The 13

Welcome to The 13

noreply@blogger.com (w_h) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 05:47:00 +0000

CHANGELOG

Chapter	Description	Date
Author's Notes	New Author's note	13/04/09
Chapter 6 : Kill All, Become God	Chapter 6 Updated (again)!	11/04/09
Chapter 6 : Kill All, Become God	Chapter 6 Updated!	26/03/09
Chapter 5 : King of Killers	Chapter 5 COMPLETE! New Author's Note!!	05/03/09
Chapter 5 : King of Killers	Update! And new Author's Note!	03/02/09
Chapter 5 : King of Killers	Update and LOGO up!	06/01/09
Terms and Terminologies	COMPLETED!	19/12/08
Top Panel	Added Home and Terms and Terminologies	19/12/08
Chapter 1 : First Blood	Edited (added description of S.S. Securus and Crosshair's victim- special thanks to Jie)	19/12/08
Authors' Notes	Added new announcement	03/12/08
-	Added anchor tags to cause Changelog links to go directly to updates	28/11/08
Chapter 5 : The King of Killers	Updated	26/11/08

(click on the Chapter to go the update!)

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AUTHORS' NOTES

Hey all,

As you may have noticed (smack yourself in the head if you haven't), we have a new banner up! Given to us by the beautiful Liza from Techvixen, I managed to get the banner up (no thanks to blogger).

On that note, if anyone out there is familiar with blogger widgets and coding style, feel free to email me if you think you can teach me anything, because placing a banner should not cost a week.

Yours awesomely,
w_h

To all artists reading this,

We are in search of anyone interested in becoming an illustrator for this blog. Those interested can email your pieces to me at twj986@hotmail.com.

You can submit anything, be it a place, character or weapon, as long as it is related to the story. EntreCard users will receive ECs. Please include your name so that you can receive the proper credit for your work.

Thank you.
wj
17-03-09

Good day to everyone!

Its the end of school for me!!! Thus expect more updates and less jibes about my tardiness from my annoying brother (i hope). Here are some updates!

As you can see, we are now involved with Stumble, Digg, Facebook, EntreCard (on the right bar below the disclaimer) and SezWho (above changelog).

Expect many updates and lots of fights in the upcoming Chapter 6, and... *pause for dramatic effect*

VILLAINS!

The no-longer-lazy <---Did anyone see the moon turn blue last night? - wj
w_h
05-03-09

Ladies and gentlemen,

I sincerely apologise for the long delay. The dreaded exams have caught up to w_h and myself. For myself, I have to take a leave from the action until my studies is taken care of. So, from next week onwards, your updates will be brought to you by the unreliable w_h (big hand for the man!). Thank you for your patience.

Yours enthusiastically,
wj
24-02-09

Good morning/afternoon/evening,

Happy Chinese New Year to all, and we're up and running with many updates! With my agonizing school term ending, expect more updates regularly. The logo was made by my classmate who decided to humbly remain anonymous, but a clue is that his name rhymes with "Benjamin". Many thanks!

And we would greatly appreciate more fan art! Any interpretations of the 13 characters would be fine. Cheers and stay tuned!

Yours (but more my girlfriend than yours (sorry but she complained about my last message)),
w_h
04-02-09

Hey all,

After many sleepless nights, the terms and terminologies page is finally completed. OK, I'm exaggerating but it was a lot of work. So, hah, please appreciate. I will shift my attention in continue the storyline, so thank you for your patience.

Yours fantastically,
wj
06-01-09

Dear readers,

I have begun my very annoyingly intensive editing of all previous chapters; none to the plot, mainly minor details like grammar or fonts, thanks to special help from ツバサ. We really appreciate all this input!

Yours totally-completely and utterly,
w_h
03-12-08

Dear readers,

Hi and welcome to The 13, the storyblog. This is a joint project of Wen-the-Brothers Production, we have a 2 main authors, w_h (that's me) and wj.

As you can tell, this site is far from complete, and the changes are made regularly. At the side panel, you can see the links to our previous chapters. Of course, I highly recommend everyone to read from Chapter One. This page will also keep a Changelog (as you can see above), which shall document the changes made to which chapters.

WE ARE LOOKING FOR ANYONE TO DO FAN ART! Just read the stories and draw any character as you wish. Who knows, we might just post your picture online. For more information on the 13, feel free to email me at wreon88@gmail.com

Yours sexily,
w_h

Hey all,

This is the first project together for w_h and I. So understandably, edits on small things, such as grammer, to big changes, such as the storyline, should be expected and frequent. I just want to apologise for that in advance.

We do not write a whole chapter all at once, only parts of it. Therefore, each scene of the chapter is denoted with a '~' in it. Normally, we update a scene each time. It should be noted that the incomplete chapter would always have a 'Updated on xx/xx' underneath the title.

We are encouraging people to contribute, even in small ways such as an honest critique or a comment. As i have said many times before, writing without readers is like baking a cake without anyone to eat it. Therefore, all readers are special to us. In other words, we appreciate your appreciation.

I can be contacted at twj986@hotmail.com.

Yours humbly,
wj

P.S. Those readers with facebook can view our page.

Chapter 6: Kill All, Become God

noreply@blogger.com (w_h) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 13:52:00 +0000

The boy sat down by the river, legs crossed as his mentor watched. His normally alert eyes were closed, relaxed yet not asleep. His tense muscle visibly, although he still held his posture rigid. Snake Eyes nodded in approval. His protégé was everything he had hoped for and more. He was a quick learner and a fastidious worker. He had the natural instincts that reminded Snake Eyes of a beast.

He studied the boy. He certainly had grown, and not just in height. What little baby fat he had was replaced by powerful, sinewy muscles, hardened by months of training. His young face was covered by numerous scars, many of them delivered by the very man that fed him. His previous nervous demeanor which kept him alive through hard times had been replaced by a growing sense of confidence. Snake Eyes even suspected seeing the boy smile a few times.

"Breathe in, breathe out. If you can hear my voice, you have already failed this exercise." He instructed. The boy frowned slightly, his master's firm chiding obviously heard. He concentrated harder to shut out his environment and soon felt nothing.

But the state of nothingness never last in the vigour of youth. Soon, the boy couldn't resist a peek. He found himself staring straight into the cold, furious eyes of a snarling wolf. The boy reared back in panic and tried to scramble to his feet. With a deep rumbling growl that seemed like thunder to the terror-stricken boy, the wolf leaped towards him with a gaping mouth of steel knives.

In desperation, the boy raised his hands to shield himself from the incoming onslaught and immediately felt the paralyzing pain of teeth through flesh from his arm. He tried to pull back, only to realise that his arm was now limp and useless, stuck in the vice-like grip of the wolf. The wolf began to shake the helpless boy like an infant playing with a rag doll.

The boy screamed from the pain. He felt his wounds tear wider from the flailing and the pain was so intense that soon he felt nothing at all. His life began to fade as his pulse ceased.

NO! The boy cried to himself. He CANNOT die. Not like this. Not after all that he has been through. No. He will fight; he must fight.

He must live.

The boy thrashed frantically, and hit a hind leg by chance. The wolf, caught by the sudden surge of life in its victim, loosened its grip, which was all the boy needed. He tugged his arm free, as the pulling force ripped gashes into his arm, and without a hint of hesitation, smashed his other fist into the animal's surprised face.

The beast recovered quickly as it stood up. The boy did the same as man and beast squared each other off. The beast in particular was in no hurry to attack, as if possessing a new found respect for the strange two-legged figure. For the boy, it gave him time to study his assailant.

The boy widened his eyes in surprise. The wolf was extraordinary. It was huge, with a height of a fully grown man. Its fur was as blue as the ocean and seemed to glow from the light of the full moon. If he was not locked in a life-or-death struggle, the boy would be hesitant to harm such a magnificent creature.

They maintained eye contact.

Look away, become a coward.

Stare straight. Do not blink. Be strong.

With a loud roar from both parties, they charged at each other, as if on cue. With fists clenched and teeth gnashing, the boy and beast fought. Neither appeared to have the upper hand. Fortitude and resourcefulness held its own against primeval instincts and raw savagery.

It pounced on the boy, gunning for his neck. The boy lashed out; the wolf instinctively bit down on his already injured arm. The boy smiled despite the pain. The wolf widened its eyes, realising its mistake.

The boy, unfazed by the pain, used his injured arm to force the beast's head onto the ground. With his one good hand, he pummeled the wolf in its soft belly, again and again. The wolf released its grip, but the repeated pounding continued, until the great blue beast whimpered pitifully.

The boy stopped, his clothes soaked in blood. He stared at the wolf, as the wolf stared back. He could break its neck now, helpless as it is.

The wolf lifted itself up slowly, still staring, still observing, as if puzzled by the inaction. It started backing away from the boy gingerly, a few slow steps at first, then into a painful run as it bounded off.

The boy collapsed, ready now to accept death.

The sun set, a glowing pink ball, melancholic in its decent, resting gently behind the high-rise buildings of Yorkland. To Shark it was an utterly depressing sight, one which he relished as he watched from the rooftops. Yorkland itself was a dreary place, remnants of a flourishing time before the Nuclear War. It was during that time, structures soared to the sky in a glorified race of height. Now all that was left is the rusting metal and broken glass of skyscrapers that would not fall, yet never to ascend again.

Not that the place was abandoned. The towering constructions was home to the fierce Yorkland Gangs, commandeered by the Raider Assassins. For this reason, Shark did not feel safe here. The Yorkland Gangs were made up of idiots, who had no care for their own safety and came at you with reckless abandon in a fight, similar to the killing styles of the Raider Assassins. They would also come at you in huge numbers, like swarms of rats rushing for a piece of meat.

While he knew that the Raider Assassins were on the Blood Rain payroll, which made them colleagues, he could never rest easy in such a place.

"Enjoying the scenery, short fuck? Or maybe you are relishing the chance to look down on something for a change." A mocking voice rang through the quiet dusk. Shark cringed. Out of everything he hated, which was numerous, he despised being reminded of his height. He turned around, before realising that the insult was accentuated by the lanky frame of Vice. He spat, restraining his anger. He knew of Vice. Young, intelligent with deadly skills. Not one to make an enemy of yet.

"I'm glad yer tall, Vice, it gives me more to hate. What yer doing here?"

"Aren't you a short-tempered runt. I'm guessing you heard the news too, eh toadstool?" Shark ignored the obvious slight on his height.

"Yea. Appeared on the grid. Amazing timing. And here of all places."

"You wonder why? I'll keep it short and sweet for you, Stumpy. People make mistakes."

Shark reached down, touching the hilt of a dagger, one of many locked in a specially designed pocket. He could kill Vice here, and enjoy doing it. Now is not the time, and he had to remind himself repeatedly. Vice was purposely aggravating him, and one day, he would make the Raider Assassin pay for it dearly.

He looked down as sounds of footsteps echoed through the empty street below, interrupting his thoughts. There stood the most infamous assassin in recent memory. Right in the open in the middle of the street. Waiting. Shark shook his head.

"Mistakes? Not him." he whispered.

For once, Vice kept his mouth shut. His eyes followed the lone figure below, observing him, looking for weaknesses, motive and weapons. Shark did the same, noting two hand-held guns, a katana and some sort of wrist-strapped device under the sleeve of his long, black jacket. Probably a knife or two sheathed in the boots. He saw Vice lick his lips slowly, as if preparing for a feast.

"Aren't ya going down there to get him?" he asked, baiting Vice to dig his own grave.

"Me? Nah, I ain't that short-sighted, Squab. Besides, Blood Rain has many more gunning for the man. They'll make short work of the fucker." Shark nodded. No wonder it was so quiet here. Blood Rain must have commanded the Gangs to clear Yorkland for the operation; they definitely would not leave the capturing of the Ripper to the clumsy hands of the Yorkland Gangs. They would send assassins. A lot of them.

"Question of the night," Shark growled in his usual gruff voice, "How many assassins would it take to capture a Ripper?"

~
UPDATE!

"I have visuals on the target, he is walking through the blocks K-62, his movement has been straight and consistent. Night vision working fine."

"Copy that. We strike the moment he walks into the street." The loud noises of radio communication and static rang noisily from Sieg's handheld transceiver. It was strapped on his chest, along with three concussion grenades. He had a cigar in the corner of his mouth, unlit, and was wearing a green beret which sat on his rectangular head.

Clair looked at Sieg, displeased. The commander was every bit the musclehead that the Elder had warned her about. Tanker Assassins. Stupid idiots that charge into the battlefield guns blazing, with no regard for subtlety. Armed to the teeth with grenades, automatic weapons and a large siege missile launcher, she hated these assassins the most.

Not that Tanker Assassins were the only assassins they sent. They and a large posse of Tanker Sniper, Raider, Stealth Assassins, all under the Blood Rain payroll were postitioned at the back of block K-62, awaiting ambush. She had never seen so many assassins in such close proximity before, all to capture one man; the moment the Ripper appeared on the grid, the contracts was drawn up hastily and Bloodrain sent any available assassin they could.

Clair was just one of the unfortunate few sent to the field to team up with buffoons. Standing beside the vulgar weapon-packed crew with her blond pinned up hair and white robe dress, they looked like complete contrary.

"Assuming he doesn't hear your noisy radio and your unorganised crew approaching, we might actually have a chance at this." She said condescendingly.

Sieg snorted as he wiped his nose on his sleeves. "Keep out of my way, woman, and I'll keep outsa of yours. Itsa time for us grown ups to work, why don't you go do your hair or something." He grunted back.

She almost voiced her retort when gun fire rang.

"A sniper got the Ripper, target hit and down! All units closing in now." The radio screamed. Clair widened her eyes. The fool! They were supposed to capture the Ripper, not to kill him. Now the idiot jeapordized the entire mission. Sieg ran to the open street, his crew already slowly surrounding the fallen figure of the Ripper.

"Thatsa how you get something done!" He laughed and gave a thumbs up to his crew. "Good shotsa, Eagle Eye."

He nudged past the team and kicked the Ripper. There was no response. The Ripper's physique was not even half as large as his own; now that he lay there face down, he was no more a legend than the nearest killer. Just dead as a doorknob.

As he approached the body, he drew his weapon, aiming at the Ripper's head and fired his gun. Emptied all his rounds too, just in case.

There was a stale silence in the air as Sieg kicked the body up, each pair of eyes stared in anticipation for the face of the infamous Ripper.

"Eh... Boss?" One of the assassins spoke, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"I think you killed Bill."

Clair was already searching the area, clenching her fists in anger. Who the hell do they think they are? Who do they think they are dealing with? A quick scream was heard from the top of the building nearby, and a figure was seen falling off.

"I think that was Eagle Eye too, boss!"

"Shut up. I can see that for myself, can't I?" Sieg shouted back as he drew his patented Siege missile launcher and fired at the building, before Clair could protest. The large missile whistled towards building, causing a large explosion that created a huge deafening explosion and a growing cloud of dust.

All the assassins scrambled for their weapons and primed the assortment of killing tools in the general direction of the smoke. They stared at the smoke with strained eyes silently, waiting. How could anyone survive that?

Tearing out of the billowing dust cloud, an object glimmered as it ascended into the night sky. Like a silver-winged swallow, it sailed through the sky in a high-flying arc as the stunned assassins watched below, mesmerized by the bizzare sight. The object paused in mid-air, as if undecided on its next action, before deciding to dive gracefully towards the gathered hitmen.

A soft thud was heard, before the assassins realised that the silver swallow was a blade which impaled the skull of a now-dead Raider Assassin, and anchoring the corpse into the ground. Angry red blood flowed down the sheer, slick blade.

Without warning, a shadow fell materialized from above. It landed onto the hilt of the upright sword, forcing the blade further into the ground. It crouched there on one foot, perfectly balanced. As the assassins reared back, the elevated Ripper looked up and smiled.

An intense feeling of dread filled Clair's heart as she lunged aside.

The Ripper spun in a swirl of silver. A fan of thin needles emanated from the whirling figure, as it struck flesh and shredded clothes.

The yelps and cries was quickly replaced by a puzzled silence as those struck by the needles plucked the needles from their flesh; the needles had not hit deep enough to cause any real damage. Many glanced at each other in relief, grinning.

Clair emerged from her cover and picked up a needle, scrutinizing. She gasped as traces of yellow liquid seeped onto her gloved finger. Venom! The Ripper seems to be a Poison Assassin. She glanced up, in time to witness bodies tumbling to the ground, gasping and flailing in a desperate dance of death. She turned to the Ripper as he extracted his katana from the ground and the corpse.

Clair closed her eyes, concentrating. Her focus gathered at her fingertips, gathering intensity, surging and swirling like superheated lava. Struggling to maintain control, she lifted her hand, and oozed the power out of her tingling fingertips, slowly entwining around the Ripper, seductively and firmly caressing him. The Ripper paused, puzzled at first, before succumbing to its enticing touch with a slight sigh. Clair smiled.

The Ripper was now hers.

Nearby, Sieg roared and launched his four hundred and fifty pound body at the Ripper, breaking Clair's concentration. The Ripper, still entranced, received the full onslaught of the attack. His body propelled through the air before slamming into a cracking concrete wall and flopping to the floor.

Sieg strolled towards the Ripper's limp body, arrogance brimming. Clair knew what he was thinking. He is The Man Who Took Down The Ripper, when all he did was zilch. Clair's eyes flared with distinct scorn.

Fervid anger rippled through her as she felt the power undulating towards her fingertips. This time, instead of letting the Power ooze out, she forced it out violently, striking Sieg with vehemence unparalleled. A deafening cry resonated through the streets as the Tanker Assassin fell to his knees hands grasping his crown.

Clair walked past nonchalantly, ignoring his desperate plea for relief. She glanced down, eyebrow raised.

"Migraine?" She asked with false concern in her voice.

"Hmm... Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?"

Clair looked up, finding herself looking at the Ripper standing up and dusting himself off, as if nothing happened.She narrowed her eyes, feeling the ebb and flow of the Power. She slowly nurtured the flow, when pangs of sharp pain began to spread rapidly from her thigh. Bewildered, she peered at her limb, considering the needle that was embedded into her shoulder before collapsing to the ground.

The Ripper knelt beside her, scratching his head. "You know, that's a pretty new trick you got there," he says as he drew a handgun, "So, it is true then. People like you do exist. Interesting."

Clair struggled to move her paralysed legs, to no avail. She looked into the cold, dark eyes of the Ripper. Would he shoot her point blank? Panic gripped her as she began to lose control of her neck and arms.

"Why are you here?" She sneered, ignoring her thoughts and the creeping paralysis.

"Why, to meet people like you, of course." He said simply, as he pulled back the slide barrel. "Now, if you will excuse me, there are some people who just cant get enough of me that I have to attend to."

Right on cue, Clair spotted a brief flitting image at the corner of her eye. Stealth Assassins! She turned back to find that the Ripper had vanished.

Seems like the real battle is about to start.

Jack ran with all his might, his footsteps echoing loudly through the quiet streets. His eyes looked ahead as he took quick mental notes of where the Stealth Assassins may be lying in ambush. He clutched his side and gritted his teeth, knowing full well that even in his present condition his speed was still faster than your average assassin.

Running away was not only the best option, it was his only option. An upfront battle, through stealth or otherwise, with that many Stealth Assassins is tantamount to suicide. Running will force the Stealth Assassins to give chase, eliminating their greatest weapon, the element of surprise. Even when chasing a target down, the typical Stealth Assassin would still maintain the concealment, slowing the assassin down. He was going to have to use his lead while it lasted.

His sprint lead him across Yorkland's ancient skyscrapers, and Jack sighted a familiar turn by one of them. Breathing evenly, he observed each structure as he passed each of them, like a connoiseur judging the best piece of art. Then he saw it. Its height was perfect; short enough to reach the roof in time, high enough to provide sufficient cover.

A small drop of water hit the ground, its soft sound rang distinctly to the Jack's sharp ears. It wasn't rain, or a leaking pipe from abandoned buildings. Sounded a lot like a drop of sweat. Seems like the Stealth Assassins are catching up quick. Without hesitation, he leaped onto the building, his hands instinctively finding handholds, his legs dangling underneath.

With the precision of an expert rock-wall climber, he swung himself up, his feet lodging onto the smallest cracks on the wall. His face tightened in concentration, yet a single drop of perspiration did not roll down his face. With unmatched agility, he swung, lifted and threw himself to the top.

From afar, unnoticed by the Ripper, Shark observed in silence. He had chased after the Ripper, foregoing any form of concealment that would slow him down in order to keep an eye on the Ripper. He was too far to be noticed anyway.

He was utterly fascinated. Never would he have thought the Ripper would think of escaping. It was not a bad, albeit useless, idea. Relying on his superior speed, he has created significant distance between himself and his pursuers. But to what purpose? Stealth Assassins are trained to track a target for months, even years, and even the Ripper is bound to tire sometime.

There he watched as the Ripper stopped at an odd V-shaped building, considering it, before scaling the building like a monkey on steroids. What was this man thinking? How would climbing a building prevent the eventual onslaught of Stealth Assassins in every direction?

As the Ripper reached the top, he whipped out an outlandish handgun. Shark tried his best to make out what sort. The handgun was bulky and longish, with an unusually large scope attached to the top. The way the Ripper gripped it suggested that the handgun was extraordinarily heavy, which was kind of contradictory to the basic premise of a handgun. Curiouser and curiouser.

Without warning, the Ripper fired. Shark widened his eyes in shock. The Ripper took a short breath before firing, repeatedly this time. Between each shot, he altered his aim slightly, one arm directing the tremendous recoil towards another target. Not a single movement was a wasted motion as the Ripper fired shot after shot.

The sound of each shot reverberated and echoed as the Ripper opened a catch to release the magazine and subsequently reloading the handgun. Shark turned his eyes towards the street, in time to notice multiple bodies, some shot in the chest and most, in the head, emerging from the shadows, and falling from height. Screams of pain punctuated the gruesome scene before it subsided into an uneasy silence.

Stealth Assassins, renown and feared. Many a target did not even know they had died when hunted by them. Silent as the night and unnoticed by the devil himself. Yet a singular man stood there, calmly picking them off as if they were target practice, by a handgun no less.

Shark smiled, amused, from the comfort of his hiding place. This Ripper seemed like a worthy foe indeed. He watched the Ripper stand there, still holding onto the strange handgun. Watching. Listening.

Satisfied, the Ripper shoved the handgun into the holster at his side. He grinned widely, as he turned to Shark and waved.

Shark's smile quickly disappeared.

Jack lowered his shoulders, panting. He used his sleeve to wipe some blood from his eyes. Was it his blood? Perhaps. As his vision cleared, he saw bodies of assassins strewn around. How many were there? A hundred? Two hundred?

His right hand clenched around the grip of his Hummingbird autopistol. It was a powerful firearm, too powerful for most. It fires a startling number of bullets in a short time, making this a difficult weapon to control. Jack smiled briefly, remembering the months he took to tame this wild beast.

His left hand gripped on to his trusty katana, its silvery red surface angled to the ground, a quiet but compelling warning to any who gets too close. A warning that most of the assassins that surrounded Jack took. They surrounded him, but none dared get too close, for fear of a quick death.

Jack laughed silently to himself. If only they knew, they would be rushing in like vultures on a carcass. His Hummingbird was low in ammo, and his SHLEP was empty. He had acquired two broken ribs, an elbow dislocation and creeping weariness. Even his years of training to push past pain would not be able to maintain his facade for long. Mentally, doubts had already creeped in for undertaking this fool's errand.

Then he heard clapping. Jacks eyes looked up searchingly, bewildered by the enthusiastic applause of one. Surely he had heard wrong, probably took too many hits to the head. Apparently, the other assassins also heard this delusion and started to draw away, forming a neat path to the source of the noise. Jack looked around, stunned.

They were afraid, no terrified, as the lone figure started to proceed closer. They backed away, and fled, leaving the street empty, except for Jack and the approaching figure. Jack squinted then gasped.

The figure was merely a boy, no older than thirteen years. He was clad in a simple T-shirt and white sweat pants and a piece of paper fluttered between his fingers. His mouth was upturned in a joyless smile as he clapped loudly, as if he was cheering for a favourite team that won.

"What an impressive performance. I didn't expect anything less from my hero. How many had you killed so far? A thousand? Ten thousand?" His voice was juvenile and high-pitched giving proof to his age.

Jack narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong with this child. The child was thin, yet the way he walked betrayed power. As he clapped, Jack noticed the muscles moving in the a different pattern each time, as if the boy's body could not decide where the muscles should move. Worse still, Jack saw madness in the boy's eyes.

"Nothing to say? I'm disappointed. I really did want to meet you. Say would you sign an autograph for me?" Without warning, the boy kicked the ground to close the distance between Jack and him in an instant.

"Pleeease?"

Jack nearly backed away at the sudden movement. He caught himself, and smiled a wary smile. Right here was a dangerous child, standing so close to him that Jack could smell him. Johnson's shampoo for children.

"Sure." He replied as he pressed a bloody thumb onto the outstretched piece of paper.

"You didn't run," the boy said excitedly, "As expected from the Ripper."

Jack saw the boy's foot twitch, and reacted, in time to avoid a punch from the boy. Jack's eyes widened at the near miss. The boy's punching hand immeadiately went to the ground as his legs spun forward in a sudden lunge of his nimble body.

Jack felt his skull crack under the immense force of the kick. Instinctively, he leaped backwards to lessen the blow and yet pain resonated through every cell of his head. He collapsed to the ground, almost blacking out.

"Aww. You didn't avoid that? Cummon, I thought you would be more of a challenge than that."

Jack got up slowly, his head pounding mercilessly. Why was the boy talking instead of rushing in to take control of the fight? Arrogance? Or perhaps to give him a fighting chance? To extend the fight?

Feet light as a feather, the boy dashed towards Jack, his whole body propelling towards the fight. Jack barely managed to jumped clear and swung his katana to try to force the boy back as he would surely attack again without pause.

The boys did not fall back and swung anyway, his fist meeting steel. Jack braced for the expected splatter of blood and the painful cry of his opponent.

Neither came. Jack instead felt his blade rebound backwards, the unexpected force of it made him lose his balance as he crashed to the ground. He looked up, astonished.

There was the boy examining his hand, without even a scratch blemishing his skin. The boy shrugged and stared down at Jack pityingly.

Jack closed his eyes. Excruciating pain rained down on him as he felt the world fold to darkness.

The putrid stench was the first thing that Jack noticed when he woke up. There was no direct source of light, but the vague light from the corridors gave Jack a rough sketch of where he was. He looked around and saw a bunch of rats crowding around a plate of, presumably, his dinner.

Jack quickly examined his surroundings. He walked along the sides of his cell, carefully tapping the walls as he went. The rusty metal bars that blocked his escape was, while obviously not well maintained, unfortunately were thick and impossible to destroy through brute strength. His katana would have made short work of it though. The cell was well secured and deserted.

Deserted! A pang of shock hit him as he realised that his risking of everything had come to naught. Panic started to seep in as he tried to reach for his katana for comfort, but in the end only grasping air. He sighed.

A slight movement in the corner of the cell brought him sharply to his senses.

"Who is that?" Jack shouted, brushing aside his despair. There was hope. He walked slowly towards the corner, his vision was slowly getting used to the darkness. He could faintly make out a figure, curled up like a ball.

"I..." The stranger tried to speak, but coughed on his first words. He obviously hasn't spoken in a long time. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

"My name is... Gem Eye." He said his name with a touch of contempt.

Jack smiled. At last, he had found him. He was finally in touch with the man he spent the last decade searching for.

"I'm Jack. I don't have much time here, I need you to tell me your secrets now. No tricks, Gem Eye, I have wasted enough time searching for you to know when you are trying something."

"My name... is Gem... Eye."

Jack fell silent. Had Gem Eye broken down in the confines of this cell? Jack quickly changed tactics and went softer on him.

"My name is Jack. You know who I am?"

"Y... Yes."

"Good. Tell me what happened to you?"

"I can't... Sorry."

Jack wiped his sweat of his brow in frustration. This was really going nowhere.

"Look. Let me draw out the picture for you. You tell me whether I'm on the right track or not."

"K... 'Kay."

"You were a fighter. A promising fighter."

"Yes... I was."

"You were attacked by Fox."

"Yes."

"You were a promising fighter, but you aren't even close to Fox's standard. He should have had your head on a platter. But you killed him. His body was found in bits and pieces. You couldn't have done it better with a scapel and tons of dynamite."

Gem Eye leaned forward, his eyes pleading Jack to stop. Jack looked back, eyes imbued with steel. Bowing his head in resignation, Gem Eye replied.

"Yes."

"How?"

Gem Eye's neck spasmed as Jack's question echoed through the cell.

"How?" Jack said again.

Gem Eye looked up again, pleading, begging Jack to stop his questions.

"HOW! TELL ME HOW YOU DID IT?"

Gem Eye cringed at Jack's outburst.

"Gem can't tell you why."

Jack blinked, uneasy by the change of tone. "And why is that?"

"Because Eye did it." Gem Eye rose suddenly, his brown eyes no longer vulnerable, but were now blue, cold and spiteful. Jack stepped back, unsure of how to react.

"Are you afraid? YOU? THE RIPPER?" He burst out laughing as he strutted around the cell.

"Who are you?" Jack said.

"Eye am Eye. I thought you were the one with all the research and time, wouldn't you know that Gem Eye never existed till recent developments?"

"Ex... Explain yourself."

Eye burst out laughing at Jack's stutter.

"Better watch that stutter, anymore of that and you'll be just like my b... b... brother."

Jack stared at him in shock. He did come across files that Gem did initially have a twin brother, but his brother was not traceable and presumed dead for many years.

"Eye am the most powerful psychic of all time, and you, like a bumbling fool, put yourself within my grip. I see through you, Jack, and I see your fear. You're addicted and afraid, aren't you? Fearless Ripper."

"No, I am not." Jack raised an eyebrow, uncertain.

"Yes you are." His tone dropped monotonous. "You are nothing more than an addiction to killing, and you hate it. You hate it so much, yet so addicted that you hope that maybe if you kill enough, you can finally stop." He stopped, waiting a response.

When no response came, he continued. "Or perhaps you even enjoy it. You enjoy the thrill of the hunt, the superiority of the predator, don't you? You enjoy it so much that it hurts from the pleasure."

He began to sing a song with a haunting tune, all the while staring at Jack with a smirk on his face.

"Kill one man, you are a murderer."

Jack blinked. Images from decades gone rose like a torrential wind.

"Kill ten men, you are a monster."

Emptiness begin to fill him up as he saw past happiness, gone forever, like a burnt out candle.

"Kill a hundred men, you are a hero."

Pain of sorrows past swelled within him. Tears flowed from the depths of his soul onto the dusty floor of the cell.

"Kill a thousand men, you are a conqueror."

Faces. Oh, so many faces. Of people whom he had murdered. Of people whom he killed. How had he remembered every one of them?

Kill all. For it makes you God."

Jack fell to his knees, weeping. Eye saw right through his soul, and toyed with his mind, drawing out his fears and pains and shoving it into his face casually.

"Please stop..." Jack cried.

"OR WHAT? You gonna go ninja on me?" Eye laughed. "My body is no longer that wimpy sickly shell, now that I have joined with my brother, I have energy, I have strength, and I am definitely more than a match for the likes of you, Jack."

"Stop..." Jack felt his head getting heavier and heavier as Eye continuously ransacked his mind.

"STOP!" Jack shouted, anger forcefully closing his mind and his outburst threw Eye off guard. Jack sprang to his feet and threw a punch into Eye's face.

Eye staggered back, recoiling from the impact. He was obviously not used to getting punched as he clutched his face in shock.

"You hit me!"

Jack stared down at him, fury brimming. "Want to see what I want to do next?"

Eye quivered and bowed his head down, still clutching his face. When he finally looked up, his eyes were once again brown.

"I... I see you met my brother," Gem said, laughing as he rubbed his cheek.

"You think?" Jack replied sharply, his temper still blistering.

"Yes, I do. Now th... that he had his power trip, he will be out of commission for the next... week or so? You said that you need answers, and I have them for you."

Jack smiled, and for the first time for the day, let his guard down as he discussed with Gem what happened that faithful night. Though somewhere in the back of his head, he wondered how things were going with the rest of the team, now that he was gone.

Chapter 5: The King of Killers

noreply@blogger.com (w_h) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 03:46:00 +0000

DEFEND YOURSELF!

A quick shove sent the boy reeling to the ground, and before he could recover, a swift black blade flashed before him before dangerously stopping, tip against his throat. The cold of the blade against his throat was uncomfortable but there was no way up unless he wanted to impale himself on the blade.

WEAK!

The blade moved from his throat so fast it left a thin but painful cut, and before the child could react, the back of the blade came back and slapped him hard across the cheek. He turned over in pain and humiliation, but his mind and spirit was on fire. His sword, his blade, his only defence and only friend was just a few inches away, lying on the floor.

He scrambled for the sword with crazed finesse, but his moves were too obvious. Snake Eyes simply leaped over him and would have landed on the child's fingertips had he not recoiled in time. For a moment, the child missed the cage he was once in, at least there he was not mortally tormented.

But that moment vanished and was replaced by the blinding desire to live.

The child ran towards Snake Eyes with reckless abandon.

"You are more of a fool than I thought." the Master chided the boy. "Pity. You die for this move." And with that, his blade went for a straight jab for the child's chest, using the child's running momentum, in what would be a swift death.

A crazed glaze shined from his young eyes caught the Master's attention. Before he knew it, the kid leaped, stepping on the flat of his black blade and went directly for his face. Driven by his natural instinct, he leaned back to dodge the attack, simultaneously turning his body and swiping his blade backwards to end the fight.

Only to be met with the sound of blade against blade.

The sonorous song of metal sang, as both fighters blades crossed, back facing each other; one higher and poised, one lower and bent.

~

The S.S. Securus sailed lazily across the vast crimson sky From the outside, it looked like a large whale gliding through the sky that is it's ocean, without a care in the world. The atmosphere of the interior, however, was a far cry from the surface.

8 skilled assassins, or rather 7 assassins and 1 sleeping behemoth, were once again in a tense situation. Perhaps more awkward than tense. Rounin normally handled himself well in this sort of situations. But he was in a colossal state of weariness from the Jakron assignment, which could be a fatal issue in volatile situations.

Situations such as this.

Crosshair had just burst in, proclaiming Jack to be the Ripper, telling everyone to rally together and kill him, breaking every Assassin's Code available along the way. Stupidity.

He cursed the Sniper Assassin under his breath. It was a rash decision to challenge a skilled killer, Ripper or not, in an environment he is most comfortable with. Furthermore, Jack may have allies just around the corner or among them. He already suspected Mr. T to be in allegiance with the Ripper, because of his deep knowledge of nanites. Perhaps he is the one who designed the nanites keeping all of them in check.

Jack entered the room, seemingly unbeknownst of what had just occurred. Caught off guard by the sudden entry, the rest of the assassins just watched. He strolled in, and sat on one of the chairs around the tridecagon table, right in the center of the room, stretched and yawned.

Rounin observed Jack with in interest. This is the Ripper? He was definitely skilled, with a lean, strong body. But he was unassuming. His physical strengths were speed and finesse, but he seemed slower than Rounin himself. This is the arguably best assassin of the era? Absolutely ludicrous. Yet, Rounin felt that Crosshair spoke the truth.

Without warning, Jack spoke. "Gentlemen." It was a clear, precise tone, without any indication of nervousness or maliciousness. "I have to confess something that you all probably already know about. Why don't everyone take a seat? Yes, you too, Crosshair."

The assassins, reluctantly sat down around the thirteen-sided table, eyes all on Jack. Rounin smiled humourlessly. They were like rats following the Pied Piper.

"Are ya realleh him?" Big Bang asked in wide eyed innocence. As innocent as a Demolition Assassin might look.

Jack simply nodded, eyes frowning slightly, as if the question was a waste of time.

Rounin cleared his throat, speaking for the first time. "Ripper..." He began.

"Please, call me Jack. Ripper is a name from times past." Interrupted Jack.

"Jack." Corrected Rounin. "Please, tell us, what are we doing here? What are your motives?"

Jack hesitated, pondering on the question. "You, all of you, are gathered here to help me." He paused, as if waiting for a reply. When none came, he continued. "Each of you have been selected personally by myself, after careful research into your respective careers. You see, I needed a team to help me accomplish something that I could not have alone."

"You are talking in riddles, young one." rasped Deathtrap, weak from his encounter with the Raider Assassin. Leaning onto his staff, he did not seem to be a menacing killer any longer, but a weak old man. "What is it that you wish to accomplish?"

"To change the world." Jack answered simply.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Crosshair burst out laughing, unable to contain himself. "To change the world? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Who would have thought the great Ripper was just a naive man playing hero."

Jack smiled widely, as if enjoying the joke himself. "Naive? Perhaps. But hero? No." Jack looked at each person in the room, acknowledging that Scope, Pickup and Dr. Strange have joined them. "No. A hero is supposed to save. Me? I will kill. I will kill to save this world from itself.

Yes, I will have to kill."

Mr. T shivered, and it was not because of the cold. A loud creaking noise drew the attention of everyone in attendance. All eyes were on Carnage as he got up from his slumber, and lumbered into a seat, forcing Scope to shift uncomfortably at the close proximity with the hulking humanoid.

"Jack." He said in a low, monotonous tone. "I will help."

Dr. Strange started to jump up and down excitedly, unable to control his excitement. "HAHAHahahahaAHAHAHahahah!! What an interesting specimen! What are you?! How is it your anatomy is so drastically different from the others?! HAHAHAhahahahAHAHAH!! Jack!" He shouted, like a child surrounded by toys. "Let me cut him up! I want to see what makes him tick! What a delightfu..."

He was interrupted by sudden rapid gun shots; 3 rounds grazed his skin. Blood trickled down the scratches as he gazed into Jack's enraged eyes. Fear forced his legs to jelly, as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

"That is my friend you are talking about, Strange. And you would do well to remember that," he said as he kept the handgun. Crosshair lifted an eyebrow, noticing the gun was completely different from the SHLEP. Did the Ripper have 2 different types of handguns?

Jack turned to the rest of them and smiled, as if the incident never occurred. "Carnage was a reliable assassin before they captured him. We were friends, as close as friends can be in our world." Jack said, as a form of explanation.

"The competition to form the perfect assassin is already underway. Neuera with their Cyborg Assassins formed from corpses, Nightingale with their Gemini Assassins and now..." He turned and looked at Carnage with sad eyes. "...Experimentations."

"Ah, I think I see your point, Jack." Rounin said, his gaze softening.

Crosshair stood up, impertinent as usual. "Bullshit, man. You are full of shit, Ripper." As he said the last word, he stared at Jack, daring him to make a move. "How do I know you aren't playing with us? How do I know this is not just some mind game, huh?"

"Well, you need to have a mind first, before I can play mind games with you" said Jack, in a mild chiding tone.

Crosshair was furious, but managed to restrain himself, though his trigger finger was still twitching. Jack continued, ignoring him. "I understand if any of you do not trust me. I wont trust me either, if I was in your situation. However, consider my proposal to each of you first. Trust can come later."

"Besides, I'm paying you."

The Nevada Dusty was a bustling city in the outskirts of the desolated sand dunes of the Vada Desert. As a traveler approaches the dusty, the first thing he would notice is the unique smell from the blend of gunpowder and spices. The next thing he would notice is the loud ruckus, as peddlers try to hawk their wares of weaponry, exotic cuisine and performance enhancers.

A dusty is a city yet not a city. Quiet in the night and tumultuous in the day, it is the type of town where no one will ask too many questions. Dusties are also almost always on neutral ground, therefore accessible to anyone, and away from the prying eyes of any pseudo-nation.

It is no wonder the assassins refer to dusties as 'sanctuary'. To such an extent that there exists an unspoken rule of no hits within a dusty. However, that did not prevent numerous 'accidents' from occurring from time to time.

The Nevada Dusty was seemed like any other dusty. Half of the town was a bustling marketplace of poisons, ammunition, explosives and dubious shelter. So long as people were alive, they were satisfied. The other half was a different place altogether.

Known as the 'Casino Strip', the other half was an intoxicating mixture of neon-lights and large hotels, complete with brightly-lit fountains. Well-dressed people swarmed throughout the strange land, starkly different from its run-down neighbour. Behind the scenes was a dizzying spell of gambling, alcohol and sex.

Crosshair normally enjoyed that side of town. Beautiful women everywhere, booze, roulette tables to cheat in, what is there not to like? However, this time, Crosshair ignored all these with a head full of questions. Jack had landed them near Nevada Dusty, allowing them to leave. Should he recquire their services, he would find them.

Find them? How? Nanites certainly have limited range and Crosshair had contacts. He could travel to a far-away place and he would be instantly off the grid. Yet, when speaking of one of the most infamous assassins of all time, Crosshair was certain Jack would find him. These bothersome questions irritated him, leaving him unable to enjoy the electrifying scene around him. This left him in a very bad mood as entered the BME.

The Bank of Monetary Exchange, also known as 'Blood Money Everywhere' to the assassins, was one of the firms which cashed into the rapid rise of the Assassins Era. They promised savings accounts which were safe from prying, secure from other assassins and with high interest rates. Assassins had to keep blood money in a safe place, and the BME was the best.

Crosshair stepped in, but not before noticing a shadow disappear in the corner of his super-sharp eyes. It was just a flicker, but enough to keep him on the alert.

"Ho Ho, didn't expect to see you here." A strange raspy voice was heard behind him. Crosshair frowned. This was just not his day.

"This is the BME. Don't I have a right to be here, Knight?" Crosshair replied, a tone of disgust in his voice. Knights were similar to assassins, yet very different. Skilled with weapons, they were bodyguards and bounty hunters, lethal enemies to assassins. Like assassins, however, their loyalty will lie towards the highest bidder.

"Sure you are. Just checking if you are up to anything, Crosshair of the Neueranian Cyborg Corps."

"Nothing's up. This is strange, you talking to me. I thought Knights aren't supposed to meet with their client's customers."

"Aw, just a little chit-chat, you know, for old times sake? Besides, I saw something that interested me when I saw your account details..."

"You saw my..." Crosshair grasped his hands on his Silent Night handgun. To hell with the Bank's Rules.

"Temper, temper. Do it, fool, just try. Come on, give me the excuse to kill you."

Crosshair forced himself to calm down for the umpteenth time that day. He gritted his teeth, and tried to resume the calm tone. "You said you found some thing interesting."

"Ah yes. I did. A large sum had just been debited into your account recently. Almost double of what you had, actually. Now, from that look of surprise on your face, I'll bet you do not have any clue why that is so either, hmm?"

"Nope, must have been a good friend returning me my cash, I guess." Crosshair said with a smug look in his face. Inside, however, he was elated. He was going to check if what Jack said was true, but it seems that he wasn't lying.

"Likely story. Tell me the truth, assassin, so we can stop playing games. Where did that money come from? A job, perhaps?"

"No idea, Knight. Oh, look at the time, I must be going." Crosshair said in a cheerful tone as he turned and walked towards the exit.

"I'm gonna find out, Assassin. And when I do, I'll make sure your ass won't survive like the last time, you get it?"

Crosshair didn't reply, wordlessly leaving the BME in a much better mood.

Peace.

I'm... At peace.

The sounds of clashing medical equipment, sounded like white noise to Carnage, his 8 foot figure was still lying peacefully on the hospice floor undisturbed. A thin greying man dressed like a surgeon was busying himself with several sharp instruments on a metal plate, methodically cleaning them as he spoke.

"Subject: Carnage. His overall status of health is a peak condition, though he seems to be insensitive to sound, probably because of his constant experience in the battlefield." Doctor Strange said to his hovering camera, "His epinephrine levels seem at a low finally, but still at a level five times higher than a normal human."

Carnage opened his eyes uneasily, his right eye was much larger than his left, which was covered by a large scar. His muscle structure was imbalanced and improportionate, his right arm was larger from the bulk of his muscles compared to his more normal sized left. Blood oozed from the bullet holes on his chest, pushing slugs out before instantly cogulating.

"Highly remarkable. On top of an enhanced adrenal gland, he has enhanced healing which borderline on instant regeneration!"

Carnage opened his eyes wide open and tried to get up to face the sound, but his arms were weak and powerless, legs unresponsive, the only thing he could move was his face.

"Who...are?" he said, as a string of drool leaked from the side of his mouth.

"Awake?" Doctor Strange had the astonished look of a man who just realised his house burnt down. "Erm... Hi! I am your friendly neighbourhood doctor?"

"NOOO!!" Carnage screamed, his eyes bulged as his temper rised. He felt his entire body convulse. A near-by monitor started to beep rapidly, indicating exponential rise in adrenaline levels.

"Fascinating!" Doctor Strange whispered, before shaking his head to reality. "Calm down! You shouldn't move now. You have not slept ever since your experimentation at Jakron began, and you can't rise so quickly! Although the fact that you can stay awake despite the amount of sedative used is..."

"ARGH!" He forcefully got up, his muscles aching painfully with every movement, excruciating pain amounted and surged to his heart, forcing him back down to the operating table. His body started to convulse as the operating table started to shake dangerously.

"Listen! Calm down please!"

"Yargh!" He roared, refusing to listen. Tears began to roll down his face, as he swung wildly. His massive arms slammed against a nearby apparatus, catapulting the object to the far end of the room. Doctor Strange cringed as the expensive equipment left a massive crater in the wall.

A convincing testament of the brute's strength.

"Stop it! Jack gave me his permission!" Doctor Strange pleaded, a last-ditch effort to prevent the behemothic man from destroying his precious laboratory.

Silence followed, in sharp contrast to the mayhem that preceded it. A mere mention of Jack's name seemed to have calmed the giant down to a great extent. The "beeps" starting to get softer and slower, as Carnage slowed. Doctor Strange wondered whether the man understood what he was saying, or if it was just the sound of the Ripper's name; intelligence wise, Carnage was a huge question mark. Whatever it is, Jack had obviously left a big impression on the man.

Carnage turned slightly as he settled down, and found himself looking at the splinter of the mirror. He stared at its reflective surface, fixated.

"Okay, now I'm going to..." Doctor Strange paused mid-sentence as he realised what Carnage was staring at. He was hit by a strange feeling melancholia as he witnessed the bizarre scene of the huge, muscle-bound humanoid gazed in fixed attention at a reflection of himself. Was that sadness in the brute's eyes?

What could he be thinking?

"You don't have to worry about me." Doctor Strange whispered in a quiet, comforting tone. "Even now, I bet Jack is somewhere observing this, ready to kill me should something go wrong." It was a statement of fact. Jack had already told Strange, in his own way, that Carnage was not to be fooled with. And the Ripper was one man that the good doctor, if anyone, would not trifle with.

He took a large utonium-tipped syringe, and nervously walked towards Carnage as he proceeded to inject a higher dose of sedative. It was a hesitant gesture, as if Carnage would rip his head right off at any time; he was certainly capable of doing so. Doctor Strange's caution was, in the end, unnecessary, as Carnage calmly watched the injection. It was as if the Brute knew that he would not cross the line. Strange looked around anxiously; perhaps Carnage could sense the Ripper's presence.

Carnage's eyes started to close, as the sedatives start to kick in. As Strange watched him, he felt a sense of tranquility, as if Carnage and him had already been best of friends.

"You know, you and I are similar. I may be way smarter than you, but we are both good at what we do, and yet have to pay a price for it." Stranged paused, giggling. "Hehehahahahehe... My methods may be a little unorthodox, but it is effective. Yet the medical faculty labeled me as an outcast. Calling me a "monster". Hehehehahahaha..."

Tears welled up in Strange's eyes as he laughed. "A monster. Hahahahahehehehehe... Just like you, eh? Maybe that is a good thing, a world like this needs monsters like us. Hahahahehehehahahahaha..."

Doctor Strange laughed and giggled, at a joke only he would know. Echoes of his laughter reverberated across the empty laboratory, the world laughing with him.

Somewhere in the shadows, a smile appeared and vanished.

Scope sipped her coffee as she read. Words on the screen sped upwards as she scanned through the data. The SCC was a brilliant tool as it provided various hints or patterns of what she needed to find. Once in a while, she would stop, and directing certain portions of data to another of the SCC's screens.

She heard a door close behind her, but she did not bother to look,unwilling to pry her concentration away from her work. Besides, the Securus was one of the most secure places she knew.

"You know, that attitude might get you killed one day." a voice said, as if reading her mind.

Scope giggled, eyes still stuck on the screen. "That is true if you wanted me killed. And if that were the case, would turning around have prevented that?"

"True enough. Then again, you never know when you might have the upper hand. Luck is a strange thing." Jack chuckled as he leaned on the chair that Scope was sitting on.

Scope smiled. Out of the assassins that she has encountered in her life, she felt most comfortable with Jack. It was ironical, as he was probably the most dangerous one. That fact also sounded strange, as Jack was unassuming, always relaxed, always jovial and friendly. No one would have guessed he was an assassin, if not for the wicked blade sheathed on his back.

"Seen anything of interest?" Jack's voice interrupted her thoughts. Scope blushed, embarrassed that her mind strayed momentarily from her work. She quickly focused her eyes back to the screen and paused in realisation of the words in front of her.

"This..." she began.

"...Is interesting." Jack completed for her. His eyes were already on the screen, devouring the information. He bent over to get a better look at the screen, seemingly unbeknownst that Scope was right underneath him.

"Extrasensory perception? Jack, what is this? Why would such data be present in Jakron Asylum?" Scope asked as she shifted her head closer to Jack, her heart skipping a beat at the intoxicating proximity.

Jack shook his head slightly. "I am not sure myself." He murmured, as if talking to himself. He straightened, to the disappointment of Scope, and frowned. Then, without warning, he turned and headed towards the exit.

"Where are you going?" Scope enquired.

"To talk to someone about this." Jack replied with cold determination in his eyes. For a moment, Scope saw an entirely different person standing in front of her. It was a someone who is cunning and ruthless, incapable of feeling guilt, pain or pleasure.

And for that moment, she felt an intense feeling of fear.

Jack paused, as if remembering something. "Scope, I need you you to run an errand for me. Take this and leave the Securus now." He whipped a card out of his pocket and flicked it. Scope watched as it sailed through the air before landing on the SCC's enormous keyboard.

Scope picked it up. It seemed like a regular playing card, the Jack of Spades. She turned the card over, and was confronted by a large silver 'M' emblazoned on a black background, like a brand of the playing card. She looked up with a bewildered look.

Jack grinned. "Tell him I said 'hi'," he said as he walked out of the room.

UPDATE!

Scope held her jacket tightly around her protectively. The night in the Vada Desert is frightfully cold, with unforgiving winds that felt for no man. Yet here she was, in the middle of the desert with just a jacket for warmth, on the whim of Jack, waiting for something to happen.

Scope tried to peer through the blanket of darkness, wondering what she was doing. The only light she had was the half moon in the sky and the occassional flashing beam from the S.S. Securus hovering above her. She considered going back up; she felt utterly foolish standing there.

A sudden strong gust of wind blew. Flying specks of sand forced her to cover her face with her arm. As she lowered her arm, she saw a figure materialize in front of her. The figure was of a evenly built man, wearing a uniform tuxedo and a blazer jacket which flapped in the desert winds.

"Let uz go zomewhere elz warmer, mon cherie."

With that, an arm reached for her and led her by her elbow, beckoning her to the vehicle behind him. It was only then that she realized the limousine. The long luxury sedan in the middle of a desert was strangely out of place, but she pushed these thoughts aside and entered the mobile.

The door slid down behind her with a click, and with that the fresh open air smell of the desert was shut out instantly, replaced quickly with the sweet smell of leather and a mild tang of smoke, possibly from a cigar. There was no one with her, the person she met was presumably the chauffeur.

The vehicle started to vibrate slightly upon ignition, and began to glide through the desert sand effortlessly. The tinted windows and desert sands made it difficult her to judge the speed or direction she was going. A quick check to her mobile device confirmed her suspicions. Not only was there no signal, her device was not even working properly, disrupted, presumably, by some form of electromagnet. She was taken off the grid in record time.

"Would de moiselle like some champagne?" A voice with strong french accent asked her through the speakers at the back. The arm cushions at the side slid outwards to reveal a hole which a champagne glass emerged from, filled with sparkling gold.

"No, I don't drink..." she began.

"Even if someone drinks with you?"

She jumped at the sound of the voice which definitely did not come from the speakers, but from someone right in front of her. She looked up, stunned at the sight of a man sitting on the couch opposite her. He wore a white silk shirt that hung well on his shoulders, his hand grasping a glass of red wine by the flat hand, casually swirling it around. Not to mention that he was the definition of devilish handsome, with a distinct air of class.

"When were you here? Who..." Scope began as she collected her senses.

"I just arrived. And I am the Maverick."

Scope gulped silently and reached for the champagne glass. Maverick was the infamous owner of the Casino Strip, which is the biggest gambling center in the world. It is potentially the richest corporation as well; the Casino Strip was the center of attraction for the rich and powerful, all under the watchful eyes of Maverick.

Maverick, considered at one point the highest paid assassin of all time, had "retired early" and set up the Casino Strip. Being a hot spot for attention, many thieves had attempted to 'break bank', only to realize that owner of the strip was a famed assassin. It was quickly made clear to everyone; in the Casino Strip, the House always wins.

"Good evening, Scope. Ah, I see you have Jack's calling card! " He said with a straight face, his once free hand was now toying with the Jack of Spades card.

"Yes, he asked me to say... Hi"

"Hi, indeed. Interesting man, that Jack." Maverick's straight face broke into an amused smile, which turned into a wide grin. It was then that Scope realised that she had never passed the card to him at all.

"I assume you have the money that he owes me?" Continued Maverick, as if not noticing her surprise.

"He... What?" Scope immediately had a sneaking suspicion why Jack chose a non-assassin to perform this 'errand', and something told her that it was going to be a long, long day.

"... and after you have changed into your uniform, meet me at the tables." Maverick said as he left Scope in the small cluttered locker room. Scope looked at the ridiculous bunny costume, complete with ears and bushy tail, and sighed in exasperation. She left the room moments later, and soon arrived at the tables.

The Strip was exactly as she imagined; extravagant and lively. There were thousands of tables, filled with players dressed in the wildest of fashions, and around them were thousands of bunny girls and men with wires. Not to mention the troupe of jugglers that entertained as they roamed the playing areas, tossing flaming knives and catching it with their mouths. The giant chandelier above glittered and lit up the room like a sun, changing colours randomly as time passed.

"Amazing..." Scope said, spellbound.

"Glad you enjoy the pretty lights! Come with me, there is a table that we shall be serving together." Maverick appeared from behind and scooped her waist, guiding her to a "D" shaped black jack table with 3 men seated around the curve and a dealer in the front.

"Good evening, gentlemen! Allow me" Maverick said as he flashed his million dollar smile around the table, and gave a knowing nod to the croupier. The croupier smiled in silent acknowledgment and left the cards on the table.

Once his hands touched the cards, Scope realised that Maverick became a completely different person. He spread the cards across the table and flipped them over before scooping them up. With a cheeky grin, he cut the deck into three parts with one hand before sliding it into the card machine for shuffling.

"Place your bets, boys."

"Get me a beer, would you, toots." the smallest guy of the bunch gestured at Scope. With an indignant flip of a bunny ear, she left to the bar.

When she returned, only that diminutive man remained. Maverick had a stack of chips which he probably wiped from the other two man.

"I see the big man himself decides to run with the dogs today," he said. His expensive velvet suit was complete with a gold watch and was as glitzy as they came.

"Oh, why not? It is not often the Strip sees the likes of you, Shark." Maverick replied calmly.

Scope almost dropped the drink she was serving. Shark was one of the most sinister assassins alive, and was a cult figure in a time before Ripper. His signature knife throwing was legendary. Shark ignored Scope and stared hard at Maverick, his eyes turning to thin slits and his large sharp nose pointing dangerously.

"And what's that supposed to mean, Mav?"

Maverick smiled and dealt Shark a card face up, an ace of diamonds.

"It means that I know whom you are dealing with now, Shark." He dealt his own hand, which was an Ace of Spades. The second deal for Shark came smoothly, a Nine Clubs. The last card he drew for himself remained face down.

"Want to buy insurance?" Maverick asked cheekily.

"Against the likes of you? You and what army, Maverick." Shark snarled.

Maverick flipped the face down card open, revealing a Jack of Spades.

"Looks like I've got Jack, and the house takes all."

Shark pushed his chips in anger and left his seat. To Scope's surprise, he wasn't much taller than when he was seated. Without a backwards glance, he left and even as Scope tried to follow him with her eyes, he faded deep into the life of the Strip.

With a shrug, Maverick offered his arm to Scope, which she slipped her hand into. He walked her towards the exit and escorted her into a stretch limousine.

"Thank you so much for gracing us with your presence, Scope, and tell Jack that your stay has been most informative. Here's your tip!" Maverick flipped a coin to her. It was a chip from the tables. Before she could ask any questions, Maverick closed the door, and the driver sped off immediately.

"Take care, mon cherie."

Chapter 4: Vice and Carnage

noreply@blogger.com (wj) — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 08:25:00 +0000

The smell of incense.

The calming sound of flowing water.

The boy stirred from his restless slumber. The pain in his body was long replaced by a grudging ache. He sat up in a rush, violent memories jolting him to his senses.

He studied his surroundings. A large cave with a tiny stream of clear water running through it, glittering in the sunlight radiating in from the mouth. It was lightly furnished with a quaint, wooden dining table. A couple of lit incense sticks in a thin vase were the only items on it. Weapons, in all shapes and sizes, were displayed along the vast walls of the cave. He took one step forward and a glint of metal caught his eyes.

Thats when he saw her.

She was a beauty. From the polished, black surface or the hilt to the intricate designs etched into the scabbard, she was like a shy maiden, beckoning him. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked towards her and, gently, stroked the polished surface.

"You have good taste. She suits you."

The boy spun around in horror. Shocked that there was another presence in the cave, he was ashamed that he had let his guard down. Towering in front of him was a man clad in simple robes and wearing a gentle smile; his eyes however was that of a snake ready to strike.

"Impressive. Your thinking is already that of an assassin's. So, do you like her?" The man-with-snake-eyes gestured to the temptress on the wall. He grabbed the katana in one hand and pulled the blade from the scabbard in a smooth, practiced motion. She sang through the air, beautiful notes in a tragic melody.

"This sword came from a time before the Nuclear War. It is one of its kind, carved in a perfect harmony of balance, weight and endurance. Beautiful and vicious." He explained, with a longing look at the flawless blade. He thrust the katana back into the scabbard and, after one last glance, extended it, hilt first, towards the bewildered boy.

"Its yours, if you want it." The boy grabbed the alluring sword firmly, should the man changes his mind.

"But first, you need to learn how to use it. You were lucky that you weren't killed by the Slavemasters before I got there." He paused, "You have talent."

"Talent for what?" The boy rasped, a parched throat getting the better of him.

"Why, to kill of course."

~

"So now you want my help, motherfucker? After saying that you want nothing to do with me? Hmm, Captain Taylor, sir?"

Captain Taylor sighed. "Look, I'm sorry for what I have said before. Just deal with the threats."

"Fine by me. But it will cost you double."

"Why you double-crossing son-of-a..."

"You did mention one of the fuckers is Deathtrap, the renowned Poison Assassin? I'll fucking say that the bitch will cost you double."

"Fine. Just make sure you earn it." Captain Taylor slammed the phone. Assassins. He despised them. He could not understand why one of the higher-ups will send one to work with him. And of all the assassins to receive from them, he would receive a Raider Assassin.

Raider Assassins, scum of scums. While most assassins preferred to stay out of the limelight, this type is different. Like the arrogant bastards that they are, they broadcast their presence, with their coloured hair, tattoos and piercings. They love the violence, and are attracted to it like moths to flame.

But Captain Taylor had to admit, they were lethal, fearless killers, and thanked god, as an afterthought, that he was working with one of them and not against. Vice should handle things. But better to be safe than to be sorry.

"Stations 3 and 5, proceed to delete all the data of the experiments. And send reinforcements to sectors 1 and 6. Proceed to scan the skies for a drop ship; I want to know which bastards are foolish enough to try to break into Jakron."

"Sir, erm... There seems to be a problem."

"What is it now?" Today seems to be the day for problems.

"Err.. All c-c-communications are down, sir." One idiot spoke up.

"Sir, all our equipment are unresponsive!" Another idiot shouted.

"Sir, all of our data is being uploaded." A third idiot announced.

"What?!" Captain Taylor drew his weapon. How did they...? A virus? But to input a virus, one must enter it directly into the mainframe...

"Good evening, gentlemen." A man in a tuxedo literally materialised in front of him. He had blonde, slicked back tidy hair and a frail-looking body. Plus, he seemed unarmed. Captain Taylor was certain anyone in the room could take him.

But the man strutted confidently, as if slowly enjoying the gazes of everyone in the now-silent Control Center. He looked at Captain Taylor in the eye with silent contempt.

"Captain, please do take a seat. You seemed to be awfully stressed. Do not bother raising any alarms or firing any weapons, it will just waste your time and mine, which is infinitely more precious. As we speak, my nanites are already infiltrating your system, enabling me to be in control."

Captain Taylor was stumped. "H-how did you infect the nanites..."

"That, my friend," the tuxedo-clad man interrupted,"...Is a good question. The mainframe must be directly accessed for any viruses, or nanites, to be effective. So, you thought that you would be secure, not knowing that yours truly was operating right in front of you.

I would love to explain the dynamics and the brilliance of my light-bending technology exhibited by individual nanites that is woven into my tuxedo, but I am afraid that I do not have the ti..."

Taylor whipped out his revolver, pointed it at the man and fired with a loud bang. His eyes bulged as he saw the round slow down and lose momentum as it approached the man, clanging loudly in the silent room. Such an incredible sequence of events it was that each person blinked, not quite certain what they had just witnessed.

"I told you not to waste our time. Ta-ta, Captain." The man said nonchalantly as he left the room. The mechanical doors slid close as he left, trapping everyone inside.

1.Grab the victim's face from behind using one hand. Allow The soldier to inhale poison of choosing. Allow yourself to be noticed but make sure cover is nearby.

2.Hear the words "There he is!". Followed by a hail of bullets and lots of dust.

3.Use the dust cloud to your advantage and slip away, targeting another poor man.

4.Repeat first 3 steps.

A time-honoured recipe to kill an army using poisons. Deathtrap used it repeatedly since his youth, and gained infamy steadily. He was having a time of his life. And these young men were still lightyears away from catching up to him.

Nevertheless, he was not as young as he used to be. Bones creak where they should not and muscles ache in places even Deathtrap did not know of. He is definitely too old to be doing field work, yet a mission got more complicated than it should because of an incompetent Demolition Assassin.

"Damn you, fool. Are you finished,yet? That entrance was supposed to go 'boom' before the prisoners are released." Deathtrap seemed to be speaking to himself, a sign of senility at the very least.

"I told you to bring the detonating cig! So this extra work is your fault, dammit. Now shuddup and let me work." Big Bang's voice was heard with utmost clarity. The nanites were really an impressive piece of work.

Deathtrap paused in surprise, for three reasons. One was that he was not used to being treated this way, not in his youth at least. But that was more or less expected when dealing with Big Bang. The second, more surprising reason, was the irritating slang that Big Bang normally carried was noticeably absent. Perhaps there is more than meets the eye with the Demolition Assassin.

Third was that there was no more gunfire.

As the clouds slowly settled, Deathtrap strained his eyes. The tanks and soldiers were retreating. Strange indeed. He noticed the silhouette of a man as the air cleared.

The man must be tall, probably around 1.9 meters, but he was hunched over with long arms dangling in front of him, almost reaching the ground. He was wearing a device on each of his arms that resembled a metallic glove, clasped onto the man's hand and arm, presumably his weapon of choice. His spiky hair was coloured brightly in red and green, as if dyed by a colour-blind hairstylist. Face and body was strikingly decorated with a variety of piercings and tattoos.Deathtrap knew just what type of assassin he is.

"Yo, old bitch! Wassup motherfucker! HEEHEEheeheehaHAHAhaha!" the Raider Assassin screeched.

Deathtrap was weary. This was one of those new-age assassins, and he had not dealt with one before. Raider assassins break every rule of the assassin book, and are the very definition of the word 'unorthodox'.

"Is this the famous fucker? The one and only Deathtrap? Damn! Can I have have your autograph, huh?"

Deathtrap's eyes narrowed. He knew that there was a method to the madness. The annoying voice, infested with vulgarities, and appearance were meant to distract and intimidate; they were meant to break the usually rational thought of an opposing assassin. Even now, the Raider Assassin seemed to be brimming with arrogance. Deathtrap found himself being circled slowly, like prey eyed by a careful predator.

"Hey Big Bang, you know your 15 minutes?" Deathtrap whispered fiercely.

"Yea? I told ya, I'm workin' awn it."

"You now have 2 minutes left."

"Whut? But..." Big Bang's voice disappeared as Deathtrap willed the nanites to cut communication.

He turned to the multi-coloured freak.

"Sure," replied Deathtrap, "You want it? Why don't you come closer? I will sign it for you.

With your blood."

"Boss, Mr. T has taken over the control center. He is waiting for Big Bang before he can release the prisoners."

"Thanks Scope. So, what is the hold-up at Big Bang's end?"

"It seems that a vital piece of equipment is left on board. Right now, he is using all of his expertise and some ingenuity to try to collapse the entrance. Under heavy fire, I might add. Crosshair is now working double time to cover both Rounin and Big Bang."

"I thought I assigned Deathtrap to cover him instead?"

"You did, boss. But Deathtrap is now busy in a face-off with a Raider Assassin. Identity unknown."

"Raider Assassin? I hope it is not Vice. Because if it is, this has just gotten even more complicated. Tell Deathtrap not to confront directly, just delay."

"You want to save the Raider Assassin, boss?"

"No. It is Deathtrap that I'm worried about."

Whisper struggled to keep up with the quick-footed Jack. She could not believe it- he was not even panting. The two have not spoken since they landed on the roof, though she was dying to interrogate him. She could sense a blanket of intensity over the atmosphere; the usual smile on Jack's face seemed to have subsided to mere simper.

Big Bang's voice blasted through her ear drum. "I did it! I freakin' did it! Who's yer daddy?! Who's yer daddy?!" Whisper cringed.

Almost instantaneously, the lights went out. Mr. T must have switched off the power, just as planned. Now is the hard part.

At this very point in time, thousands of maniacal, insane and very lethal assassins have been freed. The collapsing of one of the entrance was to direct the prisoners to the remaining entrance. This is to a perfect opportunity to create chaos and free their man from Jakron. Whisper knew that the prisoners should not get free. It was simply too dangerous. And to prevent that is left on the thin shoulders of a Martial Assassin and a Sniper.

Crosshair was slowly tiring. Was it the thin air from such a high altitude? Or the piercing wind sending chills to his spine? Or maybe a few hundred inmates trying to escape from the dreaded Jakron?

He was instructed to kill on sight any of the prisoners escaping. He thought it was just one escapee, maybe two. Crosshair watched the spectacle of humanity trying to jump out of windows and squeezing through the main entrance.

He fired round after round in a frantic pace, each one meeting his target. But he knew he could not keep this up much longer. And neither could Rounin.

The Oryza native was slashing and slicing with everything he had. The Jakron Guards largely have ignored him, turning their attention to the larger crisis, seemingly realising that Rounin was helping them contain the situation. Rounin, weary already from the fight against the guards, was battling freedom-crazed prisoners, all ex-assassins, at times 2 or 3 at a go.

Crosshair blinked. He cannot falter here. Rounin needed his cover fire and without it, he would surely die.

Big Bang stopped running, witnessing the gruesome scene. The immortal Deathtrap lay on the ground, in a pool of blood. The Raider Assassin standing over him, keen, 5 inch long nails extended from a device clasped around his hands, dripping with blood.

The sick monster turned to Big Bang, insane red eyes filled with blood lust, eyeing his knew prey. Big Bang felt dread spread fill his heart, and anger fill his head. He clenched his demolition gloves and turned a knob to maximum power.

But the Raider Assassin turned away, ignoring him, a predator full from a bloody meal. With the agility of a long armed monkey, he faded away into the fog.

Big Bang hesitated, then rushed to the fallen Deathtrap. His fingers touched the cold flesh of the neck, fervently feeling for a pulse.

Please do not die. Big Bang has seen enough death of the ones around him. No more.

And there it was. Faint, but there. Big Bang sighed.

"Yo, Scope. We need a pickup here."

Whisper saw the door. And a huge door it was. Made up completely of steel, it was 7 feet wide and 20 feet high. She blinked. What is on the other side of that door? It was obviously still electronically locked, most probably operating from a remote source of power. All the trouble to keep one man imprisoned? What kind of man is he? Or rather, what kind of monster is he?

Jack reached behind and drew his katana. Slowly, deliberately. The mild, metallic resonance reverberated through the empty, narrow corridors. He lifted his katana up over his head, and closed his eyes, smile not present.

When he reopened them, his eyes was resolute. 2 quick purposeful strokes, too fast for average eyes.

There seemed to be no effect on the heavy door, as Jack sheathed back his katana, his smile slowly retuning. Then a small cracking sound is heard followed by the collapse of the huge steel door with a deafening clang.

Whisper stood, stunned. A realisation hit her and she smiled. Just one more confirmation was needed before she would take action.

Behind the large door, was a large, spacious laboratory. It was brightly lit and spotless, a sharp contrast to the dark and damp interior of Jakron. A laboratory inside a prison? Why?

Jack and whisper entered the bizarre dimension, footsteps echoed across the empty space. Equipment and notes were strewn all over the place, as if a large crowd left in a hurry. Bodies of indescribable, grotesque creatures, suspended in large, fluid-filled containers, were arranged neatly side-by-side in a monstrous display.

As Jack and Whisper weaved through the network of abominations, Whisper noticed that Jack was no longer smiling. In fact, his eyes have narrowed to a frown and his hands were clenched tightly. It was as if she was looking at a totally different person, a very angry person.

"What are these horrid things?" Whisper questioned to no one in particular. She realised then that her own temper was rising.

"Experiments." Jack said, with obvious disgust. "To create the perfect assassin. Modifications of hormones, muscles and bone. Tempering with the senses and the brain. Torturing of the soul."

"Are you saying that these things were once human?" Whisper asked incredulously. She eyed another deformed specimen, refusing to believe.

"They are still human." Jack replied.

Without another word, they both made their way to the end of the room, where another door stood. A thunderous, ear-piercing roar reverberated from the room. Whisper charged her Colossus Cannon.

Whatever was in there was going to be really big, and she had better be prepared for it.

Not for the first time in that eventful day, Whisper found herself dumbfounded. Chained to the wall by shackles at least 30 centimeters thick, was a human, yet not a human. Muscle upon muscle was the most apt description. Muscles in places where there should not have muscles. This was not a human, it was a tank.

The creature turned its head and caught sight of them, sad eyes observing them. Was there perhaps a tint of recognition within those eyes? She could not be sure, but her suspicions were confirmed when Jack spoke.

"My friend, what did they do to you?" Jack was not smiling, and has not been smiling for a while. What replaced the smile was a frighteningly grim look, eyes with a dangerous glitter. His fingers reached back to his katana handle, and with lightning-quick swiftness, slicing the shackles open. The creature flopped to the ground, a cloud of dust swirling up.

"How do we get him out of here? He must weight at least 400 pounds" asked Whisper, regaining her no-nonsense demeanor.

Jack took a needle out from a device on his wrist and pricked the monster-man in the neck.He did not seem concerned. Even his smile was returning. "Give him a few more minutes." He said as he gestured to the behemoth.

True enough, the Creature slowly picked himself up. His breathing had slowed down, and his eyes were alert , no longer sad. Furthermore, Whisper saw a small, wicked smile appear on his grotesque face. The creature looked at them each, as if thanking them and rushed into the wall.

Whisper blinked. He ran into the wall. From the top storey in Jakron, he ran through the wall, like it was paper. And landed on top of the positioned Securus. As he landed, his weight caused the massive ship to even dip a little. Whisper was now sure she had seen everything.

Jack chuckled. "Let me introduce. This is Carnage."

"All right, target acquired. Let's get the hell out of here." A relieved voice of Scope sounded off.

~

The magnificent S.S. Securus slowly hovered over Jakron, a giant enjoying its silent ascension over the smothering chaos. Crosshair slumped over the railing at the edge of the deck, exhausted. He watched uninterestedly as the Jakron guards get control of the prisoner riot. They were professionals, organised and efficient. They were also beaten by a rag tag group of killers, with no prior experience of cooperation whatsoever.

This might actually be fun.

Then he caught sight of two familiar figures on the roof top. A chill ran down his spine.

Whisper was brandishing her gargantuan weapon at Jack. Jack, hands raised and still smiling, was speaking to Whisper as if they are sitting down having a cup of coffee. What the hell was going on? Has Scope realised the stand-off yet?

Crosshair thought about notifying Scope, then decided against it. He would see how this plays out. Besides, this was quite interesting.

He focused his unique eyes into the action, and started to lip read. What he saw, caused his jaws to drop.

God damn it. He hoisted his faithful Gausk sniper rifle to his shoulder and started to take aim.

Whisper smiled. Her ear-rings were emitting a powerful electro-magnetic pulse, killing all communication of the nanites in Jack's body to the Securus. Now, she can have a heart-to-heart talk with Jack.

"What do we have here?" Jack said, not sounding too surprised at being in the wrong end of the Colossus Cannon. In fact, he seemed more interesting in admiring her silky, black hair dancing in the crimson of dawn.

"What do you think, Jack? I want a rematch."

"Oh? A rematch, huh."

"Yea, I finally have you in a place where we can have no interruptions."

"You want a fair duel. I'm sorry, I can't do that." Jack replied, dipping his head in a regretful gesture.

Whisper was enraged. "Why! Damn you! Why not?"

"Because, in a fair duel, you cannot win me, my dear Whisper. And I do not want to kill you. Now, please, let us return to the ship so we can leave this horible place."

"You want to run away?"

Jack grabbed his katana and swiftly drew it in an overhead motion. The motion was so smooth, it seemed to create vapour from thin air. Whisper reacted, firing off a fearsome blast, sending a great chunk of the roof hurtling to the ground.

Jack had dodged the attempt, so quickly he seemed to have disappeared. Using one foot to pivot, she swung around, only to receive a bone-jarring smash into her jaw from the hilt of Jack's sword, sending her to the concrete. As she struggled to her feet, he casually kicked her, flipping her face first on the ground.

Whisper felt a familiar chill up her spine as she felt the cold, metallic feel on the back of her neck.

"You still have much room for improvement, Ms Susurro." Jack whispered, as if feeling sorry for her. "We can continue this another time, when you have gotten better. Meanwhile, let us go back and enjoy the victory of today, shall we?"

Whisper gritted her teeth, choking back her fear and tears. "Damn you, Jack. Damn you, Ripper."

Pickup swooped down in the open-air dropship, a much smaller, faster ship than the Securus. He witnessed Whisper being escorted into the back of the Dropship by Jack. Turning to Jack, he asked, "Sounds like the gig is up. How did she know?"

Jack turned to him, and smiled. "Because of how I reacted when I saw Carnage. She knew that I had met him before and had therefore planned this whole operation. Besides, she has good intuition."

"So what do we do now? Kill her?" Pickup never did like blood. He hoped that was not the solution.

"Nope." Jack said as he knelt down examining something. "She has too much pride to give up on trying to beat me. She won't say a word, not that it matters now."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone else knows who I am. And he is bound to tell the whole damn ship about it." Jack said as he observed the 2 parts of a sniper round, sliced by a very sharp katana.

Chapter 3: Prison Break

noreply@blogger.com (w_h) — Sat, 12 Jan 2008 13:33:00 +0000

Crows were encircling the hazel sky, in dark parade for fresh blood. Cloudless and windless, the air was still and stale. The thick rope that bound him hung heavy and stank of rusty blood.

The boy trudged on down the muddy path, two Slave Masters at his sides, armed with sharp scimitars. They reached the Chopping Board, a blood-stained stump of a once-great oak tree. Located in the middle of the slave camp, it served as a grim reminder to all of the freedom-less.

"This bastard is hereby punished of killing 3 Slave Masters." One of the sword-bearers bellowed, "Let this be a warning to the rest of you. That this is the price of audacity."

" I know you did it, you asshole. I can see it in your eyes." The other whispered fiercely to the boy.

The same eyes stared back, devoid of any emotion. There was perhaps a hint of a smile, but one could not be sure. The slave population have heard rumours of a saviour standing up for them, smiting 3 of the cruelest Slave Masters. No evidence was found.

The boy had already garnered a lot of hatred from the guards. His grey eyes were always sharp and piercing. There was no sense of desperation, pain, or even anger from the young silent slave. Even now, with imminent death approaching, the defiance in his spirit was unmistakable.

That's why he must be put down, fast and hard before other slaves started having fancy thoughts.

A hard kick pushed the boy onto the Chopping Board. He would have stood back up, but two hands gripped his shoulders and pressed him down hard onto the stump. A collective gasp came from the watching public, who were gathered to watch. To watch and learn.

The executioner heaved a dull and boorish axe up and gave it a few practice swings. The boy did not struggle, his face pressed down, facing the executioner. With a grunt, the executioner raised the axe high above his head, and swung it down hard.

By the time the axe hit the wood with a loud 'thud', the boy was already rolling on the floor. He sprang up and head-butted the other guard. The two sword-wielders were sprawled on the floor, their hands severed by the executioner's merciless axe.

The other Slave Masters were in a daze momentarily, but a look at the frayed ropes and the severed hands on the Chopping Board was enough into spring them to action.

The Boy turned to them, armed with a sharpened rock in his left hand and a scimitar in the right,

And smiled.

~

He felt alive! And sober. Never did he ever have so much fun without a bottle in such a long time. Big Bang thought he was done for, out of the Game, in a vicious cycle of wild nights and morning puke. But not anymore. Maybe he was meant to do this. To work with this unique group. Perhaps he was supposed to blow things up again with great reluctance.

Blowing things up with reluctance. Yeah, right.

This mission was strange. He was supposed to help break out an imprisoned felon, in all likelihood an insane one, out of a high security prison designed to keep dangerous people like that in. People like himself.

He was not worried about the prison break. He had broken too many of his relatives out of jails, asylums and parenting homes. There was this one job where he had to break his cousin's stepbrother's wife (twice removed) from the Kelon Asylum, the job was so easy that the hard part was listening to her rant as they left in their family pickup.

Rather, he was more worried of whom they were breaking out.

A capable assassin required a presence of mind, to be cold to kill and calculating to survive. Most of the imprisoned 'gentlemen' in there were assassins who lost control, who kill indiscriminately, friend or foe. Assassins who were extremely skilled, although they had lost their mind to the growing insanity of blood and secrecy that comes with the job. Men too valuable to be taken down, too dangerous to be free.

Deep down, Big Bang knew (despite himself) that sanity was an unfortunate necessity when it came to doing a job. Too many nut cases in this line was bad for business. While Big Bang seemed to dance between the lines between sanity and 'kuku land', in truth he was far more calculative than probably the entire team put together, his aloof demeanor more a ruse than anything.

So how would an assassin who lost his marbles help in any cause, whatever that cause may be? He could very well turn against his allies, killing his team mates without warning or caution. How would such a person help in any operation involving a team?

The S.S. Securus was currently on its way to their destination, a fortress above the clouds, silent and undetectable. It was peaceful, as it always is before the mayhem breaks loose. Big Bang enjoyed mayhem.

Mayhem was poetry, and he was the prodigious poet.

A knock on the door brought Big Bang out of his thoughtful daze. Big Bang opened the door without hesitation. While in this trade, that was practically suicide, Big Bang did not care. He was the least armed among all of them (even Scope has a tiny pistol). Without his trademark explosives, he felt absolutely naked. If anyone wanted him dead, he would have been so ages ago. Besides, he never liked any of this secrecy stuff anyway.

The door slid open, revealing Piece. He seemed like the guy in charge, but it was probably common knowledge that he was just a pawn.

Pawn. He liked that; it made him feel superior.

"Here," the pawn said, "take this, I think you might like it."

Big Bang studied at what looked like a pair of bulky, mechanized gloves. Recognition dawned on him.

"Whut the... How on God's green earth did ya git those? I thought I had wasted those things when I thought mah career was done for."

"Well," the pawn explained, "We picked up the 'wasted' pair, as you so aptly described, and tried to replicate it. I must commend you on the innovative design, to allow controlled explosions in varying degrees to an enemy, without harming the user. A fine piece of technology.

It was far too complicated to reproduce it. However, we managed to salvage most of it and took the liberty to include other features that you might enjoy, such as concussion effects and a controlled electromagnetic pulse. I hope it is to your liking?"

Big Bang took a big breath. It really must be fate, for his old signature weapon to fall back into his hands. Should he don his Gauntlets again, he would officially be back in the Game. Back to the secrecy and death. Back to the sleepless nights and guilt.

Back to loud noises and hair-raising explosions.

Hell, yeah.

Big Bang accepted the Hellboy Gauntlets reluctantly.

~

Scope hit up a couple of keys to bring up her large Scope Command Control (SCC), a system she devised years ago during her training as a cadet in the Secret Intelligence Forces (SIF). It was a dedicated mission control command centre, requiring a hybrid mix of technologies meshed together to coordinate missions that even the Unique Ops Forces would envy.

She remembered the first time she ran her first trial run of the SCC, was a moment that marked her life and her name in the World of Intelligence. She and her fellow recruits were supposed to run a live training exercise, complete with people manning all the different stations. Basically, they were required to be the "eye in the sky", the voice of direction that bridges the field and command operations.

Little did her trainers expect Scope, the youngest of the recruits, to come up with a software that did all that, and with greater efficiency. Her system was seemingly flawless.

Which was the problem.

Her SCC would render all chain-of-command 'eye in the sky' officers obsolete, as it only required only a single person to operate the software. Her invention was too powerful for its own good, and many of those who saw her little performance understood the possibilities that her machine created.

Everyone wanted their hands on her system. An instant barrage of activity of downloading files and cracking codes commenced. It didn't take too long for everyone to realise that her system was completely useless.

The system was excruciatingly complicated. No one could operate it at the fullest efficiency, debasing brilliance into a common command software. Operation required training. Training from the creator of the software.

And she disappeared a week after the SCC made its first appearance, the SCC 1.0 was to date still inoperable.

Cracking her knuckles, Scope smiled at her SCC 6.5b, and got ready for the mission.

~

"A horse, a horse, a kingdom for a horse!" he sang as he drove the Securus over Jakron Asylum.

Driving was his game, and Pickup was his name. A name synonymous with bank heists and grand theft auto, but how did the Pickup turn into an assistance for a group of assassins?

"Because they paid well," Pickup reminded himself, "and they promised amazing vehicles."

And boy were there amazing vehicles. Piloting the S.S Securus was like Pickup's dream come true, a monster truck in the skies, monolithic but silent.

He eyed the various monitors and shifted the ship to SC speed (that's what the manual called it), but Pickup remembered it as "Snail Crawl" speed. The ship goes so slow, together with its cloud maker working overtime, would simply appear to be a cloud floating over a building, just like any other harmless fluffy thing.

This fluffy white thing was the vehicle that Pickup took the longest to learn (2 days), but it was worth it. He shifted the controls to auto-pilot and grabbed the captain's horn.

"Attention all passengers, this is your captain speaking. We'll be approaching Jakron Asylum in 1 hour. We're having mysterious heavy clouds on this bright and sunny day."

Pickup heard a collective chuckle from the crew as he called up a screen to view the bridge. For trained assassins, some of them seem to be taking the ride a little too harshly, especially the one named Rounin, who looked positively sick.

3 drop offs today, 3 different parts of the island.

Pickup hoped there would be 3 pick ups as well.

"A horse, a horse, a kingdom for a horse!"

~

Mr T straightened up his tuxedo in the full length mirror. He looked odd with a parachute on his back, but the ends justified the means.

He knew the tuxedo was strange on the field where guns were blazing, but it did not matter to him. The physical fight was meant for brutes, and he need not resort to such peasant means. The pen is eternally mightier than the sword.

Some might call him a machinist, an engineer or even an inventor. Such insults. He was an artist, one who guns for perfection in the marvelous world of technology. He was the maestro of nanotechnology, the harbringer of artificial intelligence, the virtuoso of engineering physics.

The tuxedo itself was his own creation. With nanotechnology woven into the very fabric itself, it provides a myriad of functions that one cannot even begin to believe. And that was just the tuxedo. Besides, what did the ignoramuses know about fashion, or class for that matter? He was probably the only one that looked good without even breaking a sweat.

"Hey, Penguin Man, you jump off first." The ignoramus named Pickup, a purely idiotic nickname, cried out. "After you, it will be Jack and Whisper, capish?"

Mr. T did not bother to reply to the boorish cretin. He understood the objectives well enough, and only hoped that he knew what he was doing.

He contemplated Jack as he saw the man load two powerful-looking handguns and adjusted the katana on his back. The smile was unwavering, even in the tension before the operation begins. Simply a unique man.

He shifted his focus to Whisper. She seemed calm; she probably went through countless of similar missions before this. Behind the cold eyes was a fiery, tenacious woman.

The two Gemini Assassins may be less intelligent than himself, but he conceded that they were probably capable. And undeniably dangerous.

The hull of the ship opened up to strong gusts of wind. "Time for action." said Mr. T as he flung himself out into the atmosphere.

~

"Hey, hold dis. It's v'ry importahnt."

"Don't you know who I am?" Deathtrap asked Big Bang incredulously. Probably a first time he heard someone speak to him in such a nonchalant manner in ages.

"Yeah, I duh." Big Bang turned to Deathtrap and offered him an ear-to-ear grin. "But duh you know who I 'm?"

"No. Not a clue." Deathtrap replied with an amused look.

"I'm Santy Claus, mah friend, and you ah muh elf." He laughed maniacally as he swung a huge, mysterious sack over his shoulder. Complete with a red jumper and a snowy-white beard, it was purely coincidental that he was dressed resembling a hideous looking Christmas icon.

Yes, purely coincidental.

"Santa Claus 's comin' tah town, little boys 'n gurls, 'n I hope yah hav' been good all year! HahHAhahaha!" The laughter was clearly audible even as his diminishing figure disppeared through the clouds.

"Who the hell am I associating myself with?" Deathtrap mumbled to himself as he leaped off with his parachute.

Leaving behind the 'very important object'.

~

"What?!" Crosshair shouted at the masked man, irritably.

Rounin ignored him, and continued to study him contemplatively. The two of them had been waiting at the hull of the ship, Crosshair dressed in sleeveless army decruiser hood, complete with matching coloured slacks. He even had a cap of the same camou-colour.

Rounin on the other hand was standing at the tip of the pole, the very front of the S.S. Securus. He seemed in perfect balance, standing tall with barely more than one toe in contact with the thin pole, not bothered by the possibilty that falling from the ship would spell a terrible landing.

"Erm, if there is anything wrong with my hair, feel free to let me know." Crosshair said to the Wordless Wonder, feeling increasingly awkward with each passing minute.

After a period of silence, Rounin finally jumped down from the pole and spoke, saying a single word:

"Amazing."

Crosshair grinned. He obviously made an impression on the skilled assassin.

"Of course I'm amazing," Crosshair replied, " The only living cyborg in existence, coupled with good looks and..."

"You misunderstand me. I'm just amazed that an incompetent, such as you, is charged with the duty of assisting me."

"..."

~

The Jakron Asylum was a dreary, melancholic place. A rectangular facility on top of a rock in the middle of perpetually angry waves. Fog was a common occurrence, as was the case that night. A high wall topped with wicked Constantine wire stood menacingly along the coast of the small island, daring anyone with the audacity to break out.

 Or, in their case, break in.

Jack, sailing down in his jet-black parachute, could not fathom anybody pursuing a career in this part of the world. The guards must be paid very well.   

The owner was quite obviously an anonymous billionaire. Jakron had no political agenda, no military connections and have nothing to do with anything outside of its small coastline. It was purely a business venture.

Pseudo-nations, especially small ones lacking in the funding, expertise or technology to erect such a holding facility, would pay large sums of money for housing their most notorious inmates.   

And Jakron Asylum was highly capable of keeping them locked in. The walls were genetically selective in its powerful electrocutions, allowing only the guards to be immuned to the shocking effects. Guards were highly equipped and well-trained, probably one of the few remaining organised armies left in existence. There were only 2 entrances, one on each end, that were faced with machine-gun turrets, high tower snipers and at least 10 guards per entrance. A powerful radar, accompanied with long-range anti-aircraft weaponry spotted acoss the island, deterred any airplane foolish enough to enter Jakron's airspace.   

Unless that particular aircraft happens to be the S.S. Securus.   

Not that they were the first to try to break anyone out. Jakron had withstood numerous attempts in the past. In one famous incident, Jakron Asylum's thick titanium walls managed to hold out against an entire pseudo-nation's worth of an attack force thanks to it's strategic location and superior design.   

Jack glanced down his 2 fellow comrades, likewise strapped with the same parachutes, and his grin widened. He noticed, amusingly, that tuxedos and parachutes do not mix well. Whisper was clad in a black skin-tight rubber suit that outlined her shapely curves like a glove. If looks could kill...

He noticed Mr. T fling two peculiar objects towards the rooftop radar. Mini-EMP. The guards would probably assume the cause of the short-circuit to be lightning strike.   They might even come up to check. Jack certainly hoped so.

As Jack descended closer to the roof of the facility, he drew his SHLEP. Small Handheld Long-range Enabled Prototype. It was the only sniping handgun in the world, and branded as virtually useless. The high recoil and the cumbersome nature of the handgun, despite a range of over 2 kilometers, made it highly impractical for most assassins. The prototype required an assassin to be both very strong and skilled to be utilized effectively. Every sniper and Gemini Assassin shunned the weapon, preferring the more capable and sturdy sniper rifles.

One had to be a complete idiot to use such a weapon.

He fired the SHLEP in rapid succession, killing the 4 guards on the roof. Of course, there was always the option of landing and taking the guards out one by one...

But, why waste the time?

~

Incredible.

That was the only word Crosshair could think of as he witnessed the spectacle unfold from the panaromic view of the S.S. Securus. The 3 black parachutes were literally microscopic from 2 kilometers above sea level. However, Crosshair's unique eyes could pick out the action as if it was happening right in font of him. And the fact remains. 4 guards were dead on the roof, sniped by a pistol.

A freaking pistol!

Crosshair was under the impression that he was the only sniper within this so-called elite few. Looks like he was mistaken. Crosshair smiled slightly. Bested by a Gemini Assassin in his own specialty?

Never.

Crosshair licked his lips and tasted the air. Feeling the familiar weight of his Gausk, he considered the adjusted scope at the side of the firearm, deciding against using it. At such a high altitude, it was normally a simple task for Crosshair to take down the 3 other guards in their watchtowers. Not so, in this case. The  vantage point on the Securus shifted constantly, and the adjustments to accomodate the high-speed winds made this assignment a gargantuan task.

Still, Crosshair was no ordinary sniper, and he will not allow some guy called Jack to appear out of nowhere and take away the unofficial, prestigious title of Best Sniper away from him.

Crosshair closed his eyes and pressed his right fist onto his left breast. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. He felt his heart beating, fast at first, but slower as he felt a strange, almost mysterious serenity suffuse his entire body.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

He enjoyed listening to his own heartbeat. It reminded him that he was alive. Truly alive, and not among the mindless pawns that populate Neuera. His heartbeat was his greatest treasure, further proof of the uniqueness that is his being. 

He loaded and armed the Gausk. His artificial pupils narrowed and his vision zoomed straight to the sight of the trembling figure of a tower guard, watching a vein in the neck pulsate.

With mind tranquil and hand steady, he took aim...

~

Fools, all of them.

When one dedicates his life to end another using a trigger to fire tiny but deadly metallic slugs filled with gun powder, it is not skill. A child could use a firearm to kill. There is no respect for self or the opponent; there is no honor.

Fools such as the pair of guards at Jakron. Fools that asked Ronin "what kinda penknife ya git slinging on ya back". He said it with such an air of confidence. He saw a lone man with no firearms and two seemingly harmless blades at a distance, and made foolhardy thanks to his faith in the long vulgar pistol he was twirling in his second finger. Misplaced faith; which he learnt moments after Ronin turned around to face him eye to eye.

By the time he saw that Ronin's dark black eyes were devoid of emotion, it was too late. He no longer had a finger to twirl his revolver in, and in anger he tried to retaliate, only to realise that lacking a trigger finger, he was useless.

Fools all. When would they learn that the blade is faster, cleaner, and far more lethal than a bullet could ever be?

Ronin stood in front of the main entrance of Jakron, the wide gates confronting him. Two cameras were focused on him, and the sirens went off. The door guards were already disabled, one crumpled against the walls of Jakron, the other unconscious under Ronin's shoes. His blades were not unsheathed yet.

"Intruder! Intruder!"

A flurry of voices were heard, and the gates were slowly opening. Ronin Assessed the situation. Judging by the sound, 2 tanks were being rolled out, lined up with at least 20 conscripts. Snipers from the top watching towers were long taken out by Crosshair. It was bad odds.

Poor fools.

The gate flew open, and the tanks rushed straight for Ronin. Ronin immediately leaped into action, running straight for the nearest tank. The soldiers were caught by surprise. Their pale attempts to fire at Ronin only allowed him to close up the gap even further. 4 gunshots resonated through the night, all missing their target.

It seemed as if he could dodge the bullets, by watching and reacting to the gunfire. The truth could not be any further. The only way the human body can be faster than the bullet is to anticipate the bullet in the first place. As a close-range assassin, one must predict trajectories and human behaviour, and Ronin was the best.

Ronin jumped and rolled on top of the tank, hand reaching out to grab a hold. The tank's turret began to swing, threatening to throw him off. In a flash of light, Ronin unsheathed his kodachi knife. Using the momentum from the turret, he landed in the middle of the soldiers. Shocked by his quick movements and fear of friendly fire made them weak against Ronin's quick and efficient slashes.

The tank closer to Ronin sped ahead, exposing him to fire as the other tank began to swing it's turret to faced Ronin. Breaking into a roll, diagonally away from the other batch of soldiers. Ronin sprang up with all of his strength, and in one smooth motion, unsheathed his tachi blade and sliced off the entire nozzle of the turret and landed on the other side of the tank, which he used as a foothold to dive straight for the other batch of soldiers.

A quick sweep of his tachi blade spelled a clean and almost painless death for the soldiers. Ronin smiled as he faced towards Jakron's entrance, sighing as more waves of soldiers were coming.

Poor, poor fools.

~

"...And when that weird ninja guy starts dah distraction, ya pass me dah detonating cig, ya hear me?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

"Oh shit! Dah screams of pain! That's dah signal! Pass it tuh me! Now!"

"Pass what?"

"Dah detonating cig."

"What is that?"

"Ya weren't hearin' me at all just now, eh? I passed it tuh ya at dah Securus?"

"You did?"

"Whaddaya mean 'you did'? Ya dint bring it?"

"I guess not. Why? Was it important?"

"Ya got ta me kiddin' me! It took me 3 days tuh make that! Now how 'm I supposed tuh blow shit up?"

"I don't know? You are the explosive expert. Just blow it up"

"@#$&!!!"

~

Her eyes widened as information zoomed from the various monitors to her cerebrum. The SCC was a fascinating software, that allows 100 percent monitoring and communications in virtually limitless operations. And it was telling her one thing now: This mission is going to turn out to be a failure.

She knew that the distrust, complicated personalities and individuals with huge amounts of destructive power at their disposal would cause a hiccup or two in the operations. This was not a hiccup or two.

She turned her attention to Piece, who seemed maddeningly calm. How can the idiot just be sipping tea in the middle of a delicate operation as things are going to fall apart?

The pairing of Rounin and Crosshair was a disaster in the making,the unknown entity of the Ripper hanging behind everyone, and now with Big Bang unable to collapse the entrance, a vital key to the operation, things are literally going to fall apart. To make matters worse, this was her first time actually performing an "eye in the sky" role since simulations in her cadet days.

"Look, Piece, this is not going to work out. With Big Bang lacking the necessary equipment, both the entrances will be available. Without the entrance cave-in, this whole plan goes to shambles. We've got to tell the boss to pull out and regroup." She tried to reason with him.

"Relax, my dear Scope. We cant quit now. If we do, Rounin is going to die. Crosshair can't cover for Rounin with that many soldiers he is facing. Besides, he has it all covered."

"Yah right," said Scope sarcastically, "What is he going to do? Pull out a detonating cig right out of his ass?"

"Oh, don't worry about Big Bang. I'm sure he will figure something out." Piece replied nonchalantly.

~

Big Bang started to panic.

Panic. Such a nice word. Rhymes with picnic. Oh, the irony.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" said Deathtrap, "That is the signal, right? Blow up the entrance."

Big Bang gritted his teeth. He was normally a very nice guy. Friendly, personable, gentle, not one to hurt a fly. Well, unless it involved a huge 'kaboom'.

But the ancient ignoramus is really pushing the limits. And to make matters worse, he is a super uber-powerful assassin with laser beams emitting from his eyes(maybe) and concentrated sulphuric acid oozing from his skin(very likely). So punching him is out of the option.

"I'll think up 'f somethin'." He muttered to the nettlesome old coot.

A silky smooth voice interrupted his thoughts. He still has not gotten used to it yet. Sound coming from within the body itself, caused by millions of nanobots. Utterly insane.

Oh yah, back to Scope's voice. "Heads up, gentlemen. You have a patrol coming straight for you."

Panic. Better now than later. Later, you might die before panicking. That won't do. One must panic before dying.

"Can you cause the cave-in?" said the miserable old man, "Can you do it?"

Big Bang stopped panicking. "Well, if I rig dah remaining explosives in a precise manner tuh muh Hellboys, 'n explode it at dah places that causes dah structure tuh collapse inwards..."

"How long?" The inane paleolithic homo habilis interrupted.

"Well, giv' ah take... Tuh hours?"

"You have 15 minutes." The obsolete object stated with a finality in its voice as it headed towards the approaching patrol.

Damn. No time for a picnic now.

~

"Sir, Sectors 1 and 6 is under attack!"

"Sir. the roof has been attacked! All roof units unresponsive!"

"Sir! All snipers in Towers 1, 2 and 3 are unresponsive as well!"

Captain Taylor of the Jakron Corps, pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing that this was all just a nightmare. A full frontal attack on Jakron? Unheard of in years. Sent by whom? A few suspects, but none with the resources. For what purpose? Perhaps something to do with the recent experiments.

"How many are involved in this assult?"

"One, sir, from each sector."

One? One at each of the entrances? 2 high level assassins working together? No doubt about it. But where did they come from? A stealth dropship, possibly from Neuera? What is Neuera's involvement in this attack?

"Who are they? Bring out their profiles in Screens 1 and 2."

The first profile caught him by surprise. Rounin, an exiled Martial Assassin from the food pseudonation, Oryza. Oryza was the only nation left unscathed by the Nuclear war, thus being the only pseudonation remaining able to grow crops. High leveled assassins, formed in different clans and sworn from firearms were trained since birth to protect the fertile fields. They were for defensive purposes, and since Oryza was not an aggressive pseudo-nation, Martial Assassins were seldom seen.

Here is one right now, wrecking havoc in the Captain's very own front yard. His attention shifted to the second profile and felt the colour draining from his remains.

No. Not him. It can't be him.

"Sir?" One of his subordinates questioned hesitantly.

Captain Taylor sat down, close to tears. "We have no choice, if  he is involved. Send in the Raider Assassin. God save our souls."

He opened a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass, staring at a name that spelled doom for many in a bygone era. A name many thought dead.

Blinking on screen 2: Poison Assassin, Deathtrap.

Terms and Terminologies

noreply@blogger.com (w_h) — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 04:29:00 +0000

This is a compilation of lingo, phrases that belong to The 13. To find a word, use "ctrl + f" and enter in the word you want to read on.

autopistol

Also known as machine pistol or a submachine gun in the pre-Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War") days. It combines the automatic function of firing round after round without manually loading it into the size of a handgun or pistol (see "pistol")

If used well, such a weapon can be a deadly force, due the versatility of the firearm. However, in untrained hands, there can be serious repercussions, because of the high recoil of the weapon.

assassin

A murderer who kills a prominent figure, either to state a point or to receive payment. The definition of an assassin has changed drastically since Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War").

An assassin used to be one who kills using stealth techniques, in order to avoid detection and getting caught. Since assassinations has become the dominant form of warfare between pseudonations (see "pseudonations"), the rise of different assassin classifications with unique skills, such as Raider Assassins (see "Raider Assassin") and Demolition Assassins (see "Demolition Assassin"), has transformed the definition of an assassin more akin to that of a mercenary, although many of the old techniques of killing still remains.

Many assassins are now sanctioned by pseudonations. There are, however, some who prefer to be freelance. While there are some assassins that are loyal to certain pseudonations, most are willing to follow where the money is most.

Assassin Era

An era of using assassins (see "Assassins") as weapons to achieve means.

After the great Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War"), there was an underlying fear in the usage of weapons of mass destruction (see "weapons of mass destruction"), so much so that rogue pseudonations (see "pseudonations") would avoid such methods to achieve their means. Therefore, the use of assassins rose as the predominant form of warfare, sparking an era where paid killers were a normal occurance.

Assassin's Code
Unspoken rules among hitmen when engaging a target or otherwise. May be seen more as a guide than a law to some.

Such rules or guidelines include:
It is interesting to note that assassins have their own peculiar form of ethics concerning the Assassin's Code.

assignment

An assignment is a paid job issued to an assassin. It involves the assassin to sign a contract with terms and conditions within. A contracted assassin is free to kill any other assassin should that assassin be impeding the progress of the assignment, according to the Assassin's Code (see "Assassin's Code")

Back Blade Technique
Arguably the most versatile and complex technique, the back blade technique uses a back hand grip on a blade (see "katana") and relies on ample speed and agility. It is a slash technique that is known for the spin counter, whereby a forward attack is dodged on a spin forward while simultaneously landing the back blade behind the skull of the opponent, a known blind spot for most Martial Assassins (see "Martial Assassin").

The shinobi clan that used this technique was once the most powerful clan in Oryza (see "Oryza") , but was hunted down and wiped out by certain Neuera assassins.

Bank of Monetary Exchange (BME)

One of the many firms that rode the rise of the Assassin Era (see "Assassin Era"). It has many branches, many of them situated in dusties (see "Dusty"). Many of their customers are assassins looking for a safe place to put their blood money (see "blood money") and away from prying eyes and hands. However, many branches employ Knights (see "Knight") to protect their vaults from rouge killers, much to the disdain of many assassins.

Bank's Rules
In order to keep order within the boundaries of the BME (see "Bank of Monetary Exchange (BME)"), the BME instituted rules to all their clients.

These rules are:
- No weapons allowed in the BME.
- No form of devices or nanites (see "nanite").
- No looking at other clients' records.
- No killing.
- Definitely no stealing.
- The BME reserves the right to refuse the services of anyone, and may take drastic action, including capital punishment, to do so.

Boy

The main character in the side story in The 13 (see "The 13") that is written at the start of each chapter.

Big Bang

He was responsible for the mass killings that sent the pseudonation (see "pseudonation") Maroda (see "Maroda") into a downhill spiral, thus starting the trend of Demolition Assassins (see "Demolition Assassin"). Extremely intelligent, possessing an encyclopedia-like knowledge of explosives and mechanics, and innovative. He designed the Hellboy Gauntlets (see "Hellboy Gauntlets"), which to this date is unable to be reproduced. He enjoys dressing up for assignments (see "assignment"), and never seems to take anything seriously.

For more information, see Character Profile.

Blackwasp

Whisper's (see "Whisper") side firearm. The stealthier choice to the bulky, more powerful Colossus Cannon (see "Colossus Cannon"). Small, silent, light, highly accurate with low recoil, it is the perfect stealth weapon for women, considering that the size is normally too small to be used by men.

Its weaknesses are range, power and limited bullet capacity. Furthermore, after usage of 16 shots, the maximum number of mini-bullets (see "mini-round") it can hold, the Blackwasp is rendered useless, since its inner parts are delicate to the violent nature of firing. Nevertheless, 16 mini-rounds are normally sufficient for an effective assassin.

It should be noted that Whisper has configured her Blackwasp to increase the range to 100 meters, far further than a normal Blackwasp. She also configured her Blackwasp into an autopistol (see "autopistol")

Blood Rain

A pseudonation (see "pseudonation") that many consider rogue. They are the leading pseudonation in terms of power, land mass and influence. Slavery, prostitution, concentration camps and genocide are all considered legal within the pseudonation. Controlled by central government that is a dictatorship, Blood Rain is determined to expand is borders, without many to oppose it.

The Ripper (see "Ripper") has carried out many of his famous killings against this pseudonation, and is said to the primary reason why Blood Rain has not gained power rapidly in recent years.

blood money

The reward usually given after an assignment (see "assignment") is completed. This is normally withheld should the assignment be incomplete or if the terms and conditions of the contract has been broken or unfulfilled.

Assassins normally store their blood money into the BME (see "Bank of Monetary Exchange (BME)")

Blood Money Everywhere (BME)

see "Bank of Monetary Exchange (BME)"

Captain Taylor

The unfortunate captain of the Jakron Corps (see "Jakron Corps") during the time of Carnage's (see "Carnage") prison break. A veteran soldier, with intimate knowledge of assassins, though he despises them, and the leader of the only organised conscripted army in the world. He is a man of discipline and honour, even if he is not above taking a few bribes himself.

Casino Strip

Comprising half of the Nevada Dusty (see "Nevada Dusty"), in the middle of the Vada Desert (see "Vada Desert"), it is the glamorous strip of casinos and hotels. The owner of the land is said to be a mysterious man who retired from the assassin world.

Carnage

This much is certain: he was once a normal being and had a close friendship with Jack (see "Jack"). He was captured and experimented on, increasing his muscles mass and adrenalin levels to a huge extent. The experiments (see "experiments") affected his psyche, forcing his mind to that similar to a child. Big, bulky, unstoppable and armed with the awesome firepower of the Demonfire Chaingun, the only weapon able to rival the Colossus Cannon (see "Colossus Cannon") in terms of power, he is the first assassin of his kind.

For more information, see Character Profile.

Colossus Cannon
Shoulder-launched with adjustable degrees of firepower. Large and unwieldy, it is considered useless to many assassins. However, Whisper's (see "Whisper") combination of strength and agility makes the Colossus cannon an extremely lethal weapon. Each charge has a huge blast radius upon impact, making it almost impossible for an assassin to escape should he be in the center of aim. Furthermore, since the weapon is plasma charged, it has virtually infinite amount of ammo, only requiring a cool-down period between each charge; the length of time depending on the power of the charge.

Crosshair

Impertinent, flamboyant and temperamental, Crosshair's demeanor breaks all of the rules governing an assassin's psyche. An incorrigible flirt, he believes himself to be god's gift to women.

Killed by a rival sniper, he revived miraculously, only to find out that he was in Neuera (see "Neuera") where they were manufacturing cyborg assassins from dead bodies. His flesh eyes and an arm had already been replaced by Cybertronics (see "Cybertronics"), making him the only living Cyborg Assassin when he escaped.

For more information, see Character Profile.

Cybertronics

The technology used by Neuera (see "Neuera"), to merge flesh with devices, thus enhancing the strength, senses and quickness of the physical being, creating Cyborg Assassins (see "Cyborg Assassin").

Cyborg Assassin

Using Cybertronics (see "Cybertronics") to enhance the physical, Neuera (see "Neuera") had the tool to create the perfect assassin. The only problem was that Cybertronics clashed with the living tissue, the body usually rejecting the state of a cyborg. Therefore, they use dead bodies to create their cyborg assassins. The one exception was Crosshair (see "Crosshair"), who had revived halfway through the process and escaped before his heart could be affected.Till now, Crosshair remains the only being involving man and machine in perfect harmony.

Although they are without emotion and are completely loyal, they lack the cunning and intelligence required to be truly prefect.

Deathtrap

He was one of the reasons for the rise of Maroda (see "Maroda"), and in the process built a reputation of being a fearsome and ruthless killer. Nicknamed the Poison Master by his peers from his preferred method of killing. Being exposed to the multitude of poisons and toxins had built him an immune system powerful enough to withstand them.

As a leading mind in the fields of chemistry and biology, he has made significant contributions to science, including the manufacture of utonium (see "utonium") an indestructable metal, and numerous ways to boost the immunity system against biological toxins.

At the age of over seventy, he was thought to have retired from the Game, dropping out of the grid (see "grid"). However, he was asked to come out of retirement to provide veteran advice to The 13 (see "The 13").

For more information, see Character Profile.

Demolition Assassin

Assassins have used explosives for generations, even before the Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War"). However, ever since Big Bang (see "Big Bang") has turned it into an art form, the term Demolition Assassin began to catch fire. One of the ermerging "new-age assassins" (see "new-age assassin"), Demolition Assassins prefer to forgo all the hassle of research and intel, and just watch the victim, if not the building the victim is in, go 'Boom!'.

Doctor Strange

Strange was one of the most brilliant minds in the surgical field, before he was found to have conducted several surgical experiments on his patients without the patients' consent, effectively killing some of them. Kicked out of the medical fraternity left him to find patients that hospitals avoided: Free-lance Assassins. He does not hold any value in human life and at the same time obsessed in the biology of assassins, which he considers to be meta-human.

Jack (see "Jack") reluctantly invited Strange to be part of The 13 (see "The 13"), knowing full well that the doctor's expertise is required.

For more information, see Character Profile.

dropship
Designed like a small hovership, it allows Pickup (see "Pickup") to pickup (see "pick up") and drop off (see "drop off") the assassins without anyone noticing. Small and heavily armoured, it also perfect for escaping, or entering, dangerous situations. Without weaponry, the best cause of action is to flee should a dropship be targeted.

drop off

A drop off is action of setting the assassin into the scene of the assignment (see "assignment"). A drop off is critical, especially from the air in the case of the Securus (see "S.S. Securus") as it may alert any security nearby. Sometimes, a drop off can be far away from the venue, and traveling on land to avoid detection.

Duel

According to the Assassin's Code (see "Assassin's Code"), assassins can face off if none of them are involved in an assignment (see "assignment"). Ample warning must be given to all parties involved, with a venue and time included. A Duel can involve more than 1 assassin in each party if all parties are agreed, although it is usually one versus one. When a Duel starts, there are no rules, and anything goes until there is one surviving party.

Dusty

Assassins are vigorously tracked by pseudonations (see "pseudonation"). Considered to be neutral ground, Dusties provide the sanctuary of anonymity and give assassins a chance to catch their breath. Within dusties, it consists of weapon sellers, identification change, drug pushers, the BME (see "Bank of Monetary Exchange (BME)") and other 'legal' activities.

Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP)

Electromagnetic radiation or an intensely fluctuating magnetic field produced by devices to produce damaging current and voltage surges that damages any unprotected electrical devices. This can be used to nullify any devices within an area to cut communication, detection and other applications. A EMP can come in all shapes and sizes; with small ones like the mini-EMP (see "mini-EMP") producing a small EMP radius to large ones that can cover a whole pseudonation (see "pseudonation")

Eruditio University

The elite university situated in Nightingale (see "Nightingale"). It is also the place where Whisper (see "Whisper") teaches at when she dropped out of the grid (see "grid") as Ms. Susurro (see "Ms. Susurro").

experiments

The assassin arms race turned from the weapons to the assassins themselves, with efforts from pseudonations (see "pseudonation") to improve speed, strength, concentration and other physical and mental aspects of the human physiology. This led to questionable experiments to the human body to attain positive results. Evidence of these experiments were seen in the supposedly neutral and assassin-free Jakron facility (see "Jakron Asylum").

"eye in the sky"

The one overseeing an operation as it progresses. The "eye in the sky" is so named because that person normally has an objective view point to make tactical decisions. In the case of The 13 (see "The 13"), their "eye in the sky" is Scope (see "Scope"), who uses her SCC (see "Scope Command Center (SCC)") to receive and assimilate information from the nanites (see "nanite") within the assassins' bodies, and making decisions based on that information.

Gausk Sniper Rifle XT.78

A super-ranged weapon with an effective range of up to twelve kilometers. With a round capacity of only 5 rounds, the Gausk is only used by the most experienced snipers. Crosshair (see "Crosshair") had his Gausk modified to allow the scope to shifted down, preferring to rely on his Neuera Eyes (see "Neuera Eyes") to sight his target.

Gemini Assassin

A Gemini Assassin is an assassin with 2 or more specialties in assassin techniques, therefore are considered the elite in the assassin world. For example, Whisper (see "Whisper"), a premier Gemini Assassin, specialises in both stealth and raiding (see "raider") kills, making her lethal in almost any situation.

greenhouse

On board the S.S. Securus (see "S.S. Securus"), there is a greenhouse which Jack (see "Jack") houses to grow plants for specific toxic and medicinal purposes. It fast becomes Deathtrap's (see "Deathtrap") favourite place to relax.

grid

When an assassin is active, he/she is tracked and monitored by various assassin guilds (see "guild"), corporations and pseudonations (see "pseudonation"). This is referred as the 'grid' by assassins. There are numerous to fall off the grid, including different forms of identity change or long periods of inactivity.

guild

An organisation of assassins, normally of their own specialty, that distributes assignments and train assassins. They normally send out one assassin for each assignment, which is where The 13 (see "The 13") is unique, and collects a percentage of the blood money (see "blood money"). Some guilds even develop their own weapons to distribute to its own members. Membership and service to the guild is voluntary.

hovership

A large form of transportation that uses plasma propulsion and other unknown Nereranian (see "Neuera") technology to hover in the air. This allows easy access to drop sites for assassins. Although, the hovership was designed by Neuera, the technology has leaked out, making hoverships relatively common. The S.S. Securus (see"S.S. Securus") can be considered to be a hovership, although the Securus is much larger than the average.

Hellboy Gauntlets

Designed by explosives extraordinaire, Big Bang (see "Big Bang"), the Hellboy Gauntlets is truly a unique weapon. Designed to explode on impact, yet no affecting the user, the Hellboy Gauntlets are truly the ultimate close combat weapon. To make matter worse for any opponent against a Hellboy user, the Gauntlets can set off different kinds of impacts, including EMP (see "Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP)"), concussion and incendiary. One of a kind, its systems are so complex, it is virtually impossible to replicate without Big Bang's assistance.
Jack

Leader and founder of The 13 (see "The 13"). Also known as the Ripper (see "Ripper"), Jack has gained infamy throughout the assassin world. As an assassin, he has almost no weaknesses, with specialties in various assassin arts, such as stealth, poison, raiding and sniping. Strangely enough, he is an assassin with a conscience, killing only when he has to. He fights with a trademark smile on his face, with serves an unnerving poker face to his enemy and a reminder of his past.

For more information, see Character Profile.
Jakron Asylum

The place where Carnage (see "Carnage") was experimented (see "experiments") on. Jakron Asylum is a freelance jail, allowing pseudonations (see "pseudonation") to use its state-of-the-art facility to imprison their worst criminals at a price. Using the disciplined Jakron Corps (see "Jakron Corps") for security, Jakron Asylum is home to the worst of the worst.

Although it is considered a neutral ground, perfect assassin experiments were conducted in its grounds, probably at the sanction of a pseudonation.
Jakron Corps

The strong. The disciplined. The proud. The Jakron Corps prides itself as the last organised fighting force left. Led by Captain Taylor (see "Captain Taylor"), the Jakron Corps are used to defend Jakron Asylum as a neutral institution. Using state-of-the-art weapons and technology, they are used to prevent invasion by any assassin of any type.
katana

The sword of preference used by many assassins. It is generally light, with differing lengths, and curved to increase the effectiveness of the blade. It is a popular weapon among Martial Assassins (see "Martial Assassin"), and is even used by the great Ripper (see "Ripper").

Used centuries before the Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War"), the best katanas were said to be those from the pre-Nuclear War days, to the extent that it was said contain the spirit of ancient warriors.
Knight

Consisting of bodyguards and bounty hunters, the Knights are individuals who are openly against the Assassin Era (see "Assassin Era"). Their hatred for the assassins has led them to, ironically, profit from them, offering their services as freelance protectors of various establishments and individuals, like the BME (see "Bank of Monetary Exchange (BME)").

They follow a strict code of honour, namely to kill no one but assassins. Believing that assassins are all without that honour, they take steps to eliminate assassins, one at a time.
Kodachi Fang

A short blade, used by Rounin (see "Rounin") together with the Tachi Fang (see "Tachi Fang"). It is gripped with the blade facing away from the thumb. When in being used in the Back Blade Technique (see "Back Blade Technique"), it is primarily used as for defensive and ambush purposes.

It is one of the hardest blades known, since it was designed to deflect projectiles.
Lovers Day

Not unlike the pre-Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War") Valentine's Day, Lovers Day is a day to commemorate love. It is considered a pseudonation-wide holiday in Nightingale (see "Nightingale"), and many parties and parades were organised for this event. Because of the chaos and raucous celebrations, it is also the perfect time for hits.
Luciano

Capital of Nightingale (see "Nightingale"), it is considered by many as the most romantic place in the world. Its most prominent landmark is the Remus Clock Tower (see "Remus Clock Tower"), well known for its perfect scenery and suicide cases.
Martial Assassin

Determined to stay neutral and not get involved in the assassin wars, Oryza (see "Oryza") needed a form of protection against other assassins. Thus began the development of Martial Assassins. Most Martial Assassins had roots as farmers, before being hand-picked by various Martial Assassin clans. Their goal is simple: Protect Oryza. Therefore, Martial Asssassins are known to be the only assassins that are trained to protect, by striking at the enemy first.

Since Oryza is home to many crops and livestock, Martial Assassins avoid firearms to prevent excessive collateral damage, relying on primitive projectiles and hand-to-hand weapons.
Maroda

After the great Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War"), Maroda was the first pseudonation that rose to power, relying on the backs of the assassin trade. They kick started the trend of using assassins as a form of warfare, growing in power over the other pseudonations. Among the famous assassins under their employ was the Poison Master (see "Poison Master") and the Anaconda.

The pseudonation's dominance, however, collapsed after a decisive strike at their leaders. Big Bang (see "Big Bang"), the world's first Demolition Assassin (see "Demolition Assassin"), collapsed the building which held all of Maroda's top leaders, single handedly causing the fall of Maroda and the rise of Blood Rain (see "Blood Rain").
mini-EMP

Miniature-sized EMP (see "Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP)"). Used by Whisper(see "Whisper") in the form of earrings.
mini-round

Used in miniature firearms like the Blackwasp (see "Blackwasp"), mini-rounds are low in terms of power, due to its small size. However, because of its weight, the range can be quite far.
Ms. Susurro

Whisper's (see "Whisper") alter-ego when she is off the grid (see"grid"). She teaches political science in the elite Eruditio University (see "Eruditio University") as Ms. Susurro.
Mr. T

Graduated with top honours in the Institute of technology, he was considered a prodigy in space-time physics and nanotechnology (see "nanites"). He was part of the Blood Rain (see "Blood Rain") R&D section before turning traitor before being recruited by Maroda (see "Maroda") as an assassin. Currently in association with the Royal Knife (see "Royal Knife") from Nightingale (see "Nightingale"), being the only non-Gemini Assassin (see "Gemini Assassin") with that status.

Mr. T uses three tiny spheres that are technological marvels with a multitude of uses that constantly revolves around him. Some of its uses are light-bending, a magnetic shield and concentrated lasers that can be used as weapons.

For more information, see Character Profile.
nanite
Microscopic robots. Also known as nanobots, nanites are able to affect changes from the microscopic or cellular level. All of the assassins, except Whisper (see "Whisper"), within The 13 (see "The 13") are infected with nanites.
- Some of the properties include:
- Instant communication by simply willing it to occur.
- Information, such as maps can appear in the sight by transferring signals to the auditory nerves in the eyes, allowing the user to access that information by simply wishing for it to be so.
- Destructive. Nanites, if given access to the body, can destroy the body at a cellular level, not unlike aggressive bacteria or viruses.
- Light-bending effects. If woven into a suit, nanites can be actually bend light around the users body, causing the user to be invisible, as shown in Mr. T's (see "Mr. T") suit.
Like most machines, not all nanites are the same, as quality depends on the nanotechnology used as well as the manufacturer's skill.
Neuera

This pseudonation (see "pseudonation") believes that technology is the way to dominance. The pseudonation thus became the leading developer in multiple fields of science. The pseudonation is also known to be ruthless in their pursuit for scientific monopoly, ignoring the ethics involved. Therefore, in finding the solution for the perfect assassin, Neuera has resorted to cloning, cybertronics (see "cybertronics"), and careless development of Artificial Intelligence.

They are currently using cyborgs (see "cyborg") constructed from dead bodies using cybertronics as assassins (see "assassin").

Neuera Eyes

Fixed onto cyborgs (see "Cyborg Assassin") from Neuera (see "Neuera"), Neuera Eyes allows the user to view objects clearly at a range of fifteen kilometers. Other properties also include infra-red, night-vision, heat sensor and limited X-ray vision. Neuera Eyes are also connected to a database in the brain and are able to pull identities of any assassin on the grid using face-recognition technology.

The only known human alive that is able to utilize the Neuera Eyes is none other than Crosshair (see "Crosshair"), enabling him to be one of the top Sniper Assassins (see "Sniper Assassin") in the assassin world.

Neueranian Cyborg Corps

Armed with the latest weapons and technology, including the famous Neuera Eyes (see "Neuera Eyes"), incorruptible, superior strength and agility, and equipped with undying will to finish an assignment, one would think that Neuera (see "Neuera") has found the solution (see "experiments") to the perfect assassin in the Neueranian Cyborg Corps. Yet, many assassins consider Cyborgs (see "Cyborg Assassin"), to be second rate assassins, due to the lack of killer instinct and intelligence most assassins possess.

"new-age assassin"

As the assassin form rapidly evolves, radically new types of assassins are coming into the picture. Called "new-age assassins" by some of the old-school assassins, they ignore the old rules of assassinations, like stealth, research of the target and protection of hitman's identity. Some examples are the Demolition Assassins (see "Demolition Assassin") and Raider Assassins (see "Raider Assassin").

Nightingale

This pseudonation (see "pseudonation") does not want to get involved with the affairs of other pseudonations, yet understands that it requires the employ of first-rate assassins to ensure its security. Nightingale was the first to train Gemini Assassins (see "Gemini Assassin"), who relying on the versatility to defeat other assassins. It was a huge success, with Gemini Assassins being trained all overt he world, though most are still loyal to Nightingale.

Considered the most peaceful pseudonation in the world, other than perhaps Oryza (see "Oryza"), Nightingale is famous for its bustling tourist industry, especially in Luciano (see "Luciano"), its capital. It is also the only pseudonation with a monarchic system, whereby the Queen is the highest order of Royalty.

Nuclear War
Also known as World War III to many, the Nuclear War changed the world forever, plunging civilization into a state of chaos, as countries collapsed and knowledge was lost. The Nuclear War was the great equalizer; every man after the Nuclear War was the same, as the old county borders no longer existed. Survival took priority over technology and progress.

As men started jostling for land and territory, pseudonations (see "pseudonation") were formed and the Assassin Era (see "Assassin Era") began.

Nevada Dusty

Located near the Vada Desert (see "Vada Desert"), the Nevada Dusty is a unique dusty (see "dusty"), with the dusty divided into two; the first half similar to the average dusty, and the second half forming the Casino Strip (see "Casino Strip").

Oryza

One of the few pseudonations (see "pseudonation") that was almost unaffected by the Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War"), Oryza remains as the only pseudonation with an abundance in fertile land. Oryza is willing to distribute its food surplus to the rest of the world, taking a neutral stance in the Assassin Era (see "Assassin Era"). Therefore, it is seen by many as a benevolent pseudonation.

However, a monopoly on produce would be an asset other pseudonations crave. Knowing full well of that, Oryza has trained lethal Martial Assassins (see "Martial Assassin") to defend it. Till now, Oryza has stopped countless numbers of takeover attempts from Maroda (see "Maroda") and Blood Rain (see "Blood Rain"), by using Martial Assassins to strike at them first.

pick up

A pick up is opposite of a drop off (see "drop off"). It is the action of extricating the assassin from the site of assignment, preferably safely.

Pickup

The man who was said to be able to ride anything with an engine, Pickup is a natural born rider, driver and pilot. With his nimble hands and quick mind, he has declared he can learn to operate any vehicle in 48 hours. The Securus (see "S.S. Securus") was the sole vehicle that nearly caused him to lose that claim.

Pickup is also fond of riding at full speed and performing tricks, much to the chagrin of his passengers.

For more information, see Character Profile.
Piece

Proclaiming himself to the a business man, Piece is negotiator and representative of the Ripper (see "Ripper"). Suave and gifted with a glib toungue, Piece is the ultimate diplomat.

Piece also has an intimate understanding of weaponry, especially firearms. He believes he can modify, reproduce or assemble any firearm, with the exception of the Hellboy Gauntlets (see "Hellboy Gauntlets"), as long as he has th proper equiment, hence the nickname "Piece".

For more information, see Character Profile.

pistol

A small handheld gun.

Poison Assassin

A dying type of assassin. Poison Assassins increased in numbers at the time when Deathtrap's (see "Deathtrap") infamy grew. Yet, the road to be a great Poison Assassin requires to a great amount of knowledge, skill and tolerance to pain, since most Poison Assassins work to get their bodies immune to the toxins they work with. Furthermore, a Poison Assassin has to be prepared to forgo his vanity as the work with acids and toxins will definitely take its toll on the skin, making this the least popular path for an assassin to follow.

Poison Master

see "Deathtrap".

pseudonation

After the Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War"), the countries of old no longer existed as mankind struggled to survive. However, tribes began to emerge from the survivors which eventually led to the rise of pseudonations, countries with no real territorial boundries.

raider

An assassination skill. Raider skills require the assassin to be bold and upfront. It is the skill to confront the target head on, and take out any obstacles in the way. No disguises, hiding in the shadows or sniping required. The bloodier, the better.

It serves two objectives:
1) To create the shock and awe effect for an escape.
2) To bring attention to the message the assassin is trying to convey.

The best in this skill is perhaps the Raider Assassins (see "Raider Assassin"), although the Ripper (see "Ripper") is also known to use raider tactics.
Raider Assassin

The most controversial of all assassin types. Raider Assassins break almost all traditional assassin techniques. They prefer to be noticed instead of avoiding seen by witnesses. With their multiple piercings, tattoos, and loud vulgarities, it is hard not to notice them.

Raider Assassins also prefer to give the impression of being foolhardy and striking their opponent or target when they least expect it, making them masters of distracting an opponent.

Remus Clock Tower

The highest point in Luciano (see "Luciano"), capital of Nightingale (see "Nightingale"). Blessed with a perfect view of the city, the Remus Clock Tower is considered by many as the most romantic place in the most romantic city. Unfortunately, due to the high number of suicides on Lover's Day (see "Lover's Day"), the clock tower had to closed by authorities during the festive occasion.

Ripper

As Blood Rain (see "Blood Rain") gained in power, the number of hits on Blood Rain's top officials grew higher, all performed by one man. That man, strangely enough, never took credit for any of the hits, preferring to stay in the shadows. As the number of hits grew, so did Blood Rain's frustration and the infamy of the mysterious man. That man soon gained the name of the Ripper, in line with the katana slices on his victim's bodies.

The 13 (see "The 13") soon found out the true identity of the Ripper was Jack (see "Jack").

Rounin

Made an outcast from his Martial Assassin (see "Martial Assassin") tribe in Oryza (see "Oryza") for reason unknown, Rounin is one of thefew surviving practitioners of the Back Blade Technique (See "Back Blade Technique"). He has a hatred for firearms, believing them to be weapons of slaughter rather than honour. Silent, contemplative and resilient, Rounin is one of, if not the most, deadly assassin in terms of close combat techniques.

For more information, see Character Profile.

Royal Knife

Organized in allegiance to the queen of Nightingale (see "Nightingale"), the Royal Knife is an assassin group handpicked to serve the royalty and are above standard laws in Nightingale. While based locally, they are known to systematically eliminate all potential threats in other countries. Most members of the Royal Knife are experts at intelligence and espionage, and are deadly loyal to their Queen.

Scope

At the tender age of 16, Scope designed the highly complicated SCC (see "Scope Command Center (SCC)") during her training in the Secret Intelligence Forces (see "Secret Intelligence force (SIF)"). The objective of the software was simple, to acquire and assimilate information and provide options to the user so the user can make informed decisions as an "eye in the sky" (see ""eye in the sky""). She left the SIF when many of her commanding officers felt threatened by the sophisticated software.

For more information, see Character Profile.

Scope Command Center (SCC)

An extremely complicated software that only Scope (see "Scope") can operate in its optimum capacity. The complexity of the software is also made worse when considering the high hardware requirement.

The SCC, in the case of The 13 (see "The 13"), receives information from the nanites (see "nanite") from the assassin's body, able to pick audio and visual information of each individual's surroundings and simultaneously providing options on what decisions to make. Each option is accompanied with a scenario, which the "eye in the sky" (see ""eye in the sky"") can access. The advantage of the SCC is the versatility of it, able to assimilate information in scenarios other than combat.

However, the SCC is not an artificial intelligence, so the decisions of each scenario must be made by the user before proceeding, therefore requiring the user to be agile in the mind and intimately familiar with the software in order to be operated at its highest efficiency. To this day, Scope has been the sole user of the SCC.

Secret Intellgience Force (SIF)

The elite intelligence-gathering unit of the once-great Maroda (see "Maroda"). The SIF were trained to retrieve relevant confidential information of other pseudonations and provide this information to Maroda's assassins. Among them is the prodigy, Scope (see "Scope").

Silent Night

A popular side arm to the long-range Sniper Assassins (see "Sniper Assassin"). Known for its noiselessness and far range, the Silent Night is particularly useful in assignments (see "assignment") that require stealth. However, it is low in terms of power and have a high recoil.

Slave Master

Since the time Maroda (see "Maroda") was in power, the slave trade was bustling. Maroda had set up many slave camps to be used to house slaves before shipping them off. In order to maintain order within the slave camps, Slave Masters were hired to maintain order in the camp. Public killings conducted by Slave Masters were common to keep order.

Currently, Blood Rain (see "Blood Rain") has taken over as the leader in the slave trade.

Small Handheld Long-range Prototype (SHLEP)

The SHLEP is the only handgun (see "pistol") to have a range that exceeds two kilometers. Seen as obsolete by many Sniper Assassins (see "Sniper Assassin"), it has a larger than normal size, extraordinarily heavy and have an extremely high recoil. Till now, it seems that Jack (see "Jack") is the only assassin that uses the SHLEP.

"Snail Crawl"

Due to the high speeds that pickup (see "pickup") likes to ride in, when he slows down to accommodate his passengers, he is forced to slow down to a point where he gets bored. Thus he calls that speed the "snail crawl" , even if it is still faster than some of the assassins would have liked.

Sniper Assassin

An assassin that utilize long-ranged weapons to take out targets. The advantages are the low chance of getting discovered and the high survival rate. However, most targets usually provide one chance to fire, and a missed shot would normally have the target scurrying for cover. Therefore, Sniper Assassins require high levels of skill and intense research on the targets.

Spheres
Highly sophisticated equipment designed and used by Mr. T (see "Mr. T"). Three tiny spheres, that look like golf balls with an eye, revolve around the user providing the user with a high number of uses.

Some of the uses are:
S.S. Securus

Also known as the "Floating Fortress" for its ability to hover like a hovership (see "hovership") despite its large size, the Securus is as large as the average blue whale. It was built and designed in Maroda (see "Maroda"), and was meant to propel the pseudonation (see "pseudonation") to its greatest heights, before its chief designers were killed by the Ripper (see "Ripper") and the Securus itself was stolen.

On board is one of the most advanced stealth technology to compensate for the lack of weaponry. Jack (see "Jack"), however, installed fake weaponry to make the Securus seem even more imposing. This tactic apparently worked on the assassins of The 13 (see "The 13") themselves.

Tachi Fang

When paired with the Kodachi Fang (see "Kodachi Fang"), the Tachi Fang is the perfect weapon for the Back Blade Technique (see "Back Blade Technique"). The Tachi Fang is the longer of the two, used primarily for offensive attacks.

Terms and Terminologies

You are reading it.

The 13
1. A storyblog written by wj (see "wj") and w_h (see "w_h").
2. A group organised by Jack (see "Jack") that work to end the Assassin Era (see "Assassin Era").

tridecagon table

A 13-sided table. A tridecagon table is placed in the briefing room in the S.S. Securus (see "S.S. Securus").

utonium

A special alloy created by Deathtrap (see "Deathtrap") that is indestructible the instant it is formed. When cooled to very low temperatures, the metal becomes extremely malleable, to the effect that it seems almost rubbery. Blades formed from the alloy is extremely rare and valuable, considering that the alloy is very difficult to manufacture and be given form to.

Vada Desert

It was the place that suffered much destruction during the Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War"), causing it to become a vast desert. Its characteristic red sand dunes are home to the desert nomads that frequently ambush travelers making their way to the Nevada Dusty (see "Nevada Dusty") nearby.

Vice

One of the best at what he does, Vice is a true blue Raider Assassin (see "Raider Assassin"). Like all Raider Assassins, Vice uses a form of controlled-chaos to disrupt an opponent's rhythm and rational thought. His loud-mouthed vulgarities, painted and pierced body, freakishly-long arms serve to give Vice all the advantages he needs to tip the emotional scale of any assassin, providing him the inherent advantage on almost every occasion. This was proven when he faced off with the always cunning Deathtrap (see "Deathtrap").

Vice's preferred weapon is his acid-laced utonium (see "utonium") Klaws, that extends the range of his already-long arms. He also has many unique skills such as parkour, the fluid extreme sport, and contortionist abilities.

For more information, see Character Profile.

weapons of mass destruction

Weapons of fantastic scale of power, capable of dealing catastrophic amounts of harm with just a singular such weapon. A country was once measured by the weight of its weapons of mass destruction; the more you had, the greater leverage you control. However, this attitude changed drastically after the Nuclear War (see "Nuclear War"). Widespread damage and loss of human lives caused a distinct distaste for WMD.

However, human nature would rear its ugly head in the need to replace WMDs as the primary form of leverage.

Whisper

Beautiful and deadly, Whisper takes pride in being one of the best in the business. It is that pride that propels her to want to become the best. Always serious and ever-ready for action, she is always aware of her surroundings, making it almost impossible for her to be ambushed.

As a Gemini Assassin (see "Gemini Assassin"), Whisper specialises in two skills. When raiding (see "raider"), she uses the powerful Colossus Cannon (see "Colossus Cannon") for the utmost effect and destruction. When employing stealth tactics, she uses the silent but powerful Blackwasp (see "Blackwasp").

For more information, see Character Profile.

w_h

He is the co-author of this blog, and the source of most of the ~~sex and violence~~ html and chapter editing for the 13 (see "the 13"). Brothers with wj (see "wj") and delights writing random glossary information. Denies all accusations of laziness, and would sue but is too lazy to do so.

wj

Co-author of this blog and majority contributer of this Terms and Terminologies (see "Terms and Terminologies") page. Created majority of the concept and characters of the 13 (see "the 13"). Has an irritating and very lazy brother (see "w_h"), although relies on him for the editing and source coding. Wishes fervently for more time to update the 13.

wristblade

An ambush weapon utilized by Whisper. It is concealed in her cloth arm bands and has a spring release mechanism to surprise enemies. Whisper seldom uses this weapon, preferring to keep it a secret in case of emergencies.

Chapter 2: Castles in the Sky

noreply@blogger.com (w_h) — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 08:00:00 +0000

The boy dragged his body to the corner of his filthy cell with the strength of his arms, wiping thick sludge off the floor as he did. His friend was in the corner, bleeding from every orifice possible.

"Here," the boy croaked to his injured friend. In his left hand, he unclenched his fist to reveal a treasure among treasures. A sugared biscuit.

He offered it to his friend.

With new found strength, his friend wolfed the biscuit down. The boy opened his mouth to say something when he felt a furious, stinging pain as a crack of The Whip landed squarely on his back.

"Get up, rodent! Where did you get that!?No more food for you!"

The boy turned to face the Slave Master, his eyes large and piercing. His defiance was rewarded with a vicious punch to the face. Tasting blood, he spat at the feet of the Slave Master. Right hand clenched, he turned and looked at the burly man with the same expressionless, grey eyes.

"I will kill you."

The Slave Master swung his head back in laughter,

As the boy plunged a long, sharpened rock deep into the laughing man's throat.
~

Danger.

All of this stank of danger, and Rounin hated it.

The group followed cautiously behind Piece's fast footsteps as they walked through the S.S Securus,everybody keeping their space between each other. His sharp eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings as his naturally keen senses exploding from each sensation, but his brain remained calm. He was still dressed in his long gray robes which hung loosely from his shoulders, causing his body to appear shapeless and harmless. His hood was down, Rounin decided that anonymity would not be as dire to his situation as awareness. Underneath his robes, however, was his deadly Tachi Fang blade. Rounin felt its worn handle as he often did for reassurance.The S.S Securus' landing porch was large enough to carry 1 Jumbo Jet, and judging by the skid marks on the floor, it had already allowed one to land. The flooring was well designed with grids that would allow sufficient traction even on a rainy day.

Not that there would ever be rain when the structure you are in is above cloud level. The sun shone clear and directly on them, the dampness from the clouds causing a slight rainbow to stretch across the horizon, against the heavy pink and orange of the sky. Rounin grudgingly admitted that the view was magnificent over the vast outspread pastel cloud cover, and on a sadder note, reminding him of the green, never-ending fields of Oryza. A pang of nostalgia mixed with regret filled his heart.

A flicker of light reflected off the handle from a katana, wielded by the man Piece introduced as "Jack", into Rounin's eyes, bringing his focus back. His eyes narrowed and his grip on his Tachi blade tightened. This was not a moment to be careless.

Piece led them indoors into a large lounge. The interior contrasted heavily with the bland, metallic exteriority. The pungent smell of fresh paint was accompanied by the freshness of rosemary wood. It was decorated with sofas and coffee tables, complete with many art paintings and statues decorated around the room. In the center, there was a large tridecagon table surrounded by 13 comfortable-looking chairs. Piece stood behind one of the seats before facing the rest of the group again.

"Sit anywhere! Make yourselves comfortable. The rest shall be arriving shortly. Have a drink."

Piece said as he gestured to the glasses of water on the table. He was shortly joined by the rest of the group as they each sat down. The parched throats caused by the merciless desert sun was quickly relieved. The beautiful assassin known as Whisper swirled her drink around awhile as she peered intently into the drink. Whisper caught his eye, breaking her concentrated look. With a defiant smile, she raised her glass ever so slightly to Rounin, like a grim toast before she drank the water down in a single gulp. The sleight of hand behind the trick was convincing, but Rounin knew better. She did not drink the water.

A door to the left of the room opened, and two new people came in. One was a dark man, lean and dressed in old fashioned militia camouflage wear. The other was a young woman, bespectacled and clumsy. It was clear from both their stances that they were neither martial trained nor considered as large threats.

"The two of them will assist you fine people in your future assignments!" Piece exclaimed as he gestured towards the two of them.

"You met him on the helicopter as your pilot, this is Pickup. He's the guy that gets you to where you need, and if you're lucky, gets you back. Word of warning: he is crazy in any form of vehicle.

The other girl's name is Scope. She handles the intelligence of the assignments. She will also act as our "eye in the sky" during missions, so I recommend you guys be nice to her. "

"The other person who is not here at the moment is our team's doctor, Dr. Strange. Erm... Take my word for it when I say that you wouldn't want to meet him anyway. Now..."

"Wait a minute," Crosshair interrupted, looking extremely displeased. "Don't make me laugh. You talk of team and assignments and all of that crap. I don't remember agreeing to join this fantasy of yours."

"You don't have a choice." Piece said, quietly.

"What the hell is that suppose to mean, you bastard!" Crosshair shouted as he drew his Silent Night at Piece.

The tension was so thick that a knife can cut through it. The rest of the assassins watched the drama unfold before them. There seemed to be little movements among them, but Rounin knew better. He could bet that each hand was in contact with a weapon, ready for action. Rounin knew he was in a distinct disadvantage in this situation. His own techniques were close combat and stealth, both of which could not be used effectively in this current climate.

However, he had little doubt that he would escape this foray alive. What made him uneasy was the thinly-veiled threat from the man Piece. He was not an assassin, this he was sure, and neither were the other two with him. Why couldn't any of them just refuse the job? Take out Piece and the others, and threaten the pilot to land this infernal machine. Why didn't they have a choice?

He swallowed slowly, and then it hit him. The water!

He should have known. But, how? He didn't manage to detect any menace in his drink. Perhaps a new type of slow acting poison?

Piece faced them and took awhile before he spoke again, almost as if he was weighing his words in his mind before speaking. He almost looked sheepish.

"Yes, as some of you have realised, it's the water. Full of the world's most advanced nano-bots. Sorry folks, but it was a necessary precaution. Shoot me now and the nano-bots will hit hyper active mode, vibrating at a rapid rate that is so intense that it could potentially change the flow of your blood. Resulting in instant incapacitation, and followed by death at a cellular level."

His words were smooth, but his tone was hesitant. Rounin sensed that there might be more to this than meets the eye. Now is not the time for haste. Crosshair understood this as he lowered his weapon grudgingly.

Rounin gritted his teeth with anger. The desert thirst threw his usual precautions off guard. That was the reason why the meeting coordinates were in a desert. Even if any of them chose not to drink the water, the overall strength of that individual would have already been weakened, making it easier to take down that person. Despite himself, he admired the planning and execution of this operation.

Rounin considered his options. He did not understand nanotechnology. In fact, he never had a liking for technology of most forms, preferring the simple style of killing by blade through flesh. He knew that the nano-bots were controlled remotely. But from where? He was sure it was not Piece, as his body was at the front line of the situation. Perhaps the mysterious Ripper or one of the other assassins? Too many variables. Too much uncertainty.

Best to play along for now.
~

It was a long while since Crosshair felt so frustrated. He felt like a pawn in a giant chess set, with an unknown player moving the pieces. Nanotechnology? A ship with stealth capabilities advanced enough to rival the most advanced Neuerian Ships? He hated being used like a rag doll in the arms of a toddler.

Not that he had a say in the matter.

His Neuera eyes increased the magnification levels and zoomed to the microscopic nanobots teeming his drink. Microscopic parasites. They were of an original design, one that he had never seen before. He cursed inwardly. He shouldn't have flew off the handle. He brought attention onto himself, limiting his options, not giving himself time to observe the nanobots while perhaps coming up with a solution.

It seemed that Piece had not gotten over his initial embarrassment. He coughed to clear his throat before continuing," The nanobots have a myriad of other uses, besides a tool to gain leverage on you gentlemen. It serves as an efficient form of communication, allowing us to contact you without wearing any unnecessary equipment. As we speak, several nanobots are travelling towards your auditory nerves in your ears and your optical nerves in your eyes. Which means that you can both hear and view critical information for your assignments."

He paused and nodded towards Crosshair's direction. "The nanobots have also hacked into your Neuerian Eyes, therefore you will be no different. Except that we can see what you are seeing too."

Crosshair's trigger finger twitched instinctively. Talk about adding salt to injury. To say that he was angry would be an understatement.

Piece ignored him,"I'm sure all of you are tired, and perhaps eager to explore the ship." A large translucent map materialized in Crosshair's vision. "That is the map of the Securus. You can call it up or delete it from your vision by using... well... basically your will."

Jack, the smiling assassin holding a sheathed katana in his hand spoke for the first time, a little too cheerfully, "By your will? That's cool. What do you mean by that?"

Crosshair observed Jack intently. He did not seem one bit disturbed by their current situation. Was it an act? Maybe.

Piece smiled, "In other words, it appears whenever you want it to, but you have limited control over it. I do not know the technical terms, but even if I did, I won't tell you.

On the map will be your respective rooms which you can rest in, as well as other rooms for dining or recreational purposes. There will be a mission briefing tomorrow at 0830 hours. Don't try anything funny, 'cause we will know when you do."

Crosshair focused his eyes on Piece as he left with the pilot and the girl. The girl was quite cute if she took out her spectacles and put on some makeup. Perhaps he would approach her later to extract... erm... some information. Or maybe the shapely one called Whisper, although she did not seem to be very approachable.

The first of the 7 to get up and leave the room was the hitman called Mr. T. Crosshair's keen eyes scanned him closely. He was an averagely built man, with a handsome face and slick, black hair that was meticulously combed back. Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about the man was that he seemed physically weak for an assassin. How he could be one of the elite assassins? Nevertheless, his posture did not betray any weakness and his eyes showed no fear.

The second one to leave was the ever-smiling Jack. His short and messy hair gave his overall features a rugged, laid back feel. His evident happy-go-lucky attitude made it easy to assume this person was not a threat, but one would be a fool to think of such a thing about a Gemini Assassin.

Crosshair got out from his own seat. He had seen enough. Time to rest, tomorrow is going to be yet another troublesome day.

~

Amazing.

He heard many rumours of the "Floating Fortress", the S.S Securus, but being on board of it was nothing like it was described as. Most likely because the only people who lived to describe it were cowards who ran when they saw the Securus going after them. A true "flying Dutchman" in the modern day sense.

Deathtrap sniffed the air with his sharp nose. Sharp in more ways then one, apart from its shape. His nose was one of the many traits that he had kept to himself. Years of experience taught him the smell of danger even before it came.

The interior of the Securus was extravagant, finely furnished and freshly painted, an attempt to conceal the true identity behind it. Whiffs of gunpowder and metal, blood and flesh, each sensation tingling with intrigue and secrets.

There were many rooms along the corridor, each with its own strange and curious smells. Deathtrap walked casually, taking in small details into account. Observations from the big picture may be vital for organization and execution, but it is the minute facts that save an assassin's life.

Wait.

Deathtrap stopped in his tracks. He smelt something familiar, coming from the right. He quickly paced down the corridor, swift but silent.

He paused in front of the source of the smell, a door left closed but unlocked, as if by invitation. Deathtrap took the invitation with a smile.

It was a green house!

As he stepped in, intense light radiated through the glass ceiling, forcing Deathtrap to close his eyes momentarily. Hundreds, no, thousands of exotic plants arranged in neat rows, some hanging from above. Billions of smells. Very impressive.

"Hey, you can't come in here!" A young female voice called out to him.

She is a brave girl. There was a time when no one would have been able to speak to him in that manner and live. But those were his younger days when his actions were flamboyant and his arrogance, immature.

"I mean it, Mr Deathtrap. This place is full of plants that are potentially lethal, even breathing it in would..."

Deathtrap turned to face Scope and grinned, catching her off guard and ending her banter abruptly. Her gas mask was oversized and looked amusing, complete with her bushy, slightly unkempt, light brown hair.

"... result in massive internal bleeding, rupturing of the basic respiratory organs. At least for this plant over here," Deathtrap finished her sentence as he lovingly stroked the purple leafed plant that was beside him.

"You know who I am, what was your name... Scope was it? Yes.. Scope," he approached her slowly, "I assure you, with my extended exposure to poisons, I've long developed strong immunity to any poisons available in this quaint garden."

He smiled and gently tapped her gas mask."Some of us have no need to hide their faces."

Scope stared at Deathtrap, his face was full of scars, painful memories of acids and blades. His demeanor was a frightful calm, like a lazing tiger toying with his prey. She stood her ground. She is a brave girl.

"I need this mask to protect me from the poisons, like I said..." Scope tried to maintain her composure. There was nothing to fear from this man, with the nanobots infecting him. Without warning, in one smooth motion, Deathtrap swiped off her gas mask.

Her lungs were lit on fire, raging and unrelenting.Her eyes teared as her orientation swayed. Her hands attempted to grab the gas mask back from Deathtrap, who remained perfectly calm while his grip was like a vice.

"There are cures for the toxins in your surroundings right now, my dear Scope. You have no hope of getting back this mask from me, but perhaps your knowledge on poisons might save you."

Her head was spinning like a carousel, and her vision started to cloud. In the confusion, Deathtrap's grin looked like it belonged to a sadistic clown.

Scope laughed, despite herself. A sadistic clown.

She fought her confounded senses and staggered to the purple leafed plant to pluck its tiny fruit. Her desperate, spasmodic fingers struggled with the tiny fruit's skin, but it was too late. She was going to die and she knew it.

No! She can't die. She won't die.

In a last ditch effort, she stuffed the bitter fruit and bit hard on it, its disgusting juice filled her mouth as her vision dimmed...

She saw the world stop revolving and become bleary. Her heavy body fell to the awaiting ground. But the ground never came as she felt strong arms breaking her fall.

She never even got to know whose arms they belonged to before losing conciousness.

~

Scope woke up to the pungent smell of dried blood, combined with a sickly sweet scent of medicine. Her vision slowly came into focus, and she found herself staring at a slow swaying fan with menacing-looking blades, moving so slow that she was uncertain what their real function was.

She blinked a couple of times and looked around. She was on an examination table in a eerie-looking, dimly-lit infirmary. The suspicious stains on the walls and the disorderedly conditions made her feel like she was in a strange dream.

More like a nightmare. The only thing that was missing was a psychotic killer.

A clatter of pots and pans interrupted Scope's thoughts. In her shock she tried to push her body off the examination table she was on, only to find her arms and legs unresponsive to her commands. A heavy, metal door creaked open, slowly revealing a silhouette of a hunched figure holding onto a sharp object.

Her eyes grew wide as she stared at the sharp object, which glinted in the light. Why, or how, did she get herself into this mess, meeting one strange killer after the next? This was seriously more than she had bargained for.

The figure stepped into the room and, with a loud slam, closed the door, throwing the room into pitch-black darkness.

With a click, the lights of the room came on.

"BOO!"

Scope's eyes widened in horror. She was confronted by a face with dishevelled hair, blood-shot eyes and a surgical mask covering the mouth. Her body was paralysed, either by fear or by some other means.

"Don't bother trying to escape... I mean, move. Hur hur. I have already injected a sort of anesthetic into your bloodstream. Hur hur. You have been paralysed from neck down, my dear girl."

The figure that spoke was wearing a blood-stained lab coat. He was slightly hunched, but his height was indiscernible from the examination table. He scratched his head absent-mindedly as he twiddled with a scalpel.

A scalpel! Scope struggled in panic. What was this man going to do?

"Relax, calm down, rest in peace. Don't worry, I don't bite. Not yet at least." the figure said as he walked towards her. His voice was terribly unsettling. As if the sight of him wiping the bloodstains off the scalpel on his lap coat was not unsettling enough.

"Who... Who are you?" Scope whimpered.

He smiled a sinister smile and in an abrupt move, his face flew in close to Scope's, causing her to gasp in shock.

"I am the Saviour, the Messiah, the Genius, the Angel of Mercy! I am... God. AHAHAHAHH!" he burst into peals of maniacal laughter, "But! You may call me... Doctor Strange."

The Securus' doctor. Scope did hear he was a unique character, but she did not expect him to be so... weird.

"Erm, that's a nice nickname. Heh heh" She laughed nervously,"Can I... Can I go now?"

"Go? GO?! AHAHAHAHHAHA!" Dr. Strange laughed maniacally. "You can't go, even if I wanted you to. Strange is not a nickname, my dear, dear girl. It is my real name. A true genius does not hide his name in anonymity, cowering in the shadows. NO! He ventures into territories where no man dares to..."

"Erm... What's my diagnosis? I mean, you are a doctor..."

"Your body is currently healing at a rapid rate thanks to the fruit you swallowed. In fact, your body is now developing high counts of antibodies to purge the poisons, soon enough, you'll be pretty immune to the pollen of those pretty flowers. Now, after I amputate your left hand, you should be fine."

"Oh, thank goodne.. WAIT! Amputate my left hand?" She exclaimed.

"Hur hur. Just joking. But if you would like to carry out the procedure anyway, I would gladly go for it. You have two arms to spare anyway!"

"Thanks, I think, but I would like to keep both my arms" Scope felt her blood flow back into her legs and hands. She was slowly regaining the feel of her body and, in a moment, she was on her feet and stumbling out of the exit.

"Come back soon!" his voice rang from behind her as she doubled her effort to get away.

~

7 world class assassins at the same table as her. All listening and observing, motionless.

As much as she knew that this day would come, Scope realised that no amount of psychological preparation could calm her nerves. The fact remained that she had already almost been killed by the hands of one of them. Or was that a fact? She had the impression that Deathtrap, the Poison Master, did not kill needlessly.

Pushing her thick, owl-eye spectacles to the bridge of her nose, she attempted to clear her voice to begin her mission presentation.

"G... Good morning... Oh, I mean afternoon. Yea... erm.. Good afternoon, gentlemen and ermm... Lady. My name is Scope. And I will be going through the mission objectives with all of you."

She looked around to see their response. When she received none, she hastily continued.

"This mission is an extraction, a catch and run. High risk and low cover, we are up against heavy surveillance and strong firepower. We will be using all of you during the first mission."

"All of us? Hah, what's this mission, an attempt to kidnap the Queen?" Big Bang asked, laughing at his own joke.

"Well..." Scope's head tilted and seemed amused,
"We'll be breaking into Jakron Asylum, maximum security prison for the mentally, physically and criminally insane."

A hush fell over the room. Jakron Asylum was one of the most secure facilities in existence currently, housing a total of 2000 of the most bipolar criminals known to the world. Built on a secluded island and surrounded by destroyers and regular patrol boats, its defence was famed to be infallible.

It was also a well known prison for the most dangerous assassins. Many pseudo-nations left Jakron Asylum alone. It was common knowledge that should even one felon it housed escapes, it could destabilize an entire region.

Scope understood the hesitation. Apart from breaking into an impregnable fortress, freeing any individual from that madhouse was probably an act of suicide itself. The inmates were a multitude of out-of-control killers and it was safer that they stayed locked up.

For everyone's sake.

Chapter 1: First Blood

noreply@blogger.com (wj) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 06:47:00 +0000

The boy cried.

The elegant Luciano designer bedroom was drenched in blood, rain and tears. The two large windows were swinging uncontrollably with the wind, curtains flapping against the cold wind.

Two dead bodies on the soft white bedding, blood seeping.

Red eroding white.

Strong arms dragged the boy away, redundant force against the boy's powerless frame.
The voices inaudible against the howling of the wind and the dripping of the rain.

All he could hear was himself as he wept.

"Tonight is a good night to die."

It was a dark cool night and the skies were clear. A perfect time for a hit.

The Remus Clock Tower was the highest building in Nightingale, the most romantic spot in the most romantic country. It was closed to the public after midnight thanks to a couple of suicide cases during the last Lover's Day; apparently it was depressing to be alone on a day meant for love.

Dressed in a dark brown trench coat, felt gloves and dark pants, Crosshair could have been mistaken as just another tourist, embracing the view from the marble balcony. He ran his hand through his short blond hair as cool wind drafts blew in his face. The city of Nightingale was beautiful from here, thousands of lights shining from the majestic street lamps, cars, buildings and Lover Day decorations. The security guard was adamant against anyone being up here, but his opinion could not be heard while he lay snoring at the steps below.

Crosshair's grip on the Gausk Sniper Rifle was unwavering, and the tip trained on the target. The scope of the rifle was adjusted to the side; its silly ten km range would not suffice in this mission.

Gausk Sniper Rifle XT.78 (modified scope)

This mission would need his Neuera eyes. The cross hairs at his irises began to glow a faint white and spin as his neuera eyes began to adjust his zoom to achieve perfect focus. The soft ticking sound from his eyes slowed as he caught sight of his target.

EDIT!

His target was Mr Kiast Blood, son of the leading man in Crucifix, a small time company that handled weapon dealings. After extensive checks to ensure they did not deal with his own weapons, Crosshair took the job from the anonymous sponser. Mr Blood was coming out of the building in ten minutes with a blonde and brunette escort at each side, and his source said that he would have a window of three seconds to hit his target between two bobbing airheads.

"There's still time," he said to himself, confidence overflowing as usual. He cocked the Gausk and touched the magazine lightly, caressing it and reminded himself of the three rounds in it. Two rounds too many, but like Crosshair learnt many times, "one can never be too prepared; you never know when the next target comes."

Footsteps against the marble flooring were heard behind him. Crosshair tensed for a moment. Clear and confident footsteps, this man (or woman, as Crosshair hoped) was either very skilled, or very foolish. Judging by the sound, the stranger was approximately one flight of steps away from approaching the balcony. That would give Crosshair time to take care of the interference without meddling with the schedule.

His left hand touched the holster of his Silent Night handgun; his right grip on his Gausk unchanged, eyes still fixed on his primary target.

"I assume you aren't here for the Lover's Day celebrations. What do you want?" Crosshair said as the sound of the foot steps came directly behind him.

"Your services," came the reply as calm and confident as the footsteps before.

"If you haven't noticed," Crosshair said, "I'm working right now."

"So am I."

The dangerous tone triggered Crosshair's instincts and he quickly drew his handgun. His finger was halfway down the trigger when he realised that no one was there.

Not even a ghost of a sound could be heard as Crosshair's Neuera eyes caught sight of a singular piece of paper, a name card fluttering to the ground. He didn't bother to take it as the simple contents were obvious enough.

Who was that mysterious man? What were his intentions? These questions raced through Crosshair's mind. Something big just crossed his path and he was uncertain about the future.

But for now...

A lone silenced shot.

Followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

"Target down."

~

The Eruditio University is an established institute for some of the brightest minds in the country. With a 200 year old history, the building was run down, badly needing a new coat of paint. The Victorian architecture, though positively archaic, gave the already massive structure a larger-than-life feel.

Lectures were supposed to begin at 1 pm, and as expected, the students began to pour in at 1.30. Their footsteps echoed loudly off the gray walls of the large lecture theater. The centuries were even more apparent in the interior of the patriarchal lecture theater, normally lulling many young victims into helpless lethargy.

But not in the lecture that the young Ms Susurro taught. Her tight, black blouse was conservative, yet exposing just enough flesh to raise the room temperature a little. Her prim and proper image, complete with her long hair tied into a bun, gave her a strict and scholarly image.

Pity that was not enough to stop the testosterone-driven fraternities from conjuring up their out-of-the-world fantasies. In fact, her image probably strengthened it.

Political History class had never been so popular.

"After the Nuclear War, the shape of the world as it once was, changed drastically." Ms Susurro's clear and pristine voice droned on, "Surviving humans had to strive through hard and difficult times, almost reverting to a more barbaric state."

"Tribes were formed among the survivors. Each tribe, initially, probably had no more than a thousand odd."

"And as all stories of history are told, these tribes evolved quickly and began occupying each other. Thus, forming pseudo-nations, countries without distinct barriers."

"Considering the immense destruction caused by the Nuclear War, weapons of mass-destruction fell out of favour as a tool for power."

"What sort of power?" She paused, waiting for an answer. When none came, she continued,

"The Power of leverage, of deterrence, and of warfare."

"Considering the lack of manpower, conscripted armies also became obsolete. It is these factors that probably brought about the age of Assassins."

"An assassin used to be one who murders by surprise attack. A murderer, especially one who kills a politically prominent person for fanatical or monetary reasons. However, the true definition of an assassin has changed rapidly through the years."

"Any questions so far?"

There was a silence before an avid listener raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"These assassinations were normally performed through stealth in the past, but now we hear of different types of assassinations. Assassinations have become bolder. Is this due to the pseudo-nations' greater usage of assassins as warfare?"

She paused for a moment as she stared at the male student, who squirmed in his seat from the attention.

"Yes. The amount of funding put into assassins now rival the cost of the old wars. In fact, like you said, some assassins have become bolder, and thus, their methods have changed."

Encouraged by this answer, the student asked again, "When you say their methods have changed, what exactly do you mean?"

A whisper of a smile teased the student. Ms Susurro seemed almost amused at the question.

"We are going out of context from political history here. However, it seems that I will not have any peace until your curiosity is satisfied."

"Due to the huge variety of assassination styles, hit men were vaguely classified under several groups."

She began typing into her laptop, its contents clearly presented via a projector for the students.

"Demolition assassins, known for their mass assassinations of entire political groups.

Cyborg assassins, originated from the pseudo-nation Neuera.

Martial assassins, close combat masters, famous for their silent and stealthy kills.

Raider assassins. This type of assassin is... Controversial. Made famous after Raider assassinations were conducted publicly, with hits that were quite gruesome in nature. Often bluntly direct, the murders in public are used to make statements, usually political, and cause terror. Therefore, some people argue that these types of assassins are no more terrorists, than assassins per se."

"What type of assassin is the Ripper?" A frat boy asked, with a grin on his face.

A new buzz spread across the lecture theater, whispers of hearsay and curious queries.

I heard that he killed off an entire pseudo-nations' leadership within 24 !

He's a ninja-trained cyborg alright...

Bullshit, he doesn't exist...

Ms Susurro kept her composure till everyone settled down.

"I assure you," she said as she took off her black-rimmed glasses, wiping it with the edge of her blouse, "there is no such person as the Ripper."

A girl in the front row quickly raised her question.

"But the media clearly stated that he was responsible for some of the most famous assassinations in history! Like the Gusko..."

"Complete nonsense," came the curt reply. The girl looked indignant but sensed the finality in Ms Susurro's tone.

"The Ripper is a name used by the media. All the 'famous assassinations' credited to this name, are clearly committed by a group of anonymous assassins at best. There is no possible way that those assassinations could be performed by a single killer, human or cyborg."

"There is no Ripper."

~

The loud chimes of the school bells reverberated through the theater, signifying the end of the lecture. This was typically accompanied by the rustling of papers, books and bags, and the relieved voices of the students leaving the lecture room.

How can she know that he doesn't exist...

See? I told you there is no such thing as the Ripper...

Wow, he really doesn't exist?...

But I was so sure that...

I told you, he is a ninja trained cyborg...

He is just a myth...

Ms Susurro shook her head in mild exasperation as the class of students exited the lecture theater. The Ripper had become a cult favourite in campus. How can so many youths idolize someone whom no one has seen before?

As she entered her car and turned on the ignition, the ever-skeptical Ms Susurro began to wonder if it was possible. How can any one person (and a man at that) wipe out all the major political leaders of a pseudo-nation in one night?

She was considering the possibilities as she entered the lift leading to her ordinary three-room apartment. She was about to press the lift button to her level when she caught sight of something.

"That's strange."

Slowly, she bent down to examine the fingerprint on the lift button. No one else was living on the eighth floor. She made sure of that before purchasing the entire floor anonymously.

Someone could have pressed the wrong button. Or perhaps it was a door-to-door salesman. Could just be a coincidence? Yeah right. She did not believe in coincidence.

She hiked up her skirt and drew her Blackwasp pistol from underneath. She would have preferred her weapon of choice, Colossus Cannon, but she didn't know who she is dealing with. Stealth has always been Caution's best friend. And if stealth had an angel of death, or a tinkerbell of death, it would be the Blackwasp. Its small frame was complimented by its deadly accuracy. It has a capacity of fourteen mini rounds that fire soundlessly without a silencer, at an impressive effective range of hundred metres.

As the lift door opened, she surveyed the surroundings quickly. The coast was clear for now, but there were definite signs of someone's presence. Her trained eyes spotted dirt on the usually meticulously clean corridor, fingerprint smudges on the window pane along the long corridor and on her doorknob. Someone was here, and he's not a salesman.

"Shit!" Ms Susurro cursed softly to herself. Just as she wanted to relax after a long day at work, her other job caught up with her.

Not that there was ever any time to relax.

She entered the unit beside her own. Technically, that unit belonged to her, but she never used it. A good assassin always has an exit strategy. The apartments to the left and right of her regular living quarters were both possible escape routes, with secret hatches built into the dividing walls that were virtually undetectable.

A way out was also a way in. It also gave her an element of surprise. Ambushing a Gemini assassin was probably the last thing anyone should ever do, and this intruder was about to learn this the hard way.

She opened the hatch silently into her bedroom. No one was there, therefore the intruder had to be in the living room, waiting for her at the front door.

She smiled to herself, tasting the thrill of the hunt, feeling her adrenaline levels rise. She won't kill him. She needed information on the perpetrators responsible for taking the effort to track her down even after she dropped off the grid.

A little bit of torture won't hurt. It might even brighten up her day.

Her hand gripped her Blackwasp tightly, finger to trigger. Her long legs tightened as she lowered her center of gravity. Her breathing slowed down, and her attention became focused. With one smooth motion, she whirled through the door leading to the living room and aimed her Blackwasp towards... Nothing.

Impossible.

Realisation dawned. She was tricked! But how... unless the assassin already knew of her hidden hatches. But how did he know which one she'd use? She had never been outsmarted before, and in this business, first times are generally your last. Her fears were confirmed when cold, hard steel gently, but firmly, touched her neck from behind.

"Bravo. That was absolutely brilliant. Now get on with it, it was a long day anyway," She said resignedly. She had lost and was prepared to pay the price. That is part of the game.

"You were pretty good yourself. Conjuring up a plan with just a small autopistol... Just as expected from a Gemini Assassin." His voice was eerily kind, like a pastor sending off the dead at a funeral.

She couldn't recognise his voice. He did not even ask her to put her pistol down as he talked. Why? A simple mistake that was overlooked? Unless... 

A cold chill went up her spine.

"Ms Susurro, or should I call you Whisper? Don't try anything that we might both regret. Your wristblades are too short to reach me, and your Blackwasp is pointing the wrong way."

For the first time in a long while, Whisper felt fear. White hot and furious. She trembled slightly. This man... It couldn't be...

"I came to offer you a job. This is the job interview, and congratulations, you passed with flying colours."

She felt the pressure of the blade lift from her neck. The immediate danger was gone, but the fear kept her neck stiff and her body weak.

She could not move. Not when she saw a gloved hand place a name card in front of her. Not when she heard her window open and someone jumping out. Not when she knew that there wasn't anybody around any longer.

She needed a few more minutes. To realise just what had happened. To calm herself down to her usual rational, slightly overconfident demeanor. To try to piece things together.

There was probably only one person that can defeat her so completely. Only one person that can outwit her that convincingly.

And he was not even supposed to be real.

~

His head spun like a ballerina stuck on fast forward; his senses were so dulled, he felt nothing as he went down headfirst into the pile of rubbish bags.

The lights were so pretty, shining like angel's halo. So pretty, so bright, so...

"O How the mighty have fallen."

The voice was clear and resonated within his head. His drunken stupor refusing to liberate his senses, he could not see the source of the voice clearly.

"God?" Big Bang asked, stupidly, "OK, this is it, ain't it? I've hit rock bottom, and now yer here to kick my ass. I beg ya, please make it quick."

Silence. Big Bang attempted to get up.

"HelloooooOO? Come on, at least talk tah me, will ya? Hello.... OooooOOOoooo... HEY ANYBO..."

Big Bang's drunk wailings were cut short as he felt a prick at the back of his neck. Sudden drowsiness overwhelmed him as he slumped to the ground once again. "He will wake up in an hour. Purge the alcohol within that time and leave him in the deser..." was all he heard, before finally losing consciousness.

~

"Where am I?"

As Big Bang blinked away his languor, his vision became shockingly clear. Apart from the fact that his breath smelt like puke and beer, his body was aching yet lively; he felt at least ten years younger. His retinas, not used to the onrushing responsiveness, was torched by the desert sun with such intensity that he grimaced.

Big Bang was shocked. He hadn't been so sober for ages. Or was this a dream?

The heat itself cleared his senses as he got to his feet. His boots sank into the fine desert sand slowly as Big Bang began to familiarise himself with his surroundings. The Vada Desert. He recognised the distinct red of the sand, characteristic hot winds and towering sand dunes.

"He's awake."

Big Bang turned around quickly and found himself face to face with a man. Instinctively, Big Bang attempted to sommersault backwards, which is impossible for anyone who suddenly found themselves in a desert; someone who was finally sober after 5 years of drinking. Big Bang fell backwards clumsily instead.

"Relax, I'm not here to harm you," said the man, extending his hand to help him up. He was dressed in an expensive Luigo Jacket and he wore a flamboyant tie with his suit.His long black hair danced with the wind; the tall stranger had a smug look on his face.

"Then what are we here for?"

Big Bang's eyes bulged as he realised that the source of the new voice was from a woman. A woman brandishing a large gun and dressed in tight clothing. A shapely woman indeed. Still thinking that he might be drunk, Big bang realised there were more people around.

As Big Bang got to his feet, he had a quick count. Seven people (excluding himself) in total, all armed to the teeth.

Assassins.

The man who helped Big Bang up to his feet began to talk again.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am known as Piece. P-I-E-C-E, and definitely not P-E-A-C-E. I'm a business man, and today, all of you have been assembled here to discuss a new proposal I have in mind."

"Who was the man that came to find me?" Whisper cut in, her tone of annoyance apparent. "You are definitely not him."

"That question would be answered in due time," Piece replied smoothly, "There are more pressing matters at hand.

The eight of you have been handpicked by a very special person. He wants to form a team of talented individuals such as yourselves to change the world."

"Talk about a sales pitch," Crosshair replied nonchalantly, "Cut to the chase and cut the crap. Are there anymore pretty ladies like this one and what..."

"Is going on here?" Piece interrupted. "Relax, Crosshair the sniper. Originated from Neuera. The only 'living' cyborg in existence."

Crosshair's eyes narrowed.

"How..."

Piece interrupted him again in mid sentence.

"How do I know? I know everything. Let me introduce you to everyone here," Piece pointed at Whisper, "Her name is Whisper, the world renown Gemini Assassin."

He continued to identify them one by one.

"The guy with puke all over him is Big Bang. He's responsible for the mass coordinated assassinations that destroyed Maroda, which almost became one of the largest powers in this world. The one who started the trend of 'Demolition Assassins'.

The other guy wearing the penguin suit over there is Mr T. The master of intelligence and infiltration, used to work for the Royal Knife from Nightingale and Blood Rain's Research and Development Department.

The renegade martial assassin from Oryza, Rounin," Piece continued, pointing at the figure dressed in black, swirling robes, "The only master of the infamous Back Blade technique left alive.

And, Jack here" Piece's gaze centered on a smiling, young man,"is yet another Gemini Assassin. Now that we are done with introductions..."

"Young man, you forgot about me. That would have been fatal if I was your enemy," a husky, ancient voice proclaimed.

Piece turned to the hunched figure with a large, black cloak, desert winds blowing the ends of his clock, licking the sand like a black-tongued monster. Physically, the man seemed non-threatening and frail, but his demeanor demonstrated something different altogether. Something lethal and frightening.

Piece swallowed the lump on his throat, checked himself before speaking, "this is Deathtrap. I am sure all of you know him very well."

Rounin, who was closest to the black-clothed figure, immediately leaped away. Crosshair's mouth opened in amazement as his hand went straight for his Silent Night. He was not the only one to do so, as the rest of the assassins swiftly armed themselves against the new threat.

Piece could understand why. Not many assassins lived to the age of seventy. And none with the notoriety of the legendary assassin Deathtrap, the poison master. Hundreds, some say thousands, of lives were lost to him before he supposedly retired.

"Gentlemen, and lady" said Deathtrap in a raspy voice, as he gave Whisper a slight bow, "if I had wanted any of you dead, you would be, ten seconds ago."

"I thought ya retired?"said Big Bang, casually.

Deathtrap smiled, "So did I."

~

A Gemini Assassin is an assassin who specialises in 2 or more styles of assassinations, allowing them to be the elite in the dangerous world of hitmen. And Whisper was one of the best among them, if not the best. Yet, she found herself in a situation that triggered every instinct in her body.

Everything was wrong from the start, and she only had herself to blame. Her pride dragged her into the hot-as-hell Vada Dessert. She just could not bear losing. She had no real plan on what to do if she met the mysterious Ripper. But it was something in between going down to her knees and asking for apprenticeship, and pointing her Colossus at him and demanding a rematch. She stroked her large over-shoulder cannon as thoughts raged through her head.

A single assassin in the vicinity already increases the danger threefold. Currently, there was seven heavily armed assassins within the range of twenty five metres around her. With one strange man who claims to be a business man but could very well just be another hitman. Oh, and take note that one of the assassins was just proclaimed to be one of the most elusive killers in all time. This could very well end with bloodshed.

A lot of bloodshed.

Still, her curiosity was piqued. As explosive as the situation was, it was also very intriguing. Many questions raced through her mind. Forming a team of assassins? That in itself is a very dangerous plan. Although several guilds of assassins do exist, none operated as an organised unit. Lead by a special person? Who is it? The Ripper? All the more astucious.

She glanced at the Gemini Assassin named Jack. Whisper had been a Gemini Assassin for a long time, and she never heard of such a person. The fact that he used a first name, albeit a very common first name, made this man more mysterious than the rest. Codenames allowed the assassin anonymity and a chance to escape detection if the heat became unbearable.

Best not to let her guard down around him.

There was sudden flurry of movement among the group as the atmosphere became more tense; yelps of surprise and the clinking of weapons being armed arose without warning.

Whisper turned to the source of the commotion. Her eyes widened as she pulled back the bolt of her Colossus.

She still could not believe her eyes. In the dazzling blue desert sky, a monstrous behemoth of a machine suddenly materialised. It resembled one of the Neueranian Hoverships, complete with complicated sensors and weaponry. However, that was not the reason that made it so startling.

It was the sheer size. The hovering aircraft in the sky was like a blue whale in the sea.

Whisper shook her head in amazement. And as if the situation could not get any worse, she spotted precision weaponry powerful enough to take out each and every one of them.

"Looks like our ride is finally here," declared Piece, unperturbed by the commotion.

"Welcome to the S.S. Securus."

~