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badly_knittedTitle: Armed And Dangerous, The Bad Guy Remix
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Dale, Greg, Ianto
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Meat.
Summary: Dale realises a little too late that he’s completely lost control of the situation.
Word Count: 329
Written For: The remix Challenge at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
fic_promptly, remixing my own fill, ‘Armed And Dangerous,’ which was written for juliet316’s prompt ‘Author's choice, author's choice, armed and dangerous.’
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
The gun goes ‘click’ instead of ‘bang’. It takes Dale’s brain a moment to figure out what that means. Damnit, he’s out of bullets and the guy he was just wrestling with looks none too happy. Time to leave. Even as he races out the door, he hears the other guy, the American, shouting.
“Ianto! Go! After them!”
Fuck! He’s lost the advantage now. The only thing left is to cut his losses, grab the loot and take off. Greg should be in the office. Dale just hopes he’s getting their stuff together ready for their getaway, because he doesn’t think they’re going to have much time. Thankfully, his brother is on the ball for once and Dale joins him, filling one of the money bags.
That’s when the door bursts open. Dale’s not a coward, really he’s not, but the look on that guy’s face chills him to the bone, in the split second he gets to take it in. Greg goes flying, clipped by the door, but the guy Dale had been trying to kill just strides after him and zap! Greg crumples. The whole thing maybe took two seconds, and Dale belatedly makes a grab for his gun, picking it up only to have it sail out of his hand as the toe of a very shiny shoe connects with his wrist. He thinks he feels something snap, but it hardly matters any more.
“Pray they survive.” The man’s voice is so hard and cold, the glint in his eyes so deadly, Dale can’t keep from shrinking back, practically cowering in fear. Then the muzzle of the other man’s weapon is pressed to his forehead; he thought it would be as cold as the man’s voice, but it’s oddly warm.
The last thought that crosses his mind before everything goes black is that he’s screwed up royally this time and he’s going to die, then his brain shorts out and darkness claims him.
It’s almost welcome.
The End
