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Wanted Assailant

The Letifer Organization

Recommended Posts

Wanted Assailant

BBCode is back. Which means updates will be instantly viewed instead of claimed.



Materials updated:

The Database (hitman, money, user, etc.)

The Targets

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Lethal Nizzle

devon winstone


  • I had never got used to the fast pace of Chicago, or the windy weather it was famed for. At first it was almost brutal how frantic it was to get from Point A to Point B, but after dodging seemingly endless waves of traffic, you eventually got there. It was a definite change from where I brought up; living in the countryside of England was pleasant at times, but came with downsides, such as lack of entertainment and how far you had to walk to get a pint of milk. In my case, I had to walk half a mile to get the Sunday papers, but I guess I got over it in the end.


I was finishing off one my clove cigarettes outside of the apartment complex I resided in. The weather was milder compared to some of the days I had experienced, yet the wind still blew like hell. Which of course made smoking a task in itself, having to light and relight continously just to get a drag each time. Once I had lit the cigarette for the last time I slid my hand along with the lighter into my black fleece pocket. After inhaling the last of the addicting fumes, I stubbed the cig on the wall and dropped it, before heading into the apartment building.


Almost instantly, warm air enveloped me. I took the feeling with a small smile that appeared at the corner of my mouth. The smile quickly died away however as I walked towards the elevator, lifting my arm in recognition towards the receptionist, Rebecca. Lovely girl. Brilliant in bed might I add. The elevator was empty bar an impatient woman, who was hurrying me in with a jerk of the thumb. I didn't quicken my pace, which further angered the woman.


I smiley slyly as I stepped into the metal "coffin" if that's how you want to describe an elevator. The woman was practically buried under a few folders of paperwork that was balanced in her hands. I placed both my hands behind me and stood firm as the lift doors closed. I had never liked elevators, and at one point in my life I was too afraid to go in one, due to my claustrophobia and the thought of plummeting to the ground from a height.


I had got used to it though, even if the weightlessness feeling that everyone had when a lift ascended was a little more uncomfortable for me. The woman was muttering under her breath. I couldn't decipher her words, nor did I want to. Her life, not mine. Eventually the lift stopped and the door promptly slid open. I stepped out into the slightly chilly corridor, making a beeline for my room. Reaching into my lighter pocket, I retrieved my apartment keys and quickly slid them into the lock, turning it one hundred degrees right and entering as the door clicked.


The mixed smell of clove cigarettes and leather hit my nostrils instantly. I loved the combination; it gave my room a certain "gentlemanly" ambience, in my opinion. I didn't stop walking and instantly unzipped my fleece. I quickly took out my lighter before throwing the fleece onto one of leather sofas. Stuffing the lighter in my trouser pocket I pressed the "messages" button on my answering machine and waited for a reply, if there was one.


There was.


"Mister Winstone, we at the Letifer Organization would like to thank you for application for a position among our ranks," the monotone voice droned from the machine. "We have added you into our roster and we will expect you to commence work shortly. Thank you."


Then there was a beep, followed by a female voice notifying me that I had no new messages. Typical; I wasn't the most popular guy in Chicago, having basically just moved from London. My only real friend in Chicago was Travis the Bum, who lived in the side alley next to the very building I stood in.


I wasn't surprised that I had got the job. My "resumé", in my opinion, seemed perfect. I had stated that I had served two tours with the Royal Anglian Regiment in the British Army, and I was of the rank Corporal. I also said that I knew how to handle an array of weapons, ranging from projectiles to hand-held to guns. To be fairly honest, I seemed like the stereotypical hitman.


To celebrate my acceptance into the Organization, a whiskey was in order, surely? Striding into my compact kitchen, I reached for the ever-present whiskey flask and grabbed a glass. When the liquid made contact with the solid I couldn't help but laugh.


This job was definitely a change from working in Asda, that's for sure.

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Lethal Nizzle

May I take Joseph Sanders?


Oh, and here's Devon.

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Wanted Assailant

Yes; updated. I will also, when I'm not lesser-inspired, spiff up the target overviews; they're horrible.

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I'm going to give this a shot soon, so can I write a character biography first and then write an installment at a later date?

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Wanted Assailant
I'm going to give this a shot soon, so can I write a character biography first and then write an installment at a later date?

Sure. Go for it. Perfectly fine.


@sam33: Got it. Already updated.


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Kk thanks wanted smile.gif. I'm working on a story as we speak.

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This sounds interesting, I might make me a character here. When I figure out how I want my assasin, I'll edit their profile into the post. From what I understand, it's like BUYG with assasins instead of gangs and it's set in Chicago.


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Wanted Assailant

Eh, who wants a revamp? Personally, I've grown out of the idea but it wouldn't hurt to open it up again. I know these things have been tried a bunch of times and they don't last too long. The front page is most likely riddled with errors and sloppiness and what-not, 'cause I'm too lazy to fix anything. The whole assassin thing bores me now actually. I can even renew this whole thing and start fresh with a spin-off off one of my own running series, a lesser organized, dirty team of hired guns and muscle who do work for the bigger guys of the ladder (Eksz). There's a thing about a procedure to joining them (maybe even include your character in my series, or collab).


Bumped to anyone who wants to continue writing here. I'll update as always. ((someone here wants to write and continue, so I decided to bump.))

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I'm interested in this, looks pretty cool. Renewing it might be better with all the new writers here since the last post in here and they might want to get into this, so you should probably make the spin-off so they're in on it from the start.

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El Zilcho

I'd love to resume this from where we left off, so I'll sign up as


Vincente "Angel of Death" Torres


Sex: Male


Age: 26


Height: 6'1''


Weight: 195 lbs


Hair: Brown


Eyes: Brown


Nationality: Colombian/American


Gang Affiliation: Miguel Torres, Knostantin Rugova, Joey DePalmiero, Mike Dawson, and the White Lotus Triads.


Appearance: Known as the Angel of Death due ot his deceiving womanising looks, he hides a tough, violent and proffesional interior.


Weapons: Large number of old Soviet Block Weapons, M4 Modified, M1911 and a Remington 870 Magnum Shotgun with a retractable stock. Finally, a steel carbon alloy sword.


Story: His father was originally from Colombia, and was a major drug dealer. After his death, his uncle Miguel was his main employer, who had him work in the Caribeanan and Miami to import drugs to Americas Mid West and Western lands. After finding the TLO, he discovered an excellent skill for killing, and killing well...


I'll go for a hit soon. Don't expect excellent writing, but I'll sure try my best.

Edited by El Zilcho

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El Zilcho

I followed Patrick, my heartbeat flowing and moving with each of his steps. He walked left, I walked left. My heart beat to the natural rhythm of the hunt; the prey was in the airport Terminal and was obviously getting wiser to the predators stalking. Yet every time he looked back at me, I would fade back into the crowds of uninterested, unwashed masses waiting for their relatives to arrive, or waiting for their plane to land and swarm with countless more passengers just like them. They never spoke, yet where in such close proximity to each other. And today, I was being just like them, fading in and out of view. The thrill of the hunt is always the chase.


Patrick stopped to check the flight time for Heathrow, it was delayed. Excellent, the thick snow had fallen like heavenly blessings, starting just today, as if you assist my very first hit for The Letifer Organization. I waited again, Mr. Harvard made another move and bought a newspaper, reading the front headline; sensationalist drivel as usual. But then again, the report was of interest to him, it was about one of his last targets. He read for a few minutes, and then proceeded to the toilets. Perfect! He was going to the place of his death. I hope he had chosen well…


He walked in, and stood at the cubicle, unlocked the door and closed it. I followed into the toilets silently and waited for him to flush it and stand up. As soon as he opened the white doors, an elbow greeted his face. I brought another fist smashing into his stomach and a final fist into his face again. As stunned by the stinging pain and flowing blood, Patrick wasted no time in retuning the favor and punching me in the chest, an inaccurate and undirected desperate blow. He groaned with pain and dove forward, producing a small knife, and swung it through the air and down at me.


Catching it, I thrust it back, and punched him again. He shouted, and swung once more, just missing my neck, full of fasting flowing blood. I kneed him in the face, and as he stumbled I produced my silenced Glock. He then summed up a huge surge of energy, a final rage against the death that was encroaching, he thrust the knife at amazing speed towards my abdomen, just skimming my thigh as I dove back, bringing the pistols handle down on his head. One final shout of pain before I fired six shots into his head and back, the fountains of blood poured all over the cubicle wall, covering the toilet. His lifeless body fell to the ground, and he twitched slightly, and then lay motionless.


I fired a last shot into his temple to make 100% sure of his permanent departure. I put the gun back into my jacket, and wiped the little blood from my jacket. Carefully I kicked Patrick so his body flopped like a ragdoll into the back of the cubicle, closing the door and temporarily hiding the assassins’ body. I washed by red stained hands, zipped up the jacket and left the toilets, hailing a cab outside the hustling and bustling terminal. What a day.


Hopefully this will get the topic a little more activity. Feel free to criticise my first hit smile.gif


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I will sign up as:

Yagami "L" Light


Name: Yagami Light


Sex: Male


Height: 5'6''


Age: 19


Weight: 180 lbs


Hair: Light Brown


Eyes: Brown


Nationality: Japanese


Appearance: http://images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb2009...ight-Yagami.jpg


Gang Affiliation: Yagami Mafia Family


Favorite Weapons: Glock 17, Desert Eagle, Sniper, M4 Carbine, Uzi, SMG


Bought Weapons:


Story (This is pretty long): Being an offspring of some big-time Japanese yakuza, I was the richest child in Kantou. When I was 10, a rival mafia came into our mansion, smashed it, raped my mom, killed her and killed my dad. It was terrifying. I was sent to an orphanage, where I grew up 9 years, before the same people came with Molotovs and burned down the orphanage. We were trained rough there, so I got to the roof, I remembered the workers talking about a hidden gun under a panel on the roof. I saw a bulged panel and i opened it. Underneath was a 9mm Colt 45. I didn't have any second thoughts. I had to do this. I went back down and out of the back door. I sneaked in behind their car, they were saying stuff like "He's probably dead, that son of a bitch.". I ducked out of cover. Boom. Boom. Two headshots. The two mafiosos were lying on the ground, the stairs of the house repainted with their blood. I took their wallets and quickly got in the car (even though i didn't have a driver's license yet, I knew how to drive, luckily no police stopped me on the way) and drove to Kantou International Airport. I needed a passport. I thought "f*ck, f*ck, WHERE THE HELL AM I GONNA GET A PASSPORT, f*ck! STUPID LIGHT, WHY THE HELL DID YOU LET THOSE BASTARDS BURN YOUR P A S S P O R T!!!!". However, something was in my back pocket. I pulled it out and there it was - my passport! I got a ticket for the next plane to Chicago, Illinois in the United States using the mafia's money. I always dreamed about going there.



10 hours later, I was in Chicago, without a weapon. For some reason there weren't many people at all. I went out of the door calmly. The only car I saw parked outside was a black Cavalcade. Two men stepped out of it, grabbed me and pulled me to their car. They held me at gunpoint and they drove somewhere.


I was damn scared. They drove me to one of the most unhabited areas in Chicago. I couldn't see the street name. One of them pulled me out of the car and held me still. The other one got out of the car, pulled out a gun and shot me in the stomach.

"Leave him here, Shoko. He's as good as dead already."

I sat, leaning towards a house with my stomach bleeding. My life was flashing before my eyes. About half a minute later (felt like half a year to me), four men stepped out of a black Sentinel next to me. They carried me into their car, did first aid and drove somewhere.

I thought "How many of these guys can there be?..."


About 2 minutes of driving and 1 day of sleeping and healing later...


"Are you awake?" asked a voice. "He should be fine now." said another voice.

I said: "Where the ... where am I?"

"You are in the main HQ of The Letifer Organization." said the first voice. I could now see his face.

"The Letifer Organization?" I was confused. "Yes, the Letifer Organization. Letifer means Trade."

"So you are businessmen?" I was still confused.

"Heh. In a way." said the man.

"What do you mean?" I was suspicious.

"We are hitmen. We take other people's contracts, fulfill them and get money for it."

I was shocked. I quickly got up.

"Wait, wait. We do not wish to hurt you. However, the Japanese Okinawa mafia wants to."

"H-How do you know this?" I asked in shock

"We know and we see everything. The Yagami mafia has been one of our branches."

"W-w-what???? I don't believe you!"

"You don't have to. You won't have to just believe us, you will have to accept the truth. Now listen, I have a proposition for you. If you join us,-"

"NO!" I screamed.

"Listen. The Okinawa family wants you dead. We will destroy their mafia family if you join us. And the way I see it, you are in need of money. That mafia money that you got from those crooks won't last forever. Believe me, we aren't low budget."

I considered it. It was probably my only choice.

"...Alright," I said.

"But you will have to forgive me if I am bad at it. I have only shot a real gun-"

"Twice. I know. We'll train you."

"Sorry Mr..."

"The name is Ra's Al Merces." He said calmly

"Okay, sorry Mr. Al Merces, but please don't do that again."

"Hm." He replied.


The training went perfectly well, and I got a name that everyone refers me by:



And so I am now, in the Organization, waiting for my first hit.

And I am still thinking "Light, what did you get yourself into???".




OT: Ok so this is my character, please give me criticism, I will take on my first hit tonight or tomorrow. Right now i don't feel like writing more.

Edited by ormsondo

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Hmm, mabye a revamp with more integrated options?


Like building yor hitman, but instead of stupidly calling it that?

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