Sleepers

Place: Newcastle, UK
Time: Evening
Identity: Kefreon

Kefreon had almost dozed off with the third cigar in his mouth, when his mobile phone buzzed. He rolled to his left and pulled out his 'spare' phone from the front of the backpack. He kept it for situations he had to act normal.

It was an unknown number. Kefreon hated unknown number. Either it was a kill or an FBI agent, or a some crack dialing the wrong number. All dangerous. He blew out the smoke from his lungs and crushed the cigar in the ashtray. He make his voice innocent and gullible.

"Hello?"

He asked like a normal, geeky teenager would.

 

Place: Germany, Countryside - Home
Time: Evening
Identity: Vee

“Hello?”

Her heart skipped, and her hands shook. What was she doing for God’s sake? She inhaled nervously and finally said something. She made sure to stick her with British accent.

“Hello Kefreon, it’s Mineko… I was worried about you.”

A muffle came from the other side, perhaps of surprise.

"Mineko! Wow, didn't think we'd...talk again. I'm...great. It's so kind of you to call."

She gave a nervous laugh, as she twisted her hair and sat on the edge of her metallic stool.

“It’s good to hear that Kefreon, it really is.” She paused, and looked down at the ground, “How’s your wound? You sure you’re doing okay?”

A chuckle came through, and then the familiar voice.

"I got it fixed up by a good doc. He didn't even care for the bullet...err, good friend he was. How about you, still in Cardiff?"

“Good, good to hear! I’m glad you have a friend that can help you.” She said with a laugh.

She paused, “In Scotland, actually.” She lied.

"Wow, you move around a lot?" Kefreon giggled, and then continued, "That's a good thing, actually. One should be...enthusiastic."

“Indeed. Mostly around Europe, it really is a beautiful country. Asia… is pretty decent too.” She bit hard onto her lip and stared into the silver shine from the room, “Look, if you ever need my help… let me give you my PO box address…(addresshere). I want you to take care of yourself. I don’t think we’ll meet again, There’s no way.”

"Well, that's a pity. I was looking forward to bumping into you in a train." He laughed, and continued, "I'm sure we'll meet again, and even if we don't, I'll...keep in touch. Take care."

“You too.” She hung up the phone, her hand almost seeming numb. What had she been thinking? She quickly left the room, locking it behind her and reached for the rum.

 

The BBS

"All kills accounted for, sir," Debbie Sam said.
The man smiled. "Without a hitch?"
"Almost," she said quietly.
"What do you mean almost?"
"Two of them got minutely sloppy," she responded. "They got their targets, but one wasn't to specification and the other left evidence."
The man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It'll have to do, dock them $25,000 each," he said. "Make sure it doesn't happen again."
"Yes, sir."
"And Debbie Sam," the man said, stopping her from leaving. "Mr. Chow is dead."
Her stomach sank. Chow was a primary financier. "They say his mistress did it," the man continued.
Debbie Sam shook her head. "Our contact would never kill Chow," she said. "I'll get our best people on it, sir."
The man nodded. "Fill the Sleepers' accounts and send them their next contracts."
"Immediately, sir."

 

Longshot sat Archangel's dead body in the chair. He put the silenced pistol in his hand. Ronald Fulmer's body was on the ground, just inside the bedroom door. Worthless assassins, he thought as he flipped open his cell.

"Yes?"
"Two birds with one stone, sir," Longshot said.
"Excellent," he said. "Proceed with the contracts then."
"Even Kn-"
"Yes, Knives and Requiem as well," the man said. "If they fail to comply again, kill them."

 

Valkyrie Aeronautics

There is a knock on Vee's door. She waits for a minute and then gets up to go check. After making sure all was secure, she opened up her door and found a cell phone sitting on her doormat. There was a post-it note on it that read "play voicemail." She did, listening to an extremely deep and obviously altered voice.

Congratulations on a job well done agent. Your efforts are helping us greatly. We have another job for you. In India, there is a small uprising. Too small to warrant government attention, but big enough to warrant ours. In two days, you will fly to India. The leader of this group, Tej Tushar, goes to the spa around the corner from his apartment everyday at 5:00pm. I'm sure you can improvise the rest. When Tushar has been dealt with, you will rewarded in the sum of $500,000. Make no mistakes agent.

 

The BBS

As Kefreon is about to depart from his location, a package arrives for him. He looks at the delivery man quizzically and opens it up. Inside is a tape player. He plays it, and a female voice sporting a cockney accent begins to speak.

Hello, young sir, and congratulations again on your job with the Brutus Booth Syndicate. You will find your bank account filled with the recent payment, and there is much more in the future for you. Currently, we need a man...ahem...I mean boy to infiltrate the Lang Orphanage in Tokyo. It is owned by Chao Tsing. He is your target. Eliminate him by any means necessary and you will be rewarded the amount of $75,000. Good day, agent.

 

The BBS

Ash sat in her home, letting the drugs take her body to different places. She hadn't noticed the knock at the door until five minutes after it happened. She stumbled over to door, opened it, and saw a package on the stoop. Bringing it inside, she again let someone else open it up. Inside was a tape recorder and a plastic bag with a shell casing inside it. Ash played the recorder to herself. An Indian voice spoke to her.

Hello agent. No doubt, you are wondering why we sent you a shell casing. That is your shell casing you left behind. Perhaps if you weren't stoned all the time, you might do better to clean up after yourself after a kill. Don't let this oversight happen again.

We have another job for you. This one should be easy enough, as it is in Los Angeles. There are two parts. The first is that you need to procure a switchblade from the local Crips gang. Second is to use that blade to eliminate Tamara Smith. She is a stripper at the Cat-O-Nines Club over on 108th and South. Once complete, you'll be rewarded $100,000.

And agent: purify yourself. Your next overdose might be your last.

 

Place: Tokyo, Japan
Time: Noon
Identity: Charles/Jamaica Dickens

The orphanage was a beautiful place. The garden was filled with violets and bluebells, and Kefreon was compelled to stare into the cherry bushes on the side. Naturally, the orphanage reminded him of his own fate.

“Anti Ummika muhibbika. Wa laakin la tastate’e taf’el shae lika.” (Your Mother loved you. But couldn’t do anything for you.)

She remembered the Egyptian nanny’s words when he first learnt about his mother. He laughed and patted the petals of the beautiful marigold which bopped from in between the trellis. He then walked to the footpath, murmuring to himself:
“If she cared she should’ve owned me.”

He casually trotted to the calling booth and jumped in. A mess indeed, but not too intolerable. It was better than the flight with had brought him to Tokyo, as he had taken a stopover somewhere in Nepal before moving on. The flight had been tiring and made him feel sick at many times. By now, he had gotten himself a bad habit of throwing up.

“Moshi moshi, Lang orphanage?”

A Japanese accent struck the receiver of the phone as Kefreon stood against the stand. He yawned and then checked the time at his wristwatch.

“Yo there…I’m speakin’ from…Chita. My bro is in this orphanage…I mean, my foster brother. Real brother – course not. Well…he’s kinda havin’ puberty problems…n’ I wanna discuss it with Mr. Tsing? The guy who owns this dig?”

There was painful, fuzzy silence for a long while before the woman asked:
“You are not Japanese?”

Kefreon coughed and replied:
“Yeah, I’m African-American. Hi-five kinda thing?”

Kefreon liked his funny, elusive accent which seemed to bother the poor Japanese lady.

“That good. I forward request now. What your name be?”

“John Dickens. N’ don’t ya try to put in a Charles in there, hot babe.”

The lady was about to sign off when a man interrupted her.

“Chiyo, what’s the delay for? Where’s the girl from Chita?”

Chiyo looked up at Chao Tsing with the receiver in her palm.

“Sir, a person complain. About brother. Me just handle…”

Chao Tsing groaned and snatched the receiver, the handle in his palm.

“Complaints, complaints. What does this one say? Doesn’t learn good Japanese?”

Chiyo quivered, and replied softly:
“African. Say no teach puber…pube…”

“Puberty!”

The man snapped and took the receiver to his ear.

“Hello, this Mr. Tsing speaking. What is it that you wanted to complain about?”

Kefreon had been hearing the interesting conversation between the secretary and the boss and now was ready for a better showdown.

“Well, I’m speakin’ from Chita, and the thing is that my bro just isn’t used to –”

There was a chuckle from the man at which Kefreon stumbled over his own accent.

“Oh, so you’re the girl from Chita? No need for formalities, not at all. You can just come by.”

Kefreon almost tripped over his feet as he mentioned the girl part.

“Wha –”

“There’s no time limitation either. It will be a pleasure to talk to you, umm…I didn’t catch your name there?”

Kefreon felt far too insulted to keep his accent straight.

“Jamaica Lee Dickens. Just Lee works.”

The phone went dead, and Kefreon haughtily pushed the door open. He needed an outlet, and he quickly grabbed a small boy getting ice-cream from a stand. The boy stared into him with mixed emotions of fright and joy.

“Do I sound like a girl, kid?”

Kefreon asked, at which the boy eyed him curiously and said:
“Are you androgynous?”

Kefreon simply groaned and walked off, kicking a stray dog in the guts before continuing.

“Mariyo would have a great way of pulling a smile on my face.”

He thought to himself, remembering her supple, cheery voice.

“When you grow up, your voice won’t crack, and you’ll sound like Robin Hood.”

Kefreon laughed – he found Robin Hood cocky.

 

Place: Tokyo, Japan
Time: Noon
Identity: Jamaica Lee Dickens

Kefreon pushed back his thick, brown curls as he walked into the orphanage. His eyes were unnaturally browner than before, and his skin had lost its Middle Eastern, soft tan. Instead, now it seemed he had dumped his body in a bowl of brown foundation. His thick eyelashes leapt up and down as he tried to contend with the green make-up. He looked down at his halter top which was mint green and violet with a mint green, velvety long skirt. His fake feline features were the most helpful ones. Though, he seemed cross about himself, but didn’t have a choice. He then gave a short smirk to his thin, hairless arms and then walked to the reception.

“Excuse me, I’m Jamaica Lee Dickens. I have an appointment with Mr. Tsing?”

The woman looked up and then quickly down, least bothered.

“Kai, guide lady to Suite.”

Kai, a servant perhaps, nodded towards Kefreon who silently walked into a hallway, and towards a beautiful suite. There was a beautiful Japanese dragon carved on the walls, and a fountain behind the bed. The bed was unique as well, its chambers rising up like mountains by a valley. He breathed in deeply and then sat on a corner of the bed, when he heard a soft giggle.

“Hello there, lady.”

The Japanese man was appealing, but as soon as he started with his shirt’s buttons Kefreon felt uneasy. His body shape was easily disguised as a woman’s due the man’s over consumption of alcohol, but he had a difficult task to do.

“What’s the hurry, sweetheart?”

He purred, and stood up. He sashayed to his side and stroked his chest hair with increasing disgust. He then leaned forward and pressed his lips against the man’s. As soon as their tongues met, a needle poked out of Kefreon’s teeth and slit the man’s tongue. Before the Japanese could yell, Kefreon slammed his hand at his back, another needle cutting through his heart.

As quickly as possible, he removed the needles and put them back in their scabbards. He almost gagged, spitting out saliva from his mouth.

“Never. Again.”

He told himself before he removed his make-up and stealthy accessories. He drained some of them in the bathroom, while he took the liberty of carrying the heavy clothes. He quickly wore one of the man’s shirt and pants, and snuck out of the suite. The guards didn’t bother check him, having not known his involvement. He made sure he dumped the clothes in a burning lump of trash - common in the country - before anything else. He finally grabbed himself a taxi to get to a hotel. However, he ended up vomiting as soon as he got in.

“Sorry, bad romance.”

Kefreon said stupidly as the taxi driver stared at him.

 

Valkyrie Aeronautics

Cobalt had just finished showering. When he walked into his room, he saw a small black cell phone on the bed. A post-it note stuck to it informed him to listen to the voicemail. A deep, mechanized voice spoke to him.

Greetings agent. Congratulations on an efficient job done. Your account has been filled. We hope you enjoyed your down time, because now it's time to get back to work. Boston suits you well, as your next target is there. Every Saturday evening, Vlad Jameson has dinner a top the Prudential. Vlad, and only Vlad, must be eliminated. No one else. Once complete, you will be rewarded to the tune of $250,000.

 

The BBS

As Silpheed was about to sit down for a late lunch, he heard the stereo turn on. Furrowing his brow, he went over to turn it off. As he walked away, the stereo turned on again. Before he could switch it off, a man sporting a French accent began to speak.

Agent Silpheed, I trust you've been spending your relief time well. It is time to strike again. This time, do it to our specifications, not yours. There is scheduled meeting taking place between Antoine Mustaf and a Nigerian politician outside the city limits Abuja. Your target is Mustaf.

We've set up a meeting for you with a weapons supplier who will provide you with a scoped KAR 98k and a single bullet. Do not be late. Do not miss.

 

The BBS

As Donut sits at the outside table, enjoying a drink, the waitress brings him a tape recorder and headset. "Courtesy of the lady at the bar," she tells him. Donut turns to look, but all he can see are men. He puts the headset on and plays the recorder. What sounds like a small child starts to speak.

Hello, agent. Commendable work on your last job. I hope you enjoyed your break, because we need your services. There is a truck driver, Ned Truman, currently on a route from Nevada to Wyoming. He is driving a rig marked "Happy Happy Joy Joy Toy Toy." This rig needs to find it's way off the interstate and completely destroyed with Mr. Truman inside. Do not let the truck reach its destination in Wyoming. Do not look inside the truck. Truman and the destroyed truck must be found off the interstate. If successful, you will be rewarded in the way of $200,000.

 

Valkyrie Aeronautics

Knives sat on a park bench, not knowing that he was being aimed at from afar. A man came and sat down next to him. After ten minutes, the man got up and left, leaving behind a cell phone. Knives grabbed it and almost called to the man until he saw the post-it note on the front: "for you Knives, listen to the voicemail." Knives listened to the voicemail, a deep mechanical voice giving him directions.

You've been granted a reprieve, agent. Look down at your chest.

Knives looks down and sees a laser sight on his heart.

Fail us again, and you'll be another name in the obituary. Go to Detroit. Locate the Muffler Bar. The owner is Mitch Reynolds. Strangle him after the bar is closed, Saturday night. Remember: it's his life or yours.

 

Valkyrie Aeronautics

Requiem sat outside the cafe eating his soup. The waitress came by.

"Compliments of the chef," she said, handing him a doggy bag.

Requiem opened the bag and inside were a vial of liquid and cell phone with a post-it note instructing him to listen to the voicemail. Requiem started to feel hot, and loosened up his collar. He activated the cell phone, starting to sweat some more. A deep mechanized voice began to speak.

Good afternoon, agent. I hope you're enjoying your soup. No doubt you've started to feel a little hot. Just a special ingredient we added to thank you for not completing your assignment. Fortunately, you're being given another shot. Go to Las Vegas. Staying for the next week at the Bellagio is a man named Vinny Caparzo. Eliminate him by any means necessary. He has six bodyguards. None of them must die. Caparzo and only Caparzo. Use any means necessary. Complete this assignment and you will receive $100,000. Don't, and you will receive death. And by the way, drink the vial if you want to live.

The phone shut off and Requiem grabbed the vial immediately. He popped it open and drank the salty solution. After a few seconds, the burning stopped as the poison wore off.

 

Place;; India
Time: 8pm
Identity: Unknown

Two days had passed, and she had taken her flight to India, getting there exactly two days after the phone call had been received… give or take a few hours. She had taken the time to find the perfect skintone, she was going to wear makeup this time. She couldn’t afford a dark tan, she wouldn’t have to be dark forever. Her skin tone was darkened enough that she passed for a typical Indian woman. She wore the general garb, and kept to the streets on her first few hours. She had watched from the alley the first few hours. Her man had come, and the picture had been taken. She’d have to burn it when the time came.

She had a roach-filled hotel just across the spa, and she waited. Day two would be when she striked, she just hoped their information had been right. Otherwise she’d be in big trouble. She lay back, her hair wrapped up tightly in a bun and covered. Her skin had been pre-washed before the trip there, leaving no skin particles in case she brushed against anything. Her mouth guard prevented saliva, and gloves and shoes were on her limbs at all times. This would be a stealthy job, no one would know she had been there, and no one would know why he had died… unless they checked for the low radiation. But they never checked for radiation on homicide victims.

She pulled the cigars from her parcel, her hands touching them gently. A 420$ Cuban Behike cigar. The man in him wouldn’t be able to resist. She sat it back in her parcel, and lay back once more. She just had 20 hours to go, and she’d be able to watch him die, and go back to Germany. India just wasn’t her kind of place to be.

 

Location: Los Angeles

Ash once again had her helicopter pilot take her to the out skirts of the city at night. She left the sniper rifle at home and instead brought along a pistol with a silencer. Doing the research ahaed of time, she knew what part of LA is considered Crips territory and it didn't take her long to get there. She walks along the streets and checks in the alleys for any gang activity. After about twenty minutes, she comes across three large guys wearing crips colors in an alley. She pulls out her gun and looks around for any potential witnesses. None. Walking into the alley, she gets off three quick, and silent shots. One of them, had the blade in his hand, and dropped it when he was shot. Ash picks up the blade and any shell cases laying around and leaves the alley way.

 

Place: Somewhere in the desert between Nevada and Wyoming
Time: 1730
Codename: Donut

Donut drove the Chevy at a reasonable speed, not wanting to attract much attention to himself. He had decided not to go incognito on this one, it was a fairly simple job. He watched a car pass his, a rarity in this desolate part of the USA. He never liked this place but always thought that it was an awesomely sad and painful place to die in.

He'd been driving for at least 2 hours searching the highway for the huge truck being driven by Ned Truman. He decided to park on the side of the road and take a break from the stiff and uncomfortable seat in the old Chevy. He got out and took out a finely engraved silver hip-flask. The liquid burned his dry throat. Note to self bring water to desert assignments. The sun was belting down on him hard, he'd never liked being in the sun for too long, he'd always burn and never tan. He turned his head and looked down the desolate highway wondering if he'd actually managed to miscalculate the the time in which Truman would pass.

Just when he was about to resign he saw a huge truck in the distance. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and took a closer look. Happy Happy Joy Joy Toy Toy . He was indeed happy at this sight. He promptly stood on the side of the road and waved down the truck but it didn't slow down and zoomed past him in a cloud of the driest dust known to man. Donut choked as he watched the truck belt down the highway. He didn't expect Truman to stop but he wanted to try anyway.

He quickly hopped back into the Chevy, set his favorite 9mm pistol on the passenger seat and pursued Truman. He'd gone through the immense trouble of making a clip of custom penetrating darts because bullets could always be traced and this was supposed to be an accident.

He watched his gauge go up slowly as he gained on the massive vehicle. 60, 70, 80m/h. Donut was surprised but this made bringing him to a tragic and successful halt much easier. Donut accelerated to 90m/h and came up alongside the truck before easing up to 80. He waved at the driver to pull over. Truman flipped him the bird. Well now thats just rude.

Donut dropped back slightly and took a look at the wheels on the truck. He didn't see 18 massive tires, he saw 18 targets calling out to be hit. He put one hand one the steering wheel and grabbed the pistol with his other hand. He aimed out the window and fired two shots at two tires closest to him. They ruptured with a loud boom. Seeing that Truman was already losing control of the vehicle, Donut let the speed drop while he popped all the remaining wheels on the trailer of the transport. From behind he saw the truck fishtail along the entire width of the road before tipping on its side. The connection between the truck and the trailer broke with a metallic scream.

Donut watched as the whole vehicle slid off the side of the road and into a the desert sand creating a monstrous cloud of dust. Donut followed carefully before stopping adjacent to the crash site. The cabin of the truck was brutally dented and the wind shield was jutting out at an awkward angle. The trailer had proceeded further in to the desert but Donut didn't care about that. He got out of his vehicle holding his 9mm in one hand and the hip flask in the other. He circled the truck and before taking a look inside. Truman was still alive and regaining consciousness. Donut watched as the man opened his eyes and looked around disorientated by the crash.

"Howdy." he said. He searched Truman's pockets and found a cigarette case and a lighter. He promptly lit one for himself before heading over to the trailer. It wasn't far off but was still some distance away due to the heat. He moved through the wreckage examining the wheels. The darts had penetrated the tire and stuck themselves to the wheel. He went about collecting each one. Behind him he could hear Truman struggling to survive as he crawled out of the wreckage.

"Tsk tsk." Donut shook his head. He headed over to Truman who had managed to extricate himself from the cabin. He grabbed his head and thrust the contents of the small hip flask into Truman's mouth. The man gagged a bit before coughing up on the desert floor. Donut smiled as the man's pristine blue eyes met his dark brown, flipped him the bird and then proceeded to cover his mouth. Truman struggled for a bit but his bloodied body gave up sooner than he did.

Satisfied that he'd killed the man he retrieved his special darts from the truck. He hopped into his Chevy, took off his shoes and put them in a black waste disposal bag. He then slipped on a pair of brand new sneakers and hit the gas, riding into the sunset like some western hero.

 

Place: India
Time: Just after 5pm
Identity: Vee

She watched through the scope of her gun, and couldn’t help but smile. Her preparations hadn’t been useless, he was all ready showing signs. He wouldn’t know it, but he’d be dead within the hour. The amount of toxins in his system should have killed him all ready. His left eye drooped just a little bit, barely enough for anyone to notice, but she certainly did. She would hope by now his voice was weak. His pupils were highly dilated, though one would only assume he’d been doing drugs. Naughty boy. So was the beauty of the botulinum toxin. Taken from the caster bean plant, something so simple that was rarely looked for. They’d be lucky if they found out what killed him.

She stopped suddenly, moving onto Mister Tushar, he had the cigar in his hand. He eyed it with a grin, his hand shaking. He obviously wasn’t feeling good, but he knew what he wanted and he wasn’t about to waste this chance. The cigar was lit as he lay down to get his rubdown. She watched as the smoke rose with every minute. The woman didn’t notice his slowed breathing, as he went into a relaxing sleep. He’d never know it, but he was going to die within minutes.

The woman continued with her job, when his chest stopped moving. She didn’t notice of course, until her mouth moved. She assumed he was being asked to turn over. She quickly packed her gun up into the satchel and headed for the door. There were no screams this time, which was good for her. She’d need the time.

She’d have to slip in there. She headed from her hotel and walked nonchalantly towards the spa. She slipped in easily, appearing to be an employee, showing her card. She managed to maneuver herself around the only camera in the front of the building, only showing her back.

She quickly slid down the halls, which were luckily empty, and she stopped at the room her man had been in. She quickly slid to the side as the door opened, the sobbing of the masseuse could be heard as she ran down the hall. She’d have to hurry. She slid into the room, pulling the extra cigar from her satchel. She lit it, sending the smoke into the room. She carefully slid the other cigar into her satchel, and placed the new one where the other had been. It smoked silently, sending the overwhelming aroma through the room. She quickly went to the woman’s oils, dumping the liquid down the drain. She quickly rinsed the sinks, using her untraceable cleaner, something the German’s had created when she had been in the army.

She filled the bottles up with the same oil, only with a new additive—the toxin. She smiled and quickly went to her victim’s body, she quickly lathered him with the oil, and placed her top pair of gloves in her satchel as she hurried out of the room. She slunk in the hall, and headed towards the exit, no cameras there.

As she left, the yells could be heard. She smiled and stopped at a nearby trashcan. It was next to a bank, the perfect spot. She slid her satchel in, all evidence inside. The C4 was already attached as she walked many blocks away. She waited until she was in the taxi before the button was pushed. The explosion was bigger then it needed to be, but she couldn’t take the chance of any evidence remaining. There was no such thing as a messy job for her.

 

Place: Los Angeles, CA, USA
Time: 9 AM
Identity: Kefreon

"It's good to be home."

He said gleefully as he cantered down the arrivals. He had been thirsty for seeing the beautiful city of Los Angeles again, with valleys, roves, mounts and bays alike. He whistled a lullaby as he stopped a taxi and got in. His heart leapt with joy as he went from place to place, his wishful thinking making him believe that he was going to have a dandy day ahead.

"Money in my pockeys and jingle in my heart. Wow, never thought I'd meet you again senorita."

He talked to an adjacent greenbelt as the taxi went on. The taxi driver seemed to overhear whatever weird things he said. The taxi finally stopped at a favorite park of Kefreon's who handed the driver some money and whistled his way out of the taxi. A small backpack and cabin bag was all he carried.

"Well, that makes it a sixer. I wonder what I'll tell DNOD. Bah, I won't tell 'em, that's what."

He murmured to himself as he strolled by the side of a road. He immediately became silent, practicing his concentration technique. The children playing had a tingling pitch to their voices, and balls thumped up and down with a light hum. There were infrequent titters of sparrows and some women were making small talk as they walked to an apartment building. He plotted their positions without turning his head towards his back. Somehow, there was something wrong with the calculations. Like he wasn't plotting all of them.

He finally made the best guess he had and looked around. Everyone was in the correct position, but a silent man was a misfit. It was the taxi driver, and his silence bothered him. He seemed to have been walking in the same direction as Kefreon, though he had stealthily made it appear as though he was just walking by the park. Kefreon scoffed and paced himself, seeing if the man responded. The man didn't do anything at first, but as soon as Kefreon got comfortable to the man's presence he could feel him nearing. Kefreon knew he was being tracked, and that wasn't good.

He took a shrill turn in an alley, and then towards the other end of the alley. The man scuttled behind, but Kefreon couldn't tell that as such - he just made rough guesses, which meant that he was, for sure, a tracker.

Kefreon led him to a dead end, a snuck behind a garbage trunk. The man didn't appear for a while, but when he did, his shadow widened like a monster's and he looked around the alley with curiosity. Just as he moved past the comfort zone Kefreon soumersaulted out of his hiding place and his foot hit the man's head, who fell back. Kefreon's nails clutched the man's throat as he lifted him in the air almost miraculously.

"Who the hell are you and what do you think you're doing here?"

He snapped, his voice showing his boldness.

 

The man struggled and maneuvered his way to the ground.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about young man.”

"Right, like I'm buying the fact. I know you're following me. If you don't tell me who sent you - well, I'll I'll do something terrible."

The man laughed and looked at the boy with an arched eyebrow.

“Really now? Should I be afraid of a kid?”

The boy/Kefreon opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped.

"Well, 'cause my friends aren't kids. Now, are you telling me or what?"

He laughed, and turned around.

“No, kid. I won’t be.” He said back.

He started to walk off, pulling the cellphone from his pocket. He’d have to speak with him employer about this.

 

Kefreon gritted his teeth and watched the man walk away, talking to someone. He wasn't sure what to do, whenever he would be tracked he'd never wait to kill. But he was a little tired from the recent kills. However, he impulsively swung his leg round the man's neck and then bent his knee around his, strangling him. He jumped with his leg stagnant, and grabbed a streetlight's arm.

"I said; my friends are not kids."

The man gagged violently, and Kefreon decided to let him live for a second, hoping he'd reveal this tracker. He let go of his neck, allowing him to fall down abruptly. He pushed himself up the streetlight's arm and then sat on it as though a balcony's edge.

 

He coughed, the air struggling through his throat. The vomit came quickly as he rolled onto his side, the air coming soon after. He breathed in heavy, deep breathes. He finally calmed down as he looked up at the kid.

“She didn’t give a name.”

Kefreon swallowed in and then reached for something in his pocket.

"Like I haven't heard that before."

He pulled out a needle from his pocket when the man's phone rang. He groaned, somewhat in nervousness.

"Pick up the phone."

He ordered angrily.

The man’s hands shook violently as he reached for the phone at his side. He flipped it open, putting it on speaker.

“Huh-hello.” He stammered, his eyes wide as he watched the boy with the needle, “You’re off the plane then?”

The feminine voice came on the line, echoing through the alley, “What’s wrong? Yes. Did you find him?”

The boy shook as he slid down the streetlight's pole, not making a single noise. He seemed to be engrossed in recognizing the voice, and felt he almost had.

“Hello?” the voice asked, “Why… is there an echo? Better be a bad connection. What’s your problem Michael?”

The boy's eyes shot up in anger, and he took no care of whether his footsteps went through the phone or not. He placed his foot on the man's - seemingly Michael - chest and snatched the phone from him. He appeared to be hurt and confused.

"He can't talk right now, 'Mineko'."

A deep breath came from the other line.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice said, “This looks bad, of course.” The voice paused, “I was only searching for you. I want to help, but that’s easier said then done.”

"I see."

He croaked, and then sighed.

"You didn't have to be so secretive. It...scared me."

A nervous laugh erupted from the other end of the line, “I know… I’m sorry.” There was movement from the other line, voices of others could be heard.

“How can I help Kefreon?”

"Umm..." He started, confused. He knew the only help he needed was isolation. "You could always...call once in a while. I mean, I got a n-new job, but making friends is hard when you're stray. Hearing from you...makes me feel better."

“Of course.” She muttered, “I’ll have to call later. Now isn’t a good time, at the airport.” The noise of the people continued to fill the alley, as she headed through a big crowd, “You’re taking care, I hope. This new job… isn’t drug-related I hope.”

Kefreon laughed and said: "Of course not. It's...a utility store. Well...yeah, take care, and bye."

“Bye.” She said, before hanging the phone up.

The man looked up at the boy, and started to crawl away.

 

Kefreon yawned and eyed the phone.

"Slut."

He hissed at the phone and then eyed the man.

"Sorry, I know you were just a simple tracker tracking me down for some fishy business...but you just took the wrong job."

He showed him the needle, and then split it into two. The man's eyes widened as Kefreon played with the long needles, whistling.

"Ba Ba black sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. One for the right eye -" he said, shooting the needle into the man's right eye, "- and one for the left," then the left eyes, "for doing some info theft."

He then smashed his boot into the man's chest, until the rise and fall he could feel disappeared. With a sigh, he ran back to his baggage and then towards his small, shabby hut. He didn't know if he wanted to trust a mysterious, old lady who traveled a lot and had the nerve to send trackers after him. But he didn't want to think about it - he almost felt betrayed.

 

Ash sits in a cafe on the same street as the strip club, sipping iced mocha lattes and surfing the internet. She waits until Tamara gets off and comes out. The sun goes down and out comes her target. Tamara appears to be native american, hispanic or possible arab. Ash thinks to herself "Its a shame I have to kill you, because you do have a very nice body. Oh well, there will always be more stippers." Right now, she is checking outing her tires and notices that they are flat. Wondering how that could have happened. She begins to walk home, in a huff.

Ash quietly positions her self behind the woman. Ash is wearing stilleto boots, fish net stocking, a short black, sleeveless dress. She is keeping the knife in a carrier on the inside of her thigh. Scanning the area for any potential witnesses, she sees that there are only a few drunk guys walking around. They probably wouldn't even remember anything they see.

Quickly catching up to her, she whispers to the woman "Stay perfectly still Tamara. If you want any chance of living do as I say. My men are waiting right around each corner and are seeing everything you do. Try to run or scream, and you will die. Now calmly walk into the alley that is about a block ahead of us. Understand?" The woman nods her head and does as told.

After going about halfway into the alley, she turns to look at Ash. "What do you want from me?"

"Normally I don't like doing this up close."

"Wha....." One quick slash, and Tamara's neck is slashed wide open. She falls to her knees, gasping for breath.

Ash turns and walks out of the alley. After spotting a drainage grate on the side of the road, she drops the knife down into it. It gives a splash as it hits the water.

Ash walks to the outskirts of the city and calls for the helicopter.

 

Before going where he needed to Silpheed met with the person he needed to get the snipe weapon. Silpheed then had everything checked out and went on his way.
Silpheed was sitting out on one of the roofs waiting for this Antoine Mustaf guy. He hated guns and didn't like using them, but here he held a snipe weapon.
"Its so heavy and clunky," Silpheed said.
It was about time Mustaf came to his own death meeting. Silpheed he liked that, death meeting. Silpheed giggled a little. Silpheed grabbed the gun and looked through its scope. Even though Silpheed didn't like guns didn't mean that he didn't know how to use them, he was fairly good with them. Silpheed saw the Mustaf man. Silpheed began to count and play a scene in his head. One, greet, two, greet someone else, three greet someone else, four sit down while being greeted, five continue sitting, and six let everyone get situated. Silpheed waited just a little longer and shot Mustaf straight in the head with the bullet. Silpheed smiled he was such a wonderful killer.
"I'm so good at what I do," Silpheed said.
Silpheed walked off feeling proud of himself.