Pro tip: making bulletproof armor isn’t all that difficult. These days, you can buy steel, ceramic, or polyethylene plates that can stop anything up to an armor piercing .30-06 bullet with ease. That doesn’t make the experience of getting shot any more fun, however, and even the best armor can’t cover everything. 

I didn’t bother trying for headshots. That’s mostly movie and videogame bullshit. I started pouring fire into the guards at chest level and trusted Isaac Newton to do the rest. A 68 grain bullet traveling at about 3000 feet per second hits with something like 1400 foot pounds of energy. Even if it hits a plate, that’s like getting kicked in the chest by an angry giraffe. A plate might save your life, but it’s not going to do anything for your ribs.

The first two guards dropped, writhing in apparent agony, before the sound of the gunshots reached the others. A third dropped like a stone; he ducked at just the right time, and the bullet meant for his sternum cracked open his skull like a walnut. Guards three through six tackled their principle at more or less the same time, but from three different directions, and piled on top of him to use their bodies as shields. 

I couldn’t help but wince. Those tackles could have made an NFL highlight reel on gameday. It was a brave, even heroic act on their part, but ultimately futile. I emptied my magazine into the mass, reloaded, and did it again. And again. And a fourth time for good measure. Once I had a fresh fifth magazine in my rifle, I checked fire. 

“They’re down. Not sure they’re all dead, but if they’re not, they probably wish they were,” I said. 

“Roger,” Edgar replied. “Cora, let’s finish up down here.”

“Finally,” Cora grumbled. “This got old a long time ago.”

Now that we’d smoked out our target, the two more experienced Hunters could really take the gloves off. Cora dropped the shroud and her revolver, drew her sword, and raced towards the nearest enemy with the predatory grace of a cheetah. Edgar, meanwhile, advanced slowly and steadily behind a wall of buckshot, sweeping away anything foolish enough to stand in his way. Within twenty seconds, everyone outside was dead.

The frontal assault was never meant to be more than a diversion. It was a pretty safe bet that our target would try to make a run for it if we kept the pressure up, and then it was only a matter of anticipating how he’d try to escape. Surveys showed no signs of tunneling around the manor, and with cover save for landscaping for miles around, that meant trying to run or drive away wasn’t a smart move. If they couldn’t go underground, and they couldn’t go on the ground, that meant they had to take to the sky. There was no sign of a helicopter on the roof, but magic vehicles aren’t limited to things like wings or rotors. 

That’s where I came in, and the whole reason I had been hired for this job. Edgar could, in a pinch, serve as a sharpshooter, but that would leave Cora to handle the distraction all by herself. Having seen her in action, there was no doubt that she could have held her own against the guards, but a single attacker isn’t going to create enough of a ruckus. If they couldn’t send old Dick running, they’d have to fight their way through his house the hard way. With Edgar’s Benelli backing her up, however, they had just enough firepower to make this crazy scheme feasible. 

Why didn’t they bring on another, more experienced Hunter as their marksman, you ask? Hell if I know. If I had to guess, and was feeling uncharitable, I’d say no one felt like dealing with Cora. Lord knows I didn’t, but by the time I knew what I was getting into, it was too late. 

“Good work, Mycroft,” Edgar said. “I think we’re done. Keep an eye on that rooftop until the cleanup team gets here. Otherwise, take a breather.”

“Wilco,” I said. “You guys still breathing?”

“I’m green,” Edgar replied. “Cora?”

“Sprung a couple leaks, but I’m fine,” she said.

“What do you mean you’re fine?” I demanded. “If you got shot, we need to call in medics.”

“Easy killer,” Edgar said wearily. “We’ve got healing amulets that’ll sort most things out. If she was hurt bad, help would already be here. Just hang tight and we’ll talk later.”

“Roger,” I said sullenly. I was starting to think $100,000 wasn’t enough.