Words 2173

The old man let the letter slip from his hand into the red post box before looking about cautiously before crossing the street. His youthful disguise betrayed by the hard lines on his face and his gait as he hopped the curb narrowly avoiding an oncoming tanker. Tucking his hands into his pockets, the gentleman quickened his pace, eager to return to the safety of his dwelling, one he was destined never reach.

The man life blood exploded in a splash of red, coating a passer by as the fifty calibre bullet punched a hole through his jacket and blew his insides out. The force of the impact toppling the figure, he hit the sidewalk with a wet thud and his remaining litres poured from his lifeless carcass. Angel watched through the rifle scope as people fled in a panic, his target most certainly dead with only one problem. It wasn't his shot that had killed the man, someone had beat him to it.

Pulling the gun from the window he set it on the floor under a desk, the shot had come from his building and it would be of no use in close combat. Quickly he climbed on to the window still and using one arm to anchor himself, he lent out searching the windows for the telltale barrel. Whoever had taken the shot was hardly a master sniper, hitting the target so low was an amateur move and Angel's trained eyes quickly spotted the protruding rifle, two floors up and one room across.

Racing up the deserted stairs he slowed his pace as he reached the floor, quickly checking that the hallway was deserted. Quietly he stalked on the worn carpet, avoiding loose plaster and debris until he stood before the apartment door. The silence was unnerving, for a second he hesitated, senses sharp Angel backed away to the adjoining apartment where he tried the handle, it turned smoothly and he slipped out of sight into the room.

Whoever was inside was waiting, as he listened at the wall he could make out none of the familiar sounds he expected to hear, instead he was hit with a deafening silence that was more telling than a news reporter. For some unknown reason, someone wanted to involve Angel in this, it was no coincidence that this sniper had taken his contract kill and now that person lay in wait for him inside a strange and foreign apartment. The way ahead was fraught with danger and Angel, confident in his evaluation, was not about to give in lightly, so back in the hallway once more he grit his teeth and with a violent kick to the door he snapped it clean off its hinges.

The explosion that followed, ripped into the plaster and splintered the wooden door opposite, missing Angel by just enough that his skin prickled and his shirt fluttered from the force. Using clay-more blast as cover he ducked once more into the adjacent apartment, using the precious seconds to position himself for the assault. His ears still ringing from the close call, he strained to hear the movement of his quarry inside and for a moment he began to fear that he had missed his opening when at last the shuffle of feet across the floor pricked his ears.

Dust stung Angels eyes and paint chips peppered him as he burst through the wall, colliding with the unsuspecting sniper, sending him crashing to the floor and his firearm flying. In a flurry of fist he beat the man about the face, splitting the mans eyebrow and sending blood streaming down his face as the man struggled under the weight of his victim turned attacker. Relentlessly Angel beat the man who not only took his kill but also tried to kill him, it was only the fact that he needed the man, that stopped him from destroying him completely.

"Who are you?" Angel spat into the bleeding mans face venomously. "Who sent you?"

"I'm a cure." The man who was barely more than a lad smiled with broken teeth. "You're a disease... And I'm the cure."

Angel stood shakily, dusting himself off as the man he bested put on a hard face and tried to play it tough.

"You don't want to play this game." Angel warned him taking the solid wooden chair from the window. "I don't care who you are, all I need to know is who you work for and what they want."

"Fuck yo..." He started to reply but Angel cut him off slamming the chair down on the mans fingers before taking a seat.

His screams were almost unbearable, Angel much preferred to kill silently from a distance but this was his building, his post, one he presided over with a certain affection and this man had just blown the shit out of it and tried to kill him.

"You don't want to play this game." He repeated leaning forward on the chair crushing the lads fingers more, causing him to scream and claw at his busted hand. "Tell me what I want to know."

Angel let the pain sink in as he rocked back and forth before taking the chair off his victims shattered hand, letting the now sobbing man compose himself enough to speak.

"I work for an outfit, the other side of Deressville." He blubbered. "I don't know who paid, I was just told to come here, shoot a target and wait for someone to turn up."

"You were supposed to kill me?" Angel asked already knowing the answer.

"Yeah." The so called Cure looked down as he replied. "By any means."

It didn't make sense, Angel looked at the broken man as he struggled to sit up while nursing his hand. None of it made any sense at all, why send someone so weak to do the job? It was clear that he wasn't up to the task. He had talked so easily, had they not cared that he would talk? Surely they could see the vast gap between their skill level. Grabbing the man by the scruff he pulled him to his feet.

"I don't know anything else." He protested. "I swear."

"I know." Angel muttered, taking him to the open window, banging his head on the frame as he thrust the injured man forward.

"What do you want?" The assassin protested.

"Nothing you have." Angel grabbed his legs low, putting him off balance and thrusting him out the window.

The man's scream diminished quickly ending seconds later with a sickening thump as the force of the pavement shattered bones, split flesh and sent a spray of blood across the sun baked surface.

Whatever was going on was serious but there would be no answers to be found here in this apartment. Someone had let the assassin into the building, someone from within the agency was working against him and Angel was going to find out who. He didn't have any leads but he doubted that it would matter, there was a nagging feeling in his gut that told him whoever it was would probably come looking for him. He hoped the advert he plastered across the pavement out front would guarantee it.

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Angel sat in the office, patiently waiting for the right time to contact the agency. He knew that as soon as he connected to the neuron transmitter that there would be no going back, whoever was hunting him would know everything that had transpired. Placing the suction cups to his head he checked his watch one last time before powering the machine up, lay back and slipped his hands into the cuffs. His only hope was that the agency would have some intel on what was going on.

Angel drew a blank. As the familiar transfer started, he felt the emotional strain of neuron pathways reactivating, but it was a one way transfer. Nothing was coming through on his end, after the initial connection conformation memory there was nothing. With intent he focused hard on the gun to his right, which lay within reach on the side table. With all his mental fortitude he fought to think of nothing else but the life saving weapon, as his keen hearing picked up someones approach.

With a fluid motion Angel launched himself out of the chair, eyes springing open in time to glimpse his attacker as he threw himself left away from the gun and the lead that whistled past his head. The suction cups pulled at his skin but it didn't matter anymore, he was free of their restrictions on his thoughts and he watched as his hapless enemy faltered between what Angel should have been doing and what he was doing. Every indication Angel had neuronally given him said he would go for his side arm. It was so obvious a move that nobody would question it.

Quick on his feet Angel ducked low and with a firm grip on the pen he stabbed and the mans leg. With his free arm he blocked the mans gun arm as he sought to correct his mistake, reluctant to let go of the gun the man sealed his own fate. Within seconds Angel had punctured the man in seven different spots starting from his thigh and working up to the mans chest, the ink tube stuck obscenely from his thigh muscle, the head embedded like a tick. Too late the man realized his mistake and let the gun fall to the floor, all he could do now was surrender, and try to stem the bleeding.

"Who sent you." Angel asked coolly, as the man tried to put pressure on the hole in his abdomen, which Angel expected hurt the most.

"Your agency." The man coughed blood. "But you knew that."

"Why?"

"I'm just like you." The man grimaced. "I do what I'm told, I don't ask why."

"But you do know." Angel pushed him, this man was a professional and he would either talk or not.

"All I know is that they are cleaning out the districts. Those extra jobs we have all been getting, they are thinning the population for something." The man said holding to no illusion of his fate now. "Someone came to my district to off me and when he failed they sent me here. I think they are cleaning house indiscriminately."

"Like it's a game?" Angel flared.

"I'm sure it would make fun viewing, but that's not it. I think they want the best of us for the next phase." The man shifted uncomfortably. "They will send you out now, to take a district, it's what happened to me."

"So this time, I should have the drop." Angel smiled, he never much like camping in one place and shooting civilians. "Thanks for telling me, I respect your professionalism."

He stood over the downed man who was not really trying to stop the bleeding now, more just hoping to stop the pain. With a swift jerk Angel pulled the pen tube from between the man's ribs and forced it into his neck, turning it into a fountain as blood pumped out the tube and into the room. The look of shock turned the mans face white, or maybe it was the loss of blood. Either way as his blood drained out on to his clothes and surrounded him like a moat, a look of peace settled in and he struggled no more.

Angel took the pistol holstered it under his arm. If this was the game there was no way of telling when an attack would happen. He considered himself quite lucky so far and he would have to pick it up if this was to go on for longer. Who knew how many district guards they needed and in a city of thousands, he could see it getting messy. Leaving the room he locked the door with the body inside, if this was some perverted peep show he wasn't about to give the viewer thrills so easily. If the agency wanted him they could contact him the old fashioned way and meet face to face.

"Do you feel lucky, punk?" The voice made angel jump slightly.

"Actually I do." He replied to the man in the suit who had a large smile. "You re from the agency, here to tell me about the next job then."

"I'm from the agency yes." The man replied casually. "But I don't think I will be telling you about the job."

"Oh and why is that?"

"You didn't pass the muster." He stated as if it were a matter of fact. "You got cocky at the end there."

Angel reached for his gun but it was too late and it mattered not anyway. Shrapnel tore through his legs shredding his pants and flesh alike, snapping his bones and blowing his legs into small chunks. His torso hit the carpeted hallway with a sickening thump, meters from where he had stood, blood oozing from more wounds than he had time to count. He didn't hear the outside door open and close at and the last thought before shock took his mind with his body failing on him, was simple yet had a certain satisfaction to it.

"A goddamn mine."