“Target sighted. White male, late thirties, armed. Knack unknown. Three hostages, one female, two male. Female hostage currently at gunpoint.”
That's what I should have said. I should have been speaking calmly and clearly into the wireless transmitter embedded in my ballistic helmet, to relay those facts to command once I had some kind of visual confirmation. Instead, I felt damn near helpless. Shaky breath rattling my chest, while I tried to to steady the pistol in my right hand. I kept the gun pointed toward the sky, just in case, with the safety still on. It's not like I could bungle these situations so badly that I'd accidentally trip and shoot myself in the foot. I hoped.
Still, this was the last place I wanted to be, especially alone. My hair was already a sweaty tangle under the helmet, and the short ponytail that stuck out from beneath it…