Dimitri turned his attention to the men on the ground, as he peeked over the parapet, they opened fire, just barely missing. Dimitri tossed one of his frag grenades into the street below, and as it exploded, it took the lives of 8 men and 4 squad cars. Sirens could be heard in the distance, so Dimitri enjoyed the snap of a new magazine in his rifle.
He had to get moving, or else he would be surrounded too quickly to react. As he climbed onto higher roofs, and jumped across to even ones, he came across one that was incredibly high. It was a gigantic church, and was a difficult climb. Now the cars were lining up in the street below, all police of course. As Dimitri neared the peak of the bell tower, he could see that his escape was getting more and more complicated. Priority number 1 was the helicopter. It had returned yet again, and seemed to have another man in the gun. This man was much more attentive. A long and concentrated burst of gunfire tore into the side of the building, the closest of which met their mark within six inches of Dimitri. He rolled into the tower and took cover. He checked his rifle one last time and swung it around. The first burst ran along the side of the chopper, but didn’t hit any vitals. The man reappeared to counter fire, and Dimitri ducked. Lead flew inches over Dimitri’s head, and for the first time in his life, Dimitri felt he was equally matched. This was true of the gunman, but not the pilot.
As soon as he pooped back up, he fired intensely. This chased the gunman back inside the cabin of the chopper. Dimitri then turned his attention to firing on the pilot. A long burst into the windshield until it shattered, and the pilot slumped in his seat. Without a pilot, the helicopter took a downward dive. Dimitri was admiring his work, but all of the sudden was caught by a burning feeling. This feeling intensified as Dimitri peered down at his chest. A hole had been torn in his jacket, and more importantly the right side of his chest.
In a sense, this sealed his fate. He was now wounded and against countless law enforcement officers. But he didn’t have to die in this tower. Dimitri swept his rifle across the street, and emptied an entire clip. Then he threw the clip as hard as he could, followed by two grenades. Dimitri almost didn’t notice the helicopter crashing into the side of a building, it slammed into the ground, and a grenade blast made it explode in a blaze of glory.
Dimitri knew he had to make an escape. He took off his jacket and slung his rifle over his shoulders, and looked for a power line. The tower had a single power line running directly away from where to police where. He used it as a zip line and took his rifle back out with his free hand. He fired on the police that he could see, and scored a hit on one. But they fired back, and a bullet hit Dimitri in the thigh. It seared through all the meat, and was incredibly painful. But as soon as he got it back together and managed to keep his grip, another shot shattered his wrist, forcing him to let go of the line and into a freefall.
The funny thing about falling is landing. Most people get right back up after they fall, but this would not be the case. Dimitri’s mind raced as he plummeted. The concrete looked too thin to break his fall. One thing stayed in Dimitri’s mind; a petite American girl that made him change his mind about America, and effectively started all this. It was unfortunate that he had to kill all those men earlier, they didn’t deserve any of it.
The shadow grew as he approached the ground. Dimitri closed his eyes for the last time. He made his peace and said cursed the life he had lived. Then he made contact. His arms hit first, and were pulverized. His face exploded out of the back of his head, and everything was dark.
The news that night described the event as a terrorist attack on NYC. What they did not know was the heroism he had shown for the country he knew so little of, and what he had done to his native Russia. There was no memorial service for Dimitri. His remains had been cleaned within an hour. His face was never to be seen again, only remembered by that little American girl he had met once.