I slapped a magazine into my HK 416, cocked my Glock, primed my cock, loaded my underslung M26 MASS and popped my neck. Having scouted the location minutes earlier, I went back to the USS Miseria, my farmer armored DUKW.

In the driver's seat, I kept my duffle and surprise handy. After a deep breath, I started the engine and pressed my foot on the gas. The guards of the freshly occupied compound blinked at me in confusion as I rounded the corner, accelerating ominously.

My blood was pumping and time seemed to slow as I wrecked through the fence gate we installed some time back. I drove through an enemy, spitting blood onto the windshield with a clang, and into the main building itself. Bricks, glass, dust and debris kicked up everywhere, dazing those in the room I just plowed into. As planned I grabbed my bag, the keys, my surprise and whipped out my Glock 19 finishing those who were left.

I busted my way into the hallway and moved tactically, like the good old days with my HK, through the escape rooms. I came to a locked door and shot the hinges before kicking it in. Inside was an old halloween themed room and six people, four men and two women. I shot the two on the left with a spray of automatic fire. The two in the center went to flip a metal table for cover. A man with a pistol shot at my right but his hand was being kicked around like he was trying to throw the bullets at me. I shot him in the forehead and sprayed fire into the boy behind him. Next, the man behind the table tried to blind-fire me with a double barrel.

That was until my rifle ripped off one of his arms at the elbow. The gun misfired near his partner's head, dazing her. The man screamed as I vaulted over the desk, kicking the woman over and pointing the business end of my M26 MASS in her face. She stuck her hands out pleadingly, stammering, "No-no-no-no! I-I got family!"

"Don't we all?" In my haste to breach and clear the room I never chambered my last M26 shotgun shell and did so with dramatic flare. I hissed, "Alpha. Mike. Foxtrot. Mo Fo!"

I spread her eyeballs across the room and emptied my mag into her still moving, one-armed friend. The room was a mess of blood and splinters when I reloaded my HK and checked my beans and bullets, readying my surprise. Hearing enemies from the next door I flipped the metal table back up, shoved it into the door and set my surprise underneath. Hunkering down, reloading my MASS there was a kick to the door and I responded with three shotgun shots making a hole through the door under the desk. I peeked and spat half my magazine into those who had fallen from my shotgun shots. Next small arms fire came in like the ol' plane that went into Fort Fumble.

"You wanna play rough?! You wanna get some NAVY?!"

Cussing like the sailor I am, I yelped when a few bullets hit my trusty vest through the metal table.

"Okay, you wanna play rough!? Okay, say hello to my little surprise!!"

Sawdust was like snowflakes when I lit my fuse and poked my foot out to shove my surprise into the adjacent room. Then my shop-made Bangalore Blade exploded. Designed to free up a two-foot wide (0.6m) path through mine-fields, razor wire, or overgrowth, the nine pounds (9k) of improvised explosives vomited spaghetti toppings and whatever was left of the door into my area.

"You wanna play rough?!" I taunted, "Okay! You like that?! You want more?!" I coughed and spat sawdust as I stood, vaulted the table, and walked past the carnage I made. Christ, I deduced, they all were here. The Bangalore had taken out at least a dozen-maybe two dozen-hostiles. Four persons were groaning at the end of the hall and I emptied my half-a-mag into them before reloading.

I stopped at the corner, took off my backpack and recapped on my beans and bullets, replacing the empty mags in my vest pockets with live ammo. After stowing the empty magazines I shouldered my bag and continued to the prison-style escape room.

Kicking the door open a kid, sixteen maybe threatened fearfully, shotgun out, "D-don't come any closer-"

I didn't waste time and shot him in the throat with my HK. He stumbled and his shotgun misfired into the floor as he collapsed. Everyone in the cells rose to their feet as I callously ripped the keys from the dying kid and kicked his shotgun away. Christ why can't they just have one key to all the cells? I thought as I rummaged with the keys and unlocked cells.

"Dad?!" A voice exclaimed three cells down.

"Hold on boy, I ain't playin' favorites."

I opened the cell and a dozen people poured out. A man asked while coming out, "Where's the others?"

"The rescue team?" I asked while trying to find the correct key, "Christ! Or the people that held you here?"

"Both." A woman asked, picking up the shotgun.

"As far as I know," I got the next cell unlocked, and opened the door, "I am the team and most of the baddies were in the hall adjacent us."

"Dad-I-"

After dropping the keys I cursed and spat, "Just back away from the door!"

One of the twenty people I freed picked up the keys as I cocked my M26 and shot three rounds into the lock. My son Wayne then kicked the door open. Tossing the blonde blue eyed runt my Glock I asked as everyone started getting kinetic, "Where's your squad?"

"Gone Elvis."

"MIA? Crap."

Gunshots echoed from outside but it wasn't the prison break. The HMFIC's must of figured that now was the time for the rescue party. I popped my neck, already getting stiff from aiming and shooting and asked,

"Your girlfriend?"

"Captured."

"Christ, c'mon! The USS Miseria is outside."