Templar's Warmup II

This fanatic wasn't much different compared to his peers.

They looked the same. Acted the same. Attacked in the same way.

There was only one difference. 

He had an explosive vest around his waist.

"FOR TEMPLAR'S GLORY!"

Jamal's eyes widened, and, using all the strength he could muster, he rushed back, shooting behind him with each step.

But the man didn't let him go.

He was going to die today, and he was determined to take Jamal down with him.

The bullets intended to shred him apart bounced harmlessly off his augmented suit, its shield set to maximum.

Nothing—not even air—could penetrate it, allowing him to withstand the barrage for a little longer.

A soldier suddenly appeared in front of Jamal, blocking his escape route.

Still sprinting, Jamal glanced back, then forward, eyes locking on the gun aimed straight at his head.

'No way I'm dying to this racist fucker!'

Ratatatatatat!