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Trouble In the Cafeteria

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Mr. Halt slowly scanned the over crowded lunchroom. He was having trouble seeing everyone, he thought, annoyed. He would have to tell one of the many school admins to spread out the students into some of the later lunch periods, spaced evenly throughout the hour.
Halt slowly scanned to his left, like the trainers taught him. He was about to call it a botched job and continue his grading work when he saw something. The unmistakable glint of a weapon. Moving quickly and quietly, as not to alert his opponent, he approached like a shadow. When he got into place, he loosened the double knife scabbard that held a throwing knife, and a heavier bladed saxe knife, both of which he had trained long hours with. His scabbard was designed especially for him. It was embroidered with a thread-of-gold border, and made of hard, tanned leather.
He took a cautious look from his hidden spot. Much to his delight, he could see the adversary quite clearly. He was dressed in a dark hued sweatshirt that resembled the color of the deadly Nightshade. In his hand he carried a modified revolver, fitted to hold 9 bullets at a time. Each of the bullets had a hollow point, designed to deal a greater amount of damage to the poor unfortunate souls that he had planned to hit. Halt noticed the ghost of a smile on the student’s face. He saw the gleam in his eye. He realized he was about to make a move.
The would-be assassin brought the gun up, and fired into the air. Everyone dropped to the ground, panicked. Everyone, that is, except Halt. He vaulted over the railing, dropping with an instantaneous roll, sending dust abroad, as not to damage his lower body. Halt assumed the stance of an expert knife fighter, while his foe looked up in surprise. He aimed his weapon, and fired three times. With a whirl of his cloak, Halt moved to evade the bullets. He was successful in his first two attempts, but was caught between a rough concrete pillar and a table with food placed haphazardly when the third bullet was sent on its path. Desperately, Halt brandished his saxe, and prepared for the worst. To his surprise, the golden bullet glanced off his knife-edge. Without wasting any time, he jumped onto the table, sending food sprawling.
The deranged shooter shot off three more shots, all of which missed, due to his growing unease. He had never fought such a specialist before. He began to sweat. Halt sprung off the table, seeking to get closer to the killer. He swung with his knife, and Walder barely managed to dodge its deadly arc. He drew a knife of his own, and parried the next two cuts of Halts shining saxe. On the third, he used an ingenious disarming trick. Halts knife was sent spinning away. Walder followed up with a lightning fast backhand to the face, sending Halt sprawling. He slid back 10 feet, crashing into a pillar.
Walder looked at Halt with an evil look in his eye, and said, “What do you say to the god of death?” He pointed the gun at Halt. Halt looked up with a defiant look in his eye. His right hand had moved instinctively to his scabbard, where his throwing knife remained sheathed. He fingered the hilt, and responded, “Not Today.” With the fluidity only a practiced knife master could attain, he sent the knife spinning away before Walder could fire off the killing shot. The hilt of the knife materialized suddenly in Walder’s wrist, proving it unusable. The gun clattered to the floor, as Halt was on him, detaining him.



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