Ryson
I hate the
rain, actually you could say I despise it.
For the life of me I can’t figure out why people romanticize it so
much. All it does is complicate things,
I mean it cuts down on visibility, soaks clothing, and makes things hard to
hold on to. Basically it sucks. I’ve been standing here in this piss-warm drizzle
for hours waiting for my mark to get home, and something tells me I will be
stuck out here even longer. And why is
it that they always seem to hole-up in these nasty little pay-by-the-hour hotels? I mean for Pete’s sake, have a little self-respect
and stay at a decent place where I can be comfortable for once.
What is the
deal with me always being the one who end up waiting for God only knows how
long? I mean c’mon now, my last mark
took three weeks to run down and this one is already on day eight. From what I hear, Anders never has this problem,
but that probably has to do with the fact that he has his nose so far up the Enclaves
ass that he gets the very best intelligence they can provide. As for me, I get stuck with all the shitty
jobs, the ones that require the most work.
Fucking rain...
It takes
another three hours of standing around in this damn rain, feeling it coursing
down the back of my neck and into my coat, leaving me shivering and cold
despite the fact that it’s almost ninety degrees out tonight. Three hours of waiting doing nothing more
than standing there in that alleyway stewing and getting angrier as the clock
ticks by.
Finally a
light goes on in my marks room. If
things stay true to form it won’t stay on very long. I can feel my adrenals kicking in as I jog across
the street into the flea-bag hotel and haul ass up the rickety stairs. By the time I reach the landing outside my
marks room my senses are singing and I can feel my heart pounding deep in my
ears. It’s always like this, the waiting
followed by the rush.
It takes
three strong kicks with my size-twelve boot to cave in the lock and force the
door open. Three kicks that seem to take
forever to do, three kicks worth of eternity for my mark to get ready for
me. I can see the look of terror in my
marks eyes as I stride into the room, my .45 in my left hand and a foot-long
blade in my right.
It’s a
picture you could see at any shitty hotel in any city across the country really. A half-naked hooker trying her best to cover
her goodies while the John does his best to hike up his pants, sure that he’s
about to be robbed. It only takes me a
second to take it all in, to see the sweat on his brow and the thick cake of
makeup on her face. It takes about the
same amount of time to level my pistol at my mark and fire off two quick shots.
The whores
face and head explode in a mess of grey-matter and bits of skull as my bullets
slam into her arched brow. Without as
much as a whimper she drops to the floor into a blood-drenched mass. I glance over my left shoulder to the
terrified John, still midway into pulling up his now piss soaked slacks. In broken Russian I say “Get the Hell out!”
before I turn back to the body.
I hear him
rush out of the room behind me as I move toward the corpse. I have seen this trick too many times. I holster my .45 as I secure my grip on my
short-sword. They always play dead you
see. I guess they mutually figure that
if they just lay there I will leave.
Fuck that! No way am I letting
this thing get away on my watch.
This one is
smarter than most though. As I lean over
to cut out its wormy black heart it leaps to its feet, its hands gripping my
throat in a death-grip, attempting to tear out my throat. I slam my consecrated blade deep under its
ribcage aiming for the core of its being, targeting its heart. I know that the only way I can stop it is to
pop it like some sort of pus filled baseball.
It takes
four flurried stabs before I manage to hit my target. In that time the bitch nearly rips out my
trachea. I fall back onto my haunches as
the…thing writhes around on the floor, its smashed skull and gouged chest
spurting thick greenish black gore all over the walls, the floor, and me. It only takes a bit shy of forever for it to
stop thrashing around and finally become silent.
One down…only
God knows how many more to go.
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