"Damn," he mutters.
"Silencers," I smirk. "What else to expect when you live in the heart of the city," I joke just as I duck, more bullets flying towards us from another direction.
One nod to Taehyung, and we split, each tackling one of the men.
Most of our training sessions had been together—as a team. We're both very well acquainted with each other's weaknesses and strengths and we'd striven to complement one another on the battlefield.
Given my lack of experience in the field, though, my strengths lie in my strategic orientation, speed and relative strength. My weaknesses, however, are my decreased stamina—a side effect of the drugs I'm on—and an inability to multitask when faced with several opponents at the same time. On the bright side, these are all things Taehyung is an expert on, having trained as a fighter for most of his life.
Once we both have eyes on the shooters, it's only a matter of avoiding a direct hit and reaching them before they do any damage.
I keep my focus on the barrel of the gun hiding behind what I can only assume is a door leading to the basement. And as I duck once more, rolling on the ground before getting to the door, I orient my feet forward, using the strength in my lower body to kick against the door, making the shooter lose his balance.
A soft thud announces the fall of the person behind the door, and I quickly jump up, my hand on the handle as I open once, kicking the person again, before finally wrenching the door open to come face to face with a man currently fallen on his ass, his eyes wide as he looks at me, his gun a few steps away from him.
There's a second where we both stare at each other before we dash towards the weapon, making a run for it. According to my great teacher, Jimin, my speed is something I'd been blessed with genetically, only enhanced by rigorous training and his masterful tutelage. Case in point, the other man is barely halfway there by the time I wrap my hand around the gun, quickly pointing it towards him.
But I don't press the trigger. That would defeat the entire purpose, since we did not come here to wage war.
Instead, I keep the gun in one hand, using the other to offer to help the man up.
His brows are drawn up in confusion, but he doesn't refuse my help.
"No offense, it's not personal," I tell him as I lead him back to the main hallway, the barrel of the gun pointed towards his temple.
Taehyung is already there, his own prisoner on the floor, the butt of the gun aimed towards his forehead.
"Nice," I wink at him as we round both men up.