The Man In Black kicked in the nearest door and dove through as interlaced bronze teeth and a coiling gelatinous vine narrowly missed his neck. He jumped, diving past the bathroom of the room he’d entered like a baseball player desperately trying to make home base, and abruptly dropped, hammered vertically into the floor by something like a shadow, something like a heatwave.

Simon ground his heel into the Man In Black’s back as he casually walked over him. A traveling businessman and a hooker were frozen at the head of the bed, sheets clutched to their chests. A stray bullet lazily drifted into the room like a bumblebee and methodically began digging into a wall.

The Man In Black stood. A man and woman on a bed to his left were screaming and (for another second or so) so were his men. A last, desperate shot was fired behind him and a bullet plunged into the wall next to him with a soft pop.

The kid was in front of him, and he could hear the kug dripping behind him as it slithered into the room.