A crimson stained cloth spilled life fluid onto the shiny marble floor of the lift. The young man leaned back against the massive back wall that was a mirror, contemplating his possibilities of survival. His eyes tried to focus through the one way mirrored glasses that he gazed through. He left a smeared imprint of oil and sweat on the glass, as he took a deep breath that caused his leg to quiver. The bullet wound in his chest shot a spider web of pain through his body. Cirk glanced at the elevator LCD display, desperately trying to stay focused and ignore the pain. The plush tile elevator moved slowly, too slowly for the I2A2 (Infiltrate, Intercept and Acquire Agent) codenamed Cirk.
‘They must've expected me or somebody tipped them. They're going to lock down this high rise cube farm any second.' Cirk thought, as his hand held the bullet wound. ‘Keep your head clear or the mission is going to be a complete failure.'
Cirk pulled out a small gun shaped device from one of the many thin hidden bags under his long and flowing trench coat. He struggled to pull his shirt up around one of the larger packs hidden in his coat. The needle of the gun penetrated his skin. A mixture of hormones pulsed into his arteries. The bleeding slowed down. Cirk grimaced, knowing that the bullet was still inside. Healing would take to long. He could not wait to make his move with his pursuers in tow.
The elevator dinged to a stop. Cirk's heart raced, he was not ready yet. The doors slid open. He caught his breath, unprepared for an entry. The data had to be delivered to Kana. If the transfer did not take place, Teufel would be set back years. All of their future operations depended on this data. Cirk's mind raced in anticipation of the gunmen having somehow beat him to the floor, and stopping the elevator. The milliseconds moved like years in his chemically, and energy charged brain. He pressed forward onto his feet, reaching into his coat for a weapon. A figure lurched in front of the opening. Cirk braced himself.
He watched in horror as a sharply dressed business woman moved around the sill of the opening, barely looking into the car before stepping into the lift with him, momentarily admiring her anorexic figure in the mirrored back wall, and promptly turning around to sport her trim ass for the male figure behind her. The woman, likely busy thinking about her next backstab or tactical screw on her climb up the corporate ladder, either did not take serious notice of the sweaty twenty-two year old dressed in a bulging black trench coat who happened to be wobbling in a developing pond of his own blood, or simply did not find it as captivating as her own fantasies.
Cirk, accepting the surrealness of the situation, politely shuffled to the corner of the car, hoping to God that the assassins did not make it to the floor before the lift's doors closed. With elevator music playing, Cirk stood in the corner, frantically considering his options of escape. Suddenly, another elevator across from him opened.