As I tried to stay alert to my surroundings, I sensed my bio-comp sparking into action. It hit me with a excessive dose of morphaxitrain, instantly shredding the pain that was fighting to consume me. Since control would be alerted to my condition, my immediate response was to concentrate on staying alive.
Years of Secret Service training took over as I pushed myself into a crouching position against the marble banister. My eyes scanned the balcony I had been guarding and focused on a blasted piece of marble. Immediately my thoughts turned to the grounds.
Whispering, "infrared", I raise my head to view my surroundings. My display shades lit the garden up with thermal patterns more stunning then any daylight. I was not interested in the display, as I filtered through for a tell tale human signature.
My vision centered on a red hot figure preparing to fire an even hotter rifle. That was all I needed, I twisted anti clockwise and threw myself back. Simultaneously I dragged my arm up, feeling the solid of the induction gun that was strapped to my fore arm. Crosshairs slid across my vision to collide upon my assailant. My hand itched and sent a blizzard of bullets buzzing into the garden. A halo of sparks spontaneously encased the rifle an instant before the whole garden was engulfed by a blinding white inferno. My momentum carried me beside the banister, which sheltered me in a cloud of dirt and marble.
Regaining my feet I once again surveyed the grounds. As my shades compensated for glare, hell phased into view. The whole garden was aflame, with the destruction centering around a growing mushroom cloud. The sight of the devastation before me recalled a bit of need to know. I'd once heard rumors of a weapon Mitshua were developing. Called a plasma gun, it was said to be stealthy, powerful and very experimental. This rifle met the criteria, but I doubted that the previous owner was around to show it to me.
The accumulation of footsteps behind me singled that I was no longer alone. I could sense the guests moving onto the balcony, murmuring above the commotion. Self consciously I patted down my Italian suit, only to find it seared to the kevlar lining. I thought of the company I was in, I could not let Madam President see me like this. As I moved away, I checked the time, so as to look nonchalant. I was taken by the fact my Rolex had slipped of my wrist, then reality crept in. Not only was my watch missing, but so was half my arm. "Ohh, Fuuu..." I choked as I fell to the floor for the third and final time.