Barney's eyes locked on the flicker of movement just outside the tower's perimeter. His breath hitched as a figure darted from shadow to shadow — fast, silent, deliberate. This wasn't just a hunter passing by. This was a predator hunting him.
His hand slid instinctively to the pack at his side, fingers curling around the taser he kept tucked inside. The figure moved closer, confident, too controlled to be an amateur.
Barney's pulse surged. He moved fast, vaulting down the stairwell two steps at a time, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.
At the tower's base, the hunter moved around a rusted pillar. Barney sprang out of the shadows, jamming the taser forward with a sharp crackle of electricity. It connected square in the chest.
The man jerked violently but didn't go down. His eyes snapped open wide with rage. He pulled a curved blade from his belt and slashed before Barney could react.
Pain flared in his leg — hot, blinding. Blood quickly soaked through the fabric. Barney stumbled, barely catching himself on a rusted beam.
The hunter pressed the attack. Blade arcs gleamed in the dark as he came at Barney again and again. Barney blocked with his forearm, the impacts rattling his bones.
The fight turned messy, brutal. No finesse — just survival.
Barney's leg screamed, but his mind stayed sharp. He waited, let the attacker overextend, then twisted inside a wide slash. He grabbed the hunter's wrist and yanked it hard, sending the blade skittering across the concrete.
With a roar, Barney slammed his fist into the man's ribs, then shoved him into a metal beam with bone-jarring force. From his pack, he drew a compact pistol and drove it into the hunter's chest — just above the heart.
He fired
—BAMM!
once. Twice. Thrice times.
Each shot echoed through the broken tower like a verdict.
The hunter sagged, eyes wide in shock, and dropped to the ground.
Barney stood over him, panting, leg throbbing with each heartbeat.
"Who sent you?" he demanded, but the man only gurgled blood.
"Barney," Jill's voice crackled through the earpiece, calm but cold, "show me his face."
Barney leaned down, tugged back the man's hood.
The hunter's face was battered, young, and unremarkable.
Jill's tone dropped. "Not even Tier Two. A weak one. The real hunters haven't come yet."
Barney's stomach twisted. Blood dripped from his leg, soaking into his boot.
"Shit," he whispered, staggering slightly.
"I'm hit bad."
"I see it. Deep slash, lateral to the femoral line — too close," Jill said. "You need to close it, now. Med kit's in your side pouch. Pull it out."
He dropped to one knee, groaning. Fumbled with the zipper. The kit fell into his lap, hands slick with blood.
"Sterile wipe first," Jill instructed. "Clean it. It's going to hurt."
"It already does," Barney muttered, but obeyed.
The sting was excruciating. The wound flared like fire. His fingers trembled.
"Gauze. Press hard to slow the bleeding."
He winced, teeth gritted against the pain. "Jill… I don't know how to stitch."
"Yes, you do. I'll guide you. Needle and thread are in the kit."
He found them. His vision was blurring, but Jill's voice was firm, unwavering.
"Thread it. Steady. Breathe."
He pierced the skin — his skin — and nearly blacked out.
"Good. Now cross through the opposite edge. Make it tight. Small loops."
Blood slicked his palms. Sweat poured down his forehead.
Each stitch felt like fire lacing through his leg. But Jill's voice never wavered.
"You're doing it. Keep going."
Four stitches. Five. His breathing slowed. He started to tune out the pain, focusing only on her words and his hands.
"Tie it off. Right there — loop under twice. Pull."
The thread held. He sat back, chest heaving. The bleeding had stopped.
Barney blinked up at the night sky through the broken rafters.
"You okay?" Jill asked, voice softer now.
"No," he said flatly, "but I'm alive."
A long silence stretched.
"You held your own," Jill said finally.
"But this wasn't a real hunter. When they come… they won't miss."
Barney leaned back against the wall, eyes heavy.
"Then I won't either."
He looked down at the stitched wound. Shaky, uneven — but holding.
"That was my first time sewing anything," he said with a grim smile.
"Not bad for a first try," Jill replied. "But next time, let's avoid the stabbing part."
He chuckled once, then winced. "Yeah. I'll try."
Outside, the city kept humming. But inside that tower, Barney had made it through the night.
Barely.