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Max really hated vortexing; it gave him the feeling of being born again. But right now it was a necessary evil. He fired several rounds behind him and leapt from the roof of the building, turning back with both guns blazing. Several slugs zipped along through the air, three of them missing their marks but the other four hitting home.

He knew that it wasn't enough to kill the abomination, just slow it down some.

He saw the glimmer of the vortex and smiled.

He fell through and it felt like the universe was ripping at his soul, tearing chucks out of it and then pasting it back in random patches. This was the main reason why he hated using it. 

He emerged somewhere, sometime, and he knew right away that he was in serious trouble. The shift was 40 feet above a home and he plummeted. Feeling like Wyle E Coyote, he balled up and hit the roof, crashing through and landed on something soft.

"What in the name of Jesus Christ," the startled man on the lazy-boy chair shouted. He had dropped his tv tray onto the floor.

"Sorry," Max said. He stood up, dusting himself off. He glanced at his chronometer and smiled. He fished into his pockets and found several hundred dollar bills there and laid them on the table. "This should cover the damages."