|QUOTE (sam33 @ Nov 8 2008, 18:01)|
|Head over to Algonquin and steal a police car. Once there go to the most wanted list and find a african looking man who is responsible for drug trafficking. Find him and kill him and his crew. To prove you have done it you must tell me how many people there were guarding him .|
It's $500 a kill and my client needs him to be exterminated... fast.
Tricky, tricky tricky... The police database showed him as deceased. A long time dead; I may have had a hand in that, I genuinely don't recall. I have killed so many people. But there is nothing that can stand in the way of an Algonquin Assassin on an assignment. Even if it means undergoing a deep meditative trance and a lot of herbal medication...
I woke to find myself in a world that was familiar, yet entirely strange. My uneasiness was first alerted when I went to my wardrobe to get dressed for work; No Onyx suit. I was further disconcerted when I walked out of my front door, and was confronted by what was parked in my reserved bay: a Zombie motorbike and a Hearse (yes; gentlemen, it is
I didn't even want to get involved in that
, and decided to set out on foot to look for transport. There was nothing that I could point to and say that that
was wrong, but I didn't feel right
. I couldn't put my finger on it. And yet...
I was reminded of the story of the man who returned home to find everything he owned had been stolen, even the wallpaper had been scraped off his walls. But
, everything had been replaced with exactly
identical items. He asked his roommate what had been going on, and his roommate replied: "Who the hell are you
There were too many pigeons. I am sure I had more or less dealt with the pigeon problem...Pigeons. Watching me. With cameras in their eyes...
Was this strange new world real
, or some kind of dream? But what is real
? And what of Ivan Zietsev, and the long list of others I had dealt with? Were they here too? If I had some delusional memory of an alternate reality, did that mean that they did also? Would they have a knowledge of me if they met me in these weird streets? Would I walk round some corner and find them all waiting for me?
I resolved to get the job done and get out as fast as possible.
I found a police cruiser and checked the database for the target Leo Brodell was alive and well and living in East Holland. I drove to his location through streets I knew, and yet I did not
know. The French have a phrase for it; something familiar, but that feels like you have never seen before: J'ammes veux... Like deja veux, but less talked of and more unnerving.
I wondering how they spelt that, when my revere was shattered by someone spraying my windshield with gunfire.
I rolled out of the cruiser and braced myself against it as I instinctively reached for my trusty Desert Eagle. And this was all wrong too: no pistol. Of all things; I found myself holding an AK47. I definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore.
I zig-zagged across the road to a low stone wall by some steps and took cover. Someone was firing from above me, but I had no idea exactly where the shots were coming from. Then I saw him: some goon on the roof top. I zeroed in with the AK and put a single round right between his eyes.
He was down, but presumably the rest of the gang were nearby. Probably up there with him. I was wondering if I could reach the first rung of the fire escape when another goon burst out of the street door to the building and started blasting away at me. Stupidly obvious when you know how. I rattled off a quick volley from behind the edge of the wall, barely even looking at him, and he dropped dead in the middle of the street.
The sound of gunfire seemed everywhere, but as I was running across the road to the door, in my eye-corner I caught an unmistakable flash of muzzle-fire lighting up the alleyway beside the building. I slid on my knees and slammed into cover, popping my head out, only to narrowly avoid having it taken off by the spray of a pump-action shotgun as I ducked in again.
The brief glimpse I had of the shooter was enough: this was Leo. I broke cover and opened up with everything I had, which -it turned out- was more than
plenty. Half a clip later he was already dead, and I was still firing. I really think I do
prefer the pistol, I mean; where's the challenge
I stood over him as what was left of him lay slumped against a garbage can. The main target was dead, but I also had to account for the crew. According to the police radar, I had been expecting three opponents, and I had dealt with that many already. But there was still shouting and gunfire from the building beside me. Well, I shrugged, if police radar was 100% reliable, I couldn't have evaded them as often as I had...
I took the stairs at a run; halfway up I found some poor slob guarding them with a shotgun. I damn near cut him in half with the assault rifle in my hands.
I skidded to a halt just before the last flight. Through the banisters I could see the ankles of one of the late Leo's Brodells hired guns standing on the top landing. I took careful aim, and let rip with a burst of automatic gunfire; as I blew away his feet, he collapsed, and as he collapsed. his body fell in sequence into my narrow field of fire: his legs, groin, torso and finally his head were all riddled in less time than it takes to tell. He never stood a chance. Surely, brothers, an assault rifle is not a weapon for a gentleman
For those of you keeping a tally, so far: five dead. One left; out on the rooftop, for the moment protected by a plywood door. I rammed through shoving him off balance with the door and cracked him across the chin with the rifle-butt. I stayed close with him and smacked him in the face again, hoping to overbalance him and send him stumbling over the low wall and down into the pavement below, but no; he slumped into a heap against it. In my
world, he would have fallen. I hefted the rifle-butt above my shoulder and screamed at him as I slammed it into his face with a final crunch: "I f*ckin HATE this