The target moves through the empty library and his deft fingers smooth the trigger of his gun, sleek and cool against callouses and faint powder burns. He loves this, the thrill of the chase.
The poor bastard - the guy was rather tall and his waistline was anything but trim, he was clad in a yellow jumper over a white shirt and brown tie - too easy.
He moved swiftly and quietly through the corridors the bookshelves create, target always in sight.
Suddenly, he sees his chance. His employer wanted a face-to-face confrontation - personal. He scrambles over the bookcase and lands with a forward roll, more to show off than anything else.
"Who the hell -?"
He cuts off the inevitable, overused question with a punch to the target's stomach and produces his gun.
Now, this is where he recognises his mistake of underestimating Mr Yellow-Jumper. The man rugby tackles him after only a second of recovery and puts all of his strength and weight behind it, sending them both into another bookcase; thankfully this one is against the wall.
He watches the gun slide across the floor, then looks his target in the face. That smirk is more than is short temper can take.
His hand lands on a thick, heavy, hard-backed book and bashes it against the target's face, and the anonymous man sprawled across the carpeted floor with blood flying from his lips.
Gone is the sophisticated bullet, this fucker's aggravated him and he does have a very short fuse.
The book comes down over the man's face again and again - crunching and powdering bone. The target is unrecognisable - both of his identity and his status as human.
He throws the now red stained book across the library and watches the blood saturate the ugly green carpet with a sick smile. He likes the red carpet much more.
"Martin?" the echoing inquiry reverberates off the library walls.
He spins on his heel, "Douglas?"
"Martin, time to get up!"
Martin wakes easily, smile still on his lips but not as sickeningly sharp. "Mornin'," he mumbles sleepily.
"Well, looks like you're going to be in good spirits today," Douglas commented, "Good dream was it?"
"Oh yes," Martin agrees and his smile stretches wider as his eyes focus.
"What was it about?" Douglas asks.
"Oh, just the power of books..."
