Four Years Earlier
He woke up that morning feeling very relaxed. He got out of bed and took a long hot shower. Then he went back into his bedroom and put on a pair of normal jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. This is going to be a good day, the man thought. Then his cell phone rang. He looked at the number; it was a quite familiar number.
“Hello?” he answered.
“I have a job for you. It’s important and I need it done fast,” the caller said.
“Okay, how fast are we talking?” the man asked.
“I need it done tonight,” the caller told him.
“That’s pretty fast. How come you didn’t tell me before? This is kinda short notice,” the man in the turtleneck said, slightly irritated.
“It just came up. Yes or no?” the caller said coldly.
“Sure why not? I’ve got nothing else to do today. What do I need to do?” the man said casually.
“You need to go down to the shipping district. Go to warehouse 23, ask to speak to the foreman. He’ll be expecting you. Just say you’re Mr. Brown. Once you’re alone in his office kill him and get out of there. The less witnesses the better.”
“What’s my payment?” the man asked.
“500,000.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll get right on it.”
Click. The caller hung up. The man decided to go prepare himself for his next assignment. He put on a shoulder holster harness equipped with two holsters for two pistols. He then went into his closet and pulled out his two pistols. They were Ruger Mk1 “assassins”. Each was silver with black trim and had a suppressor attached to the end of the barrel. He placed each one in its own holster under his arms. Then he went into the living room, plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. He figured he didn’t have to head out until around four o’ clock. Until then he’d just sit around watching TV and playing video games.
The man arrived at warehouse 23 at four thirty. He had parked his jet black, brand new, 2004 Mercedes Benz a few blocks away. It was began to rain lightly. He didn’t mind. Before leaving home, he put on a long black leather trench coat to conceal his weapons. A worker confronted him when he entered the building.
“Hey, who’re you?”
“I’m Mr. Brown. I’m here to see the foreman. Where might I find him?” the in the turtleneck man replied coolly.
“Yeah yeah, he told us about you. He’s up there,” the worker said, pointing to the foreman’s office protruding from out of the back wall a few stories up.
Something’s not right here, the man thought, but he carried on anyways. He ascended a flight of metal stairs at the back of the warehouse until he made it to the catwalk in front of the foreman’s office. Before knocking on the door he looked out over the warehouse. It wasn’t particularly big, but there was about 10, maybe fewer, workers, and he couldn’t tell what work they were actually doing. It seemed as though they were just standing around. Oh well, I’m not here to make them work. I’m here to kill this guy. The man looked at the windows of the office but he couldn’t see inside. The blinds were closed. He knocked on the door.
“Come in Mr. Brown, come in.” a voice hailed from inside.
The man turned the knob and pushed the door open without stepping into the room. His instincts turned out to be right; for once the door had swung open into the room a giant hole was blasted into it by a ferocious shotgun blast. Fuck, somehow he knew I was coming. The man drew both of his pistols and tried to think of a plan.
Thwack! A bullet hit the wall beside him. The man turned his head back down towards the warehouse floor. The workers were now brandishing guns of their own and firing on him! Not good. Not good, the man thought frantically. The only cover available to him was inside the office, where a man with a shotgun just happened to be. Thinking fast, the man raised the gun in his left hand and shot out the office window farthest from him, the one where the foreman likely sat near. The man then quickly ducked into the door of the office. What he saw was completely expected. He saw the foreman sitting at his desk at the other end of the office holding a shotgun, but at this instant he wasn’t looking at the door, he was looking at the newly shattered window fearing that his enemy might attack him from there. Before he could turn his head back to the doorway he took two bullets to the chest followed by one to the forehead. He was knocked over backwards in his chair, hitting the floor with a thump.
The man quickly made his way to the foreman’s desk and jumped behind it, ready to face anyone who might come through the door. He also picked up the foreman’s shotgun. It was a nice gun. This is a nice gun, the man in the turtleneck thought. It was a Benelli M4 combat shotgun. It was a semi-automatic and held 8 shots, one of which had already been fired.
The man wanted to know how they they had been warned about him. The man noticed that the computer on the desk was turned on and the foreman’s Facebook homepage just happened to be open on the screen. The man didn’t have time to search the computer, but he did take the time to change the foreman’s Facebook status to: is dead. He then searched the dead foreman’s pockets and found a cell phone and three extra shotgun shells. He didn’t have time to look through the phone now; that would have to wait for later. First, he had to get out of this place. The man peeked out of the window and saw the workers on the ground aiming up at him. Shit, he thought. He ducked back down just before a volley of bullets assaulted the empty window.
The man frantically tried to think of a way out. The floor. The office he was in was essentially nothing more than a large box stuck to the back wall of the warehouse. There was open air underneath it leading to the warehouse floor. If he could blast through it with the shotgun he might have a chance. The man aimed the shotgun at the floor and buried his head into his shoulder to avoid any debris.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! The man looked down to see a nice hole in the floor in front of him, large enough for him to fit through. He kicked away any wood and metal poking out around the edge and peered through. It was a long way down to the floor. Luckily there was a stack of wooden boxes directly below him. It would still be quite the fall though. He hopped out through the hole, falling at least ten feet to the box beneath him. He hit it hard. His only option was to land on his feet because of the way he was forced to exit the hole in the office floor. The box he landed on must not have been constructed very well because when he hit it he crashed right through the lid and the side closest to the back wall of the warehouse broke out. He now found himself sitting in a box full of straw padding and… he felt around in the box… hand grenades. Nice, he thought. He put as many of the grenades as he could find into his coat pockets, grabbed his shotgun out of the straw and climbed the rest of the way down the boxes as fast as he could, ignoring the pain that now ran through his left leg.
Not a moment after the man planted his feet on the ground did one of the workers walk around the corner. Raising the shotgun up with one arm, the man took aim at the worker’s head and pulled the trigger before the worker could do anything about it. The worker’s head exploded into a starburst of blood and brains. A second later the decapitated body fell motionless to the floor. The man quickly loaded his three extra shotgun shells into the gun. Five shots left, he told himself.
He took a quick peek around the corner and saw three men inching towards him. Idiots, he thought. He took one of the grenades out of his pocket and pulled the pin. He let the grenade cook for a couple seconds before popping out around the corner and sliding the grenade in between the feet of the three men.
Boom! The grenade exploded sending body parts and guts everywhere. The man used this opportunity to make a break for another stack of boxes. He found himself right behind another one of the workers who was staring in shock at what used to be three of his fellow workers.
“Holy shit, that’s fucked up,” the man in the turtleneck said to the worker.
“Yeah man. Fuck, fuck,” the worker replied. Then wide eyed he turned around and saw who was talking to him. Before he could do anything, the man in the turtleneck had drawn one of his pistols and put a bullet between the worker’s eyes.
Whiz crack! A bullet flew by the man’s head and slammed into the wood box behind him. The man quickly moved to another box to take cover and lobbed a grenade in the direction of his new assailant. There was an explosion and he was pleased to see an arm come flying out from all of the resulting wood splinters that were flying through the air.
The man spied three more workers left in the warehouse. He was almost out. To the man’s satisfaction, another grenade throw took care of two of the men,. Running over to a different box for cover he noticed something in the pile of wood and body parts where the last grenade had gone off. A riot shield had fallen out of a box that blew up. Sweet, the man thought as he ran over to it. Bullets slapped the ground around his feet as he ran towards it. Now he knew where the last worker was. When he got to the riot shield he picked it up on the run and quickly turned behind another box as the bullets followed him.
He could easily get out of the front door of the warehouse now, the worker wasn’t in his way, but he wanted to finish the guy off. After all, the worker wanted to kill him. And he didn’t want to leave any witnesses. Holding the riot shield in one hand and the shotgun in the other he turned the corner and ran towards the last man left. The last worker hopped out from behind his cover and started unloading his pistol on the man charging him. The man in the turtleneck unloaded the last of his five remaining shots like a madman, tearing the last worker to shreds.
The man let out a sigh of relief and dropped the shield and the shotgun to the ground.
“Well that was fun,” he said to himself.
“The fun is just beginning my friend.”
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