Assassin (another work in progress)

Discussion in 'Writers Forum' started by Burn, Feb 11, 2005.

  1. Burn

    Burn Member

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    7 minutes, 22 seconds.

    The countdown was dissipating rapidly to zero. There's no way we could pull this off now. No, nothing will work as planned. Michael thought.

    The vehicle's motor drove itself to the point of overheating, the maze of mechanic devices spiralling, slamming, pushing and urging the metallic box forward. There was no stopping now.

    Even so, time was ticking away too quickly for luck.

    Michael gripped the gun in his hand, the sweat beginning to formulate in his palms. He hated being nervous like this. The gun suddenly felt heavy. Gone was the will to pull this off, it simply would not work.

    I'm a soldier, not an assasin. He thought.

    Julia seemed to read his mind. "Contrary to what you may be feeling, or thinking, you have a job to do. Back out now and I'll be forced to terminate you. Your decision. Either way, this kill is going to happen.. By your trigger finger or mine."

    He nodded, pulling himself together.

    The small armored truck swurved with haste unto the highway. The 'Presidential' car was closing in.

    4 minutes, 29 seconds. There was no time to miss. He was thankful for the circle of close comrades that he was a part of. If the organization had been any bigger, nothing like this could have reached success.

    He, Julia, the technicians and the former soldiers would all have been terminated. That was its name in this age. Termination. 'Death' was considered bad luck to utter aloud.

    "We're closing up on side! Michael, get ready!"

    Michael raised the sniper rifle to his line of vision. The safety was flicked off, and he stepped across the interior of the vehicle, ducking to save his head from bumping the ceiling. The tiny metallic window was pushed open.

    He had trained for this moment, it seemed, eternally.

    His body kneeled, just as he had practiced. The scope zoomed perfectly, just as he had practiced. His finger pressed down on the trigger, and the armor penetrating bullet whirled through the glass. At once, the shiney black void that had kept the dictator in the shadows broke to a thousand shards, glistening with the sun's light...

    Human blood, too, glistened as it spouted out onto the street.

    The Presidential Vehicle skidded short. Six armed guards immediately hopped out of the car, firing at the Armoured Truck without hesitance. They were no match for Michael.

    One, two, three, four. Five.....

    The sixth became a more difficult task as the gap lengthened.

    "Consider the last one lucky. I've got no shot."

    What happened to the escort? There must be more vehicles... Michael slammed the hatch shut, backing off to a corner in wariness.

    "It's a trap."

    "What..?!" Julia replied, arming herself for phase two: Escort elimination.

    "There were no other vehicles, Julia... It was a set up."

    Julia's eyes widened, leaping to the hatch and opening it to see for herself. Cars whizzed by. No one was in a rush. No police. No Elite Guards. Nothing.

    "We've got to get out of here." Michael stood. "They're coming."
     
  2. Burn

    Burn Member

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    Indeed they were. The ominous sound of sirens poured through the streets. Julia scrambled to the front of the truck, shouting orders to the driver to try to find an exit off the main streets.

    No use. Michael thought. "They know where we are. We might as well take this thing as far as we can go... Someplace where we can escape into the system's interior. Maybe we can burrow our way through the sewer system? It'll lead us right out of the city."

    "A chance we could take." Julia replied. The driver understood, accelerating the vehicle and maneuvering between cars with expertise.

    Michael knew where they were headed. Exit 17. It would lead them through a side road, and, eventually to a coolant system. This system would lead directly into a sewer maintenance duct. They would have to blow the entrance to buy some time, but it just might work.

    ----------------------------------------

    Far above Julia and Michael, a man carefully watched the incident from his office, 75th floor. After a brief and passive moment by the window, he reached down to his desk. A small metallic block was pressed. "Extension 24."

    There was a pause, followed by a voice. "I presume all is according to protocal." The man crackled through the digital connection.

    "That is correct. Our agents have everything under control. We've even gone so far as to label seven of our agents as expendable. Two are currently alive. They are both on the verge of ending this chaos."

    "Excellent. Contact me when it is done."

    "Yes sir."

    The metallic block ended the audio transmission just as the armored truck disappeared in the distance, pursued by a number of police cars. Police these days were issued special vehicles, hovering above civilian craft. Overseeing.

    The mysterious man took a seat in an antique leather chair, tapping a finger on the desk. She must be close. It is now or it is never. He thought.
    _______________________________

    The driver was beginning to panic. Not only were there a dozen police craft behind him, there were countless now ahead, heading directly at him. He had to make the turn quick, but he needed time.

    As many soldiers have learned, wordless communication is the fastest, and, in time is the most efficient. Michael armed himself with the sniper rifle, leaping into the passenger seat and sticking himself out through the window hatch.

    Snipers in moving vehicles were bad news. No other choices presented themselves, so this would have to do. He would take out the nearest police craft.

    "Aiming..." He blurted out, not thinking. The cross-hair locked and zoomed. This one was coming straight. "Crack!" the gun fired, whizzing the lethal bullet straight through the craft's engines. The police craft did a 360 and smashed into the one behind it, the both of them hurling onto the highway.

    This caused a chain reaction of collisions. "What a mess..." Michael shouted, speaking to the driver.

    Bug-eyed and gripping the controls, the driver managed to spit out, "Just keep shooting!"

    He did. The next police craft was from behind. This one caught on, swiftly rolling back and forth, blasting forward at angles to avoid the lethal armor-penetrating bullets.

    Good trick, but... He didn't lock the cross-hairs this time. Taking an approximate guess of distance, he fired ahead of the craft. By the time the officer realized, it was too late. The bullet hit dead on through the windshield, blowing a hole through the man's neck. The craft stopped rolling and simply whirled into a wall, crushing and imploding itself, bits of sparks and metal spraying across the traffic.

    "We're here!" The driver shouted, excitedly and with much relief.

    The armored truck zoomed down a narrow ramp, rocking wildly, swirving and finally, as the breaks were hit, hitting its side into a wall.

    Michael, Julia and the driver all got out instantly.

    They had begun to hurry down another narrow ramp leading to the underground levels, when Julia suddenly stopped.

    "Guys, wait a second." She said.

    They turned around.

    "I know another way out. A better way out."

    Michael raised a brow.

    "Anyone ever flown before?" She grinned, sensing Michael's irritation.
     
  3. Tigerbeam

    Tigerbeam Member

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    not bad, it has a very good pace. hope to see more of the story soon
     
  4. Burn

    Burn Member

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    The spiral staircase led the trio up and through a towering commercial building. Rent-a-Craft. The future of vehicle leasing services. The roof of the building threatened to break some natural law, its very tip like a dagger poking at the blue domed ceiling we call the sky.

    "Just a... few more steps!" Julia exclaimed between panting breaths. Michael wasn't looking forward to this. The last experience with flying was quite a stain on his memory.

    He could see it now, the Pilot's face, as the team descended into the rainforests of South America. They felt protected, safe within the confines of their metallic sphere. It would always be there, releasing them into the hell of combat, then, like a miracle, bring them back to the opposite and heavenly ends of the spectrum - Home. Hell, home, and back again.

    That daydream was short lived.

    Within an instant, and disturbingly while in the midst of conversation, the Pilot's head exploded. The bullet whizzed straight between his eyes, exploding within his skull and spraying his brains all across the control panels. Michael had been in the middle of talking with him about both the joys and troubles of cigarettes.

    Michael also had no real experience with flying. They take me there, I do the kill, they bring me home. He had thought. Things, however, don't always work out as planned.

    The hours following that dreadful moment were filled with a terrifying attempt to land the vehicle, perform the operation and return in once piece.

    To Michael's satisfaction, everyone but the former Pilot had made it out alive. The only casuality, was, you could say, the vehicle. The Commanders had watched it awkwardly re-enter the docking bays, its outer armored shell dented and worn. Michael was just happy he made it home, and, with a proud grin, stepped out onto the platform to greet the cold and dry-humored eyes of High Command.

    What a mess. Enough about that. I've got to concentrate for round two. He thought, the last step of the spiral staircase behind him.

    The driver confirmed Michael's last thought by blurting out a question. "You think they know we went up here?"

    "Impossible. I sealed the entrance to the tunnels down there. They'll think we're burrowing. We'll be soaring high while they're waist deep in shit." Her face was beaming, she was admiring her own brilliance.

    Don't get cocky. You've got the attitude of a rookie sometimes, no matter how damned skilled or brilliant you are. Michael sneered at her a little bit, but decided not to take it to heart. At least they'd be out of here quicker.

    They met face to face with a long hallway. Many doors, too many doors. Julia seemed to be familiar. "It's this way, hurry!"

    The third door slid open as Julia rushed toward it. Inside was an older hangar. Various flying craft were situated here, suspended by cables but apparently dormant for months.

    "Michael, which one, you think?" She asked.

    He just gave her a look of dread. "Doesn't matter, I guess. Just grab a key."

    Julia's nimble legs flew across the shiney, tiled floor, through a set of doors and around a corner.

    How does she know this place so well? I'll ask her... Maybe not now. We just need to get out. Act first, questions later.

    She returned, as expected, with the keys. The three darted to the vehicle, an older but well-made class of flying-craft. Michael reluctantly took the keys, and unlocked the doors. It reminded him of a car. He hoped it moved faster than one.

    The seat was comfortable, and surprisingly the controls were similar to a car. Good... Just a few... minor adjustments. The engines started, and the coils that had held it in place detached with a loud "Crack!", like some sort of whip.

    He slowly and steadily eased the craft to the hangar doors. Sensing an approaching vehicle, the motors automatically began to turn, releasing them into a clear blue sky.

    "We're off!" Michael shouted, nervous.

    The ship eased gently down a bit, leveling itself with the horizon.

    "Where to?" Julia asked.

    Michael's hands shifted over driver's stick. Sweat forming in his palms. "Uhm... Can't say. The suburbs are safer. You say there are resistance pockets to the north?"

    "That's right." Julia stated, in a strangely serious tone.

    There was an awkward silence. Perhaps it was just anticipation?

    No. He thought.

    There was a soft whimper from the Driver in the back. He didn't know his name, unfortunately. He disliked dealing with nameless individuals, but the man had wished to remain in the shadows - even with his comrades. Perhaps he mistrusted them.

    At any rate, Michael had just heard a distinct whimper. The driver's voice for certain. Was it a nervous whimper? No, it couldn't be. He recognized that tone, that brief but desparate cry. It was the cry of, no! Could it be?

    The cry of death. He knew it better than any other.

    In an instant the scenario was drawn up in his head. He couldn't believe it! Setting the ship on auto-pilot, he was about to turn around.

    "Don't try anything." Julia commanded, her voice suddenly sinister and, somehow, completely different.

    Michael's heart jumped an instant. Regaining his cool, he leaned back into the seat.

    "So, this is how it played out." He said calmly, raising his hands in the air, open and palms facing forward.

    "That's right."

    "I should have known not to trust you. From the very start." Michael let his teeth grit against each other. His mind tearing through plausible escape scenarios. None seemed realistic.

    The sky might very well be the last thing he'd see.

    Flying, no less. Life has its irony... and humor. He thought.

    "Women have an uncanny ability to deceive all men, over ride their natural instincts and lure them right-into-the-trap. Now, I am going to kill you, carry your corpse down to the President himself to inspect and confirm, and toss your remains into the sewers."

    "An honorable end." He stated, sarcastically.

    She ignored it, continuing on with her glorious speach. "Did you really think that assasination would be that easy? There is no way to beat this system. We know everything. What you eat, when you sleep, what you write and think. The system is God. And you, pathetically, with your idiotic followers, believed you could kill Him.

    Now, as your last fleeting moments up here in the sky, I hope you realize what a waste you were, and what a filthy end you are about to meet.

    Good-bye, Michael."

    He knew it was coming. He also knew it was now or never, but it had to be timed just right.

    3... 2... 1... Now!

    His body turned ninety degrees to the left, his hand simultaneously ripping open the doors of the air craft. As he let himself slip out into the sky, he allowed his foot to kick the steering-stick. The ship jerked violently, knocking Julia into the window on her side, and, to Michael's hope, dropping her gun.

    In the last moment his hands jerked for the door.. Grabbing onto it as the ship swung in circles wildly. He looked down for an instant, past his kicking legs and dangling feet. It was a long fall. He could feel his hands almost dripping with sweat.

    Without another thought or hesitating moment, he pulled himself back in. Leaping past the driver's seat, his fist was cocked to crush Julia's face.

    She quickly shifted to the left, the small craft, big enough for a handful of people, made it difficult to move around. It would be a difficult fight.

    She grabbed for the gun.

    He caught her to it, stomping his foot down on her hand as her fingers wrapped around it. He pushed down with all his might, forcing a cry of pain from Julia.

    Now was the time.

    He could see no other option but this. With the gun on the ground, and his weapons in the front seat, the only other way to make a kill would be his knife. Instinctively he slipped it out, closing in on her, almost as if they were performing some twisted sexual fetish. The knife slide through gracefully - straight into her stomach.

    Her eyes went wide with shock.

    He twisted, gripped, and then pulled across.

    With all the world's terror in her gaze, she looked into the eyes of the man who was taking her life.

    Michael. His name is Michael. I have failed. How could this happen?

    He pushed the blade deeper. She gasped, blood filling up her throat and trickling over her lips.

    Everything slowly faded, the last thing she saw was Michael.

    The last thing she felt was despise.

    Michael. You dog. They'll take care of you... they'll...

    Then, it all ended. There was nothing, nothing more. Just black.
     
  5. InFlames420

    InFlames420 Member

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    wow, that was good
     
  6. Burn

    Burn Member

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    The vehicle was placed down at the outskirts of the city, where massive funnels pumped an endless smog into the sky. Incinerators, a cheap and easy way to get rid of things. Fire proved useful, even in this day and age, with all the technological advances of the Empire. The world would see no end to this. It was humanity's destiny. It was their purpose. Their universal manifest destiny.

    With one great shove, the craft was cast down into the dark pit. He peered down in curiousity, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. He knew it was no heaven. The heat down there threatened to reach that of the sun's. The bodies would never be found, whoever Julia was working for would not know if she were dead or alive, and, should she be alive, if she had turned against them.

    Michael liked to leave a confusing path behind him. They always got lost on the trail. It led them in circles, to dead ends, or sometimes into the barrel of his gun.

    ____________________________________

    It is now or it is never.

    The words, once cleverly playing through his head, now haunted the man in the office.

    Looks like it's never, this time.

    He tapped a pen against the wooden desk. Antique, 20th century. He loved the ideals of that time, the nation when it was a fledging world power. He imagined himself as a fitting figure for that era, sitting on fine asian carpets, smoking cigars and doing business with J.P. Morgan.

    Reality brought him here. Despite the collection of his personal relics, the walls were still a dry metallic shade, the lights simple screens on the ceiling. Even the door was as plain as ever. A sliding door, opening in the middle like an elevator. But, he admired his fine carpets, his furniture, and the collection of old books on the shelf to his right. It all felt exquisite.

    Then, reality pinched his arm one more time. The communicator began beeping a high pitched sound. Incoming call.

    "Accept." He stated, not interested who was on the other end.

    "Where are the corpses?" The voice questioned. It was not the man who he had talked to before.

    He jumped, completely taken aback. Nervously, his hands grabbed the arms of the chair and he slid himself closer to the desk. "S-sir! I have had no word from our agents." He blurted, trying to sound professional.

    "It has been over three hours, Director. One was ordered to terminate the traitors at exactly three hours ago. Where is she?"

    The man in the office shifted, his heart racing, and his mind equally running in circles for some sort of excuse, answer, to satisfy the President's temper.

    But the President was no fool. He realized the Director had no clue.

    "It is in my suspicion that she has turned. Ex-Lieutenant Michael J. Hunter is a convincing character. It is also in my suspicion that your spy-training systems are less than operative-worthy, and up for evaluation should such a slip occur again. Eliminate Julia."

    "But what if she is simply kidnapped?" He asked, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment.

    It was not to be forgiven. "Don't play me for an idiot. Kill her anyway. I will risk no slips! Do you understand?" The President's voice sounded terrifying through the com-link, digitized and chilling to the bone.

    "Y-yes sir. I will send out a team immediately."

    The President closed the connection himself.

    A sigh of relief left the Director's lungs. It wasn't easy being the head of Intelligence.

    The President is mad. He thought. But ever so effective. I cannot speak these words aloud. My life depends on it.

    With a re-established determination, he pressed the com-link again, silently pressing the number for the stand-by team. There was to be a search.

    _______

    Meanwhile, Michael was climbing down an endless ladder. Equally as scarey as flying. It took him a good half hour to make it down. From there, the slums began outside the city wall. He made his way through, disappearing into the thousands of un-marked, un-traced and un-noticed people.

    The digital world was hardly existant here. Compared to the metropolis, this place was purged of all that is modern.

    Relics of the last era remained standing. As Michael passed through the dismal streets, one of the most compelling buildings still stood. Its stone pillars, dwarfed as compared to the city, somehow seemed majestic.

    Federal Hall must have been quite a site in the old days.
     
  7. Burn

    Burn Member

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    The Elites, in their 'natural form' were relentless, frightening human beings.

    The Director had just got off the phone, sending numerous teams in and around the city. "Find Julia. Find Michael. Kill them both." The orders were simple. No complications. Just kill.

    Number 15, Lieutenant John Tyler, spoke through his mask. "Find the traitor...If I were on the run, I would have escaped somewhere into the slums. We have the perimeter sectioned into quadrants. We're hunting in the third. Be cautious, be careful, and kill on sight."

    With that, the twenty Elites spread in teams of five across the perimeter. Overhead, armed police-craft zoomed through the aging 'skyscrapers', which were now no taller than a blades of grass if the metropolis were to be a tree.
    They scanned through the old buildings, now filled with the gangs of nobodies, fighting for nothing, leading themselves nowhere. Or perhaps there were families, stores, anything of that sort. There was no sense in scanning with equipment. Michael had removed his I.D. Chip. A wonderful invention created during the turn of the millenium for national security.

    They scanned by eye, and everyone on the force had a required excellent vision. If your eyes were lousy, they'd fix them.

    __________________________________________

    Michael had seen them coming. Chances were still slim they'd ever find them, but the President's incompitence, he knew, would force a search.

    He knew he couldn't risk being seen. One glance and he would be shot. He had to remain in the shadows.

    So, from a dark corner in an old room, 22nd floor of some old business building, he waited for the search to end. The floor was old, an ancient rug now worn away to reveal patterns of grimey tiles. In the corner by the only window was an old metal desk, filled with papers long forgotten. Michael wondered if at one point they were as important as the documents flying through the digital offices of The Empire's headquarters.

    Time turns things around. He thought.

    __________________________________________________

    Number 13 stopped. Like walking onto a forest path after having been lost for hours, he suddenly knew exactly where he was going. He called for his team to stop, then began to climb up on an old bus. Some of the usual crowd gave him a curious glance. Taking advantage of that, he raised his gun and fired a round into the air, shouting across the square "Attention!! Attention!"

    Everyone's heads swung up and bodies crouched down, without question.

    "I am setting a bounty on a man! He is one of us. His name is Michael!" Number 13 fingered through a few items concealed in a pouch on the side of the uniform. He took out a small, round object, and kneeled, placing it on the hood of the car.

    With a click of a button, the object projected a holographic image of Michael.

    "As you can see, he is dangerous! We will give to whoever finds him, a vast amount of money..." He realized no one really cared much about money. It was all about possessions here.

    "... And a significant amount of weaponry, cutting edge and standard issued by our own military."

    The faces from the shadows looked up at that point.

    "Happy hunting!" Number 13 said, hopping off of the bus. He left Michael's projection up for all to see.

    Number 13 grinned, repeating to himself. "Happy hunting. Good luck, Michael. You'll need it."
     
  8. theforskennynors

    theforskennynors Member

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    do action figures come with this shit? go fuck yourselves. if you want to write about all these gunbattles, join the war and go get shot with the soldiers. you're a great fucking writer and yet you're just writing about some bullshit shoot em up shit. write about the humans, all of them, not just dorky ones and twos that know how to aim guns and wear sunglasses.
     
  9. SelfControl

    SelfControl Boned.

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    Constructive criticism there.
     
  10. Burn

    Burn Member

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    Right. theforskennynors, I'm sure even Ghandi just had fun sometimes.

    I'd be glad to send you some of my other writings, in fact I started posting them right here. Didn't seem to get much feedback, and it's something I might try to publish, so I'll continue it at a later date.

    This is just a game, fun. Thankyou for your criticism, I understand.
     
  11. Burn

    Burn Member

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    Water trickled through the rotted and moldy cracks of a small, twenty story building, gathering into a pool of muck in the corner of an ancient room. Within the room was a bed stripped bare, a bottle of liquor and a nightstand. Any other furniture had long since been taken, and by the look of it this place had not been touched for over twenty years.

    He was in there. He was waiting. The underside of the bed had a peculiar smell. The sort that old places have and hold onto. The kind that makes you shudder, as if the energy could physically manifest on you like dirt and disease.

    Michael arched his back, pressing his fingertips and his feet against the filthy floor in order to slide himself forward. He canted his head a little to the left, sticking his right ear out form under the bed.

    Footsteps on the floor beneath him. They were irregular... four... maybe five individuals. Not soldiers. You could tell the elites were coming by their unique movement patterns. Michael realized this, though few who were hunted caught on to such subtleties.

    Whoever they were, they certainly were looking for someone. Michael could hear them darting to and fro across the hallways, searching the rooms frantically.

    Looks like these guys picked the right building....

    He slowly began to slide himself up, careful not to creak the floor. Every breath and heartbeat and rustle of clothing was amplified by the dead silence of the air around him, as if the room were trying to help the bounty hunters discover him.

    He thoughtlessly grabbed his gun, loaded it, flicked off the safety and glided his feet across the floor. A gentle twist of his hand and wrist opened the door, and upon exiting the room he closed it with the same effort.

    He paced himself, walking down the hallway as quickly and quietly as he could.

    The footsteps started up the stairs at the other end of the hall.

    I gotta make a run for it... They're making too much noise to hear me, and since they're no longer under me, they won't hear me running above them.

    His body started darting for the stairs at his end of the hall before he could even finish the previous thought.

    His legs flew down the stairs, and Michael was shocked he never managed to trip over himself and fall. He followed the stairs all the way down, then headed through a hall leading to the back of the building. He figured they'd be waiting for him in the front.

    Closer, closer... He reached the end of the hall and...

    Just around the corner....

    In the very instant he turned, he could see a dark figure standing there, waiting... No, he wasn't just waiting...

    In that very instant, he also felt a pain flash through his body. His lungs gushed out air as his back slammed into the ground.

    Shit...

    Was all he could think. The rest was pain, then darkness...

    The few moments of consciousness following that moment were brief.

    A plane.. Flying... His head ached...

    Pain...

    He was tied down.

    Between the brief moments of consciousness, he dreamt. His dream brought him to a place that seemed impossible to exist. A place he could not identify, nor say he had ever been before. It was the shore of some beautiful island. Its beaches were cliffs, stretching and leaning over the waters that crashed beneath them. He wished to be there now, far from civilization.

    In this dream he was no criminal, he was no wanted man. He was no soldier or enemy of the state. There was no state...

    Michael sighed in his sleep, wrists and ankles pushing up against the chains that binded him to cold metal floor, and to the noise of the engine, humming him to a deeper state of unconsciousness.
     

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