$42.3 Million Dollars.
4 continents.
28 marks extinguished.
This has been my year since The Event. Not too shabby. Not to mention ever since The Event, I’ve felt changes. I feel quicker. Not just in mind, but in body. No one knows I’m coming. No one senses me approach. No one dodges my blows and I deflect all blows thrown at me. I’m stronger as well. I kicked a car in half last week when obtaining information from Mammoth. He didn’t want to divulge what knowledge he had but he didn’t realize; he had no choice. I thought of leaving him a few million to pay for his hospital bills but that would make me a bit of a hero, now, wouldn’t it? That simply won’t do.
2 months ago…
Detroit, MI, Freighters Shipping Yard.
My latest target chose this as his ring of stolen goods operation. Was there a more obvious choice? I found him in less than fifteen minutes using Google and my advanced acumen. Now I’m here and he’s frozen in fear. I’ve dispatched his two very large guards with the grace of a swan. Two slices with my blade and I’m that much closer to my next payday. My satisfaction.
Swift noise from my left side. Curved angular weapon coming straight for me; I dodge before my brain even gives my feet the message. I sliced down at the item with my sword and see it was a razor tipped boomerang. Six more are coming my way. I jump onto a stack of crates about nine feet high to avoid two of them, then back to the ground but I twist as I land to evade another then stand my ground and slice the last three out of the air as if I’m playing the greatest tennis match anyone’s ever seen.
Time to put the fear of God in him. Of course, I’m scarier. God doesn’t kill half as efficient as I do.
“George Harkness, you are my next target. I have every detail of your life and career memorized. I always finalize my contracts. Your time is up.”
Silence. I wait 5 beats and then normally get a response, which is usually a hail of gunfire.
1…2…3…4…Whoosh!
Give him credit: he thought he’d fool me as four boomerangs covered in some strange gunk are whirling in all directions at me. I don’t even know how I dodge the first three, complete pure instinct and the last one I knock back at him with the broad side of my blade, and he comes out of the side of a stack of shipping containers. I quickly throw two shuriken’s but he dodges both of them. Now I’m running and no one outruns me. He’s ducking and maneuvering pretty well behind all the containers on the dockyard but I’m going up top. I leap up in one fluid effortless motion and am running atop the containers now with a bird’s eye view of my target. Is he actually wearing some ridiculous cap? I throw another shuriken and pin the hat to a container which stops him for a brief second, but it’s all I need. I leap sideways and twist in midair, covering his next move in shrapnel. He stops and tries to readjust but instead pulls on a boomerang and tosses it; it has a timer. I get the hell out of dodge as that container I was standing in front of goes up like an oil rig finding black gold.
He’s working his way to the water, but it won’t do him any good. I pick up my pace and start doubling over his steps in half the amount of time it took for him to make them and I’m on him. I tackle him from behind and we both rollup back to our feet and he’s already got one razor styled boomerang on me, but I shoot it out of the air and hit the second trigger on my modified weapon, which fires two more blades out and rips both the sleeves off his coat which is where his boomerangs have been coming from. He’s defenseless but he again surprises me by coming at me using a handheld boomerang to slice the shaft of my assault rifle off like a hot knife through butter. I flip backwards and pull out my blade and we battle. His parries are quick but not strong and I push extra each time I clash blades with him and it’s wearing him out; his face sweaty, his eyes quick and beady, his instincts dulling as mine get more honed. This time when our weapons meet, I sweep his legs out from under him and slice down his arm which causes him to drop his weapon and my blade is at his throat.
“How much are they paying you? I’ll pay. I have money, lots of money.”
“Where?”
“Con…Container 4345. Whatever it is, I’ll double it.”
“Done.” And I drive the point into his trachea and hit concrete on the other side. He’ll bleed out quickly.
“No more stupid boomerangs. The world should thank me.”
I locate his container and take double the pay. Kinda hard to believe he was being honest about that. He was very generous. I pull out my handheld tablet and send the confirmation picture and watch as my bank account gets that much plumper. I wait for my next target, but nothing comes through. Downtime? I don’t need it or want it. I’m getting stronger and more unstoppable every day. Something happened to me after The Event, and I don’t want to look back now and lose it. My phone beeps with a message. I see the blonde beauty in the picture and smile.
Present Day…
This kid’s good. Not as good as the original but good. Another shot blocked as we exchange knife hands, and he takes three to the throat as he tries to sweep my leg, but I know that trick. I pull out my knife and he back flips to the plane wreckage to find one himself. He pulls out a piece of glass shrapnel and throws it at my head, knowing I will block it but how much energy do I divert to doing it is the question. Enough for him to find his bow and nock his arrow.
“Give me a reason, Slade.”
“You have enough, I’m sure. Why have you been following me?”
“Huh, and here I assumed all along you were following me.”
“I was.”
“I have to bring you in. You’re too dangerous.”
“You are right. I am. I’m a huge threat to your world. But only if someone’s writing a check.”
“Someone always is. But checks are so antiquated, don’t you have an ATM card?”
“Leave the clever quips to your emerald predecessor. You’re a pale imitation in every way.”
That was personal and he let me know it as an arrow flies through the air at me but I spin kick it off trajectory. I didn’t know another one was coming but it squeezed past my cheek. Off its mark as if he knew where I’d be when I kicked that first one away. I feel the blood coursing down my face, and I reach up to feel how deeply I’m lacerated. As I do, to my surprise and his, the wound is closing on its own.
“No shit,” he says out loud. I leap across the grassy field and land a kick squarely into his solar plexus, then three backhands to his face. He’ll take a nice nap from that.
I leave him a picture of his precious bird so she can be prepared then a note just for him. I don’t give advice often to people I don’t kill. Wonder if he’ll use it?
bobombblast 