Author's Note: Holy. I'd think with such a good (but still, insanely psychotic) movie like Wanted, there'd be a lot more stories in this particular story. Hey, I heard a sequel was coming out though!
This is mostly all from Cross's view, and Allyse (for you people who played the game) is Wesley's mother. It's a series centering around Cross and Allyse's relationship. Slightly crack-ish—wrote this while watching the movie at two in the morning, so please forgive the awkward-ness between Allyse and Cross.
Gunshots freely rang through the air, and yet he kept running, a cold look of determination setting in his eyes. His blood pounded painfully through his veins, and he heard the whistle of a bullet flying straight at his head.
His body working on autopilot, he reached into his pocket and threw a watch behind him. With a faint twinge of satisfaction, he heard the bullet collide with the object.
He dove to the side, kicking open a door and heading for the roof. Screams echoed past the stairwell as a muffled blast shook the whole building.
Something white-hot—a bullet- clipped his right hand as he ran across the building top. Ignoring the pain but swearing faintly under his breath, he backed to the very edge, tearing off the edge of his already-desiccated shirt and wrapping it around his hand. He'd already lost his gun a long time ago when they were chasing him.
He heard a gun's safety catch slide back, and his ice-blue eyes darted to the side. "Evening, Donovan." The sounds of the traffic beneath nearly drowned out his words, but the resulting laugh chilled him rather more effectively than the freezing wind.
A rule of the Fraternity drilled into him by the Repairman flitted across his mind. Never show fear to your targets. It gives them an advantage. And then the Repairman had smashed his head rather brutally into an iron support, but he'd refused to scream- or cry. He simply glared. A ruthless smile from the blond man—You learn quickly.
The muzzle of a semi-automatic touched his temple. Vaguely, he saw the smirking man tighten his grip on the gun. "I'm going to enjoy killing you, Cross." The trigger began to move—the heel of his shoe began to slip on the edge—
Time slowed again, and he clearly saw the glint of a far-off bullet speeding towards them in the dying rays of the sun.
At that very moment, he simply took a step backwards and fell off the building as he saw Donovan collapse, a look of stupid shock on his face as a distinctly marked silver bullet ripped through his head.
As he fell, he caught the semi in his good hand, reached out, and gripped the edge of a windowsill. The resulting stop jarred his shoulder so badly he felt a crack as he dislocated something, but he simply pulled himself into the building, stole someone's red Dodge Viper, and drove off.
The streetlights washed over his face, throwing his injuries into greater relief. Hot blood dripped down his arm—the shoulder was worse than he expected—and he simply took a sharp intake of breath as he reset the bone.
His Nokia rang in his pocket and he flipped it open. "Cross. Finished Donovan?"
"I'm busy," he replied. "Don't call me unless it's an emergency."
Eagle scoffed. "Right. You left a bullet and that sniper of yours in the tower. You should be talking to her. She's been bothering me this whole time to call—Hey!"
A door slammed. There were faint footsteps in the background, and the phone was apparently dropped and set onto speakerphone. "How dare you leave me back here!"
An amused glint lit his eyes. "You're still not ready to go with me."
"Says the man who threw himself off a building because he couldn't finish his target!" He could almost imagine the irate woman's look of fury. "You—you—argh!"
"Allyse," he cut in smoothly. "I let you shoot him."
"Wait! What? That—that's not tru—"
He hung up, rolled down the shotgun window, and threw the phone out. "Good shot, Allyse," he whispered before he sped off into the night.