An Armed Choice

I didn't believe my ears. My life was at risk? For what? Sure, I've paid a prom night's worth of speeding tickets and pissed off some friends to the point of burnt bridges. However, none of it seemed worthy of taking my life. I didn't have any enemies wanting me dead. (As far as I knew, at least.)

"What do you mean by 'my life will be at greater risk?' What exactly is going on?"

"Calm down, Mister Blanco. Take a deep breath and stay foc-"

"Easy for you to say, Morpheus; your life's not being vaguely threatened by some unknown assassin."

The voice on the other end of the phone was silent for a second. Then he spoke up. "That's true, Mister Blanco, and I apologize. However, I suggest you keep a level head and listen to me. Is that clear?"

A gulp escaped my lips as I shakily answered with a "Crystal."

"Okay. Good." Morpheus took a deep breath and continued. "Unfortunately, I don't have enough time to disclose all the information to you right now, so I'll be asking you the basics. How familiar are you with firearms?"

"Uh, I know the basics of handling weapons, but I don't have - "

"Good. Open the top-right desk drawer."

I looked down at the desk and did so immediately. As I pulled the drawer, a Beretta pistol and two loaded magazines slid into view. My eyes widened in shock - I didn't own a gun. Since when did I have a handgun in my possession?

Morpheus kept talking. "By your silence, I'll take it that you found the gun. Your record indicated that you fired the Beretta M9 in NSCC (U.S. Naval Sea Cadet Corps) boot camp for marksmanship qualification."

"Yeah, but that was years ago." A little over a decade, in fact... but how did he know this?

"Well, the people in your generation grew up with first-person shooter games, so there's a high chance that those skills plus that decade-old training should keep you alright. Besides, the gun now in your possession is the civilian Beretta 92 with no modification, so you should be able to handle it with little problem."

I grabbed the pistol and gave it a once-over. The whole weapon was polished to a mirror sheen and had a jet black finish that made the gun seem like a weapon for killers. There was no magazine in the gun. Other than that, the weapon seemed to be as normal as Morpheus claimed.

A few thoughts occurred to me as I was inspecting my new self-defense weapon. A mysterious caller who apparently knew everything about me and had set up my current scenario? Conversations over the phone? My life was (apparently) in imminent danger? Maybe naming this guy "Morpheus" was a good idea, because this was seriously beginning to sound like the opening of The Matrix.

Morpheus continued talking. "Listen closely, Mister Blanco. I'd say you have about two minutes before they get outside your house. I'm not sure how many people will be coming to kill you. There could be one guy or there could be a whole group."

I let off a quick snark while I loaded the Beretta. "That sounds lovely. A half-dozen guys out to kill me - possibly armed with automatics - and all I have is a semi-auto with... h-how many rounds do I have?"

"Twenty. Ten in each magazine."

I scoffed. "Awesome."

Just then, I heard the sound of breaking glass downstairs. In typical cliched movie fashion, I looked towards my doorway with a shocked look on my face.

Morpheus spoke up on the phone. "They're there faster than I expected." He took a deep breath and then said, "You can do this, Mister Blanco. Head north once you're out of there - I'll find a way to contact you." And then the line went dead.

The sound of a door slamming open was heard downstairs, and fear began to set in my face. I quickly began to assess the situation at hand:

• Twenty shots to take out an unknown number of assailants, possibly armed with automatics.
• One-story house. My room was in the back.
• Zero survival skills. Zero cash. Zero martial arts skills.

As such, I narrowed down three courses of action I could perform.

1. Take the bastard(s) head-on in a gunfight.
2. Hide somewhere in the house and pray to the gods I'd make it somehow.
3. Run.

I didn't have any time to think - I heard footsteps coming from the front of the house. What was I going to do?