They clattered to the floor, rolling around our feet.

The smell of ozone from the shattered light fixture was sharp in the air.

I twisted his wrist outward, attempting to break his grip on the grip of the automatic.

He slammed his elbow into my jaw.

The pain was a dull, white flash in my eyes, but I didn’t let go.

I threw my weight forward, forcing him against the wall.

His head struck the concrete with a dull thud.

His grip loosened slightly, the gun slipping in his sweaty palm.

“It’s over, Hayes,” I muttered, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“You’re not leaving this room.”

Outside, the siren of an approaching military police vehicle began to wail.

The sound rose and fell, cutting through the storm.

The blue and red lights flashed against the wet window, casting dancing colors across the walls.

Hayes looked at the window, his eyes wild.

“They won’t believe you,” he whispered, his voice desperate now.

“The documents… the signatures… it’s all logged.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

I applied pressure to his wrist, forcing the muzzle of the gun down toward the floor.