I coughed, gasped for air and choked. Smoke filled the room, burned my throat and filled my lungs. My left eye’s vision was unsteady, shot through with static interference.

Fucker knocked some shit loose when he kicked me.

Tears ran down my face, my bio-monitors trying to compensate for the rising heat, keeping my eyes lubricated. I barely glimpsed Ismail through the thick black smoke, low and motionless.

I stepped back and found the ruin of the desk, the shattered console underneath my sneakers. Ismail whirled and closed the distance between us with two long steps. Ducked low, grabbed his ankle, dove between his legs and yanked his feet out from under him.

He fell to the floor and kicked at me, rolled away when I let go. I heard him hit the window.

“Fuckin’ shit, die!”

I got to hands and knees, launched myself forward. Lowered my shoulder, caught him full in the gut. Lifted, shoved. Glass exploded outwards. Slow motion, Ismail’s eyes widened. He fell backwards into empty air.

And then he was gone.