This is my first story, it has been in the works for awhile. The character was first formed as a part of a Brainbread short story, that I lost, and I though he would work for this as well. This story is based off the Half-Life mod The Specialists, which all Half-Life owners should play. It is fast and frantic, plus just as gory as this story. Anyway hope ya can dig it! I wrote it listening to Metallica, Pantera, and some random Death Metal like Job For A Cowboy, Cannibal Corpse, and the occasional Celtic Frost. Please review so I may improve! Thank you and good night! ;)
He sprinted around the corner as a hail of bullets came his way. The rounds slammed violently into the wall, gouging holes the size of his thumb. Small pieces of tile and dust flew out in all directions. As soon as his back hit the safety of the concrete wall, he listened as the next burst of fire came his way.
Colt M4 carbine. 5.56x45 NATO. 30 round clip. Full or semi auto.
He looked down at his hand, and gazed at the combat knife he was holding. Serrated edge and a weighted end for easier throwing.
He smiled.
The man came up to the corner sweating. The man spun around the corner leaving no part of him exposed.
Then, the man sighed.
The knife entered his head above the left ear and cracked his skull in an uncountable number of places. Before he died he felt the gun leave his hands, and heard the sound of it going off. His brains splattered upward, since the weapon went off under his chin.
Before his blood hit the ground, the knife had left his head, and the gun had left his person completely.
He wiped the blood off the knife onto his suit coat. He wondered why he ever chose to be a professional hitman in a suit. His suit was black, with a white undershirt, and gold buttons and cuff links. His tie was as red as the blood on the ground. His shoes were ruined. Made for him by a shoeshop in Rome, and now scuffed up beyond belief.
Oh well, he thought, it could be worse. I could have my brains blown out.
At that he smiled, again.
He looked at the man he had disposed of. He wore a pair of green fatigues, military boots, a Kevlar vest, and a ski mask. The patch on his shoulder gave it away, though. Navy SEAL. He relieved him of his other two clips of ammo for the assault rifle, and dropped the current clip out of the gun.
He slammed the clip home, and yanked the bolt back. He pickled up his knife and stuffed it in his coat.
He was in a large, lobby-area of an office building. The walls were tiled in green marble. At the front of the room was the exit, and a pair of metal detectors, divided by glass partitions on each side and in the middle. From floor to ceiling lining each side of the room were four columns.
He walked to the elevator at the back of the room.
He approached it, and pressed the call button.
He watched the light go from the number six to the number one.
The doors opened, and so did an Mp5k sub-machine gun. It sprayed all 30 9x19mm Parabellum bullets before he hit the ground.
Of course, they didn't hit him, though. He had dived backwards at the last minute. His natural adrenaline kicked in and time slowed down.
He saw the rounds pass by him.
He pulled the trigger on his fully-auto death dealer.
This man had been wearing a the same pants and boots as the SEAL, but he had a black shirt and no vest.
The reason he had been wearing, not was wearing, one was because of the fact that 15 5.56x45 caliber bullets, generally don't leave much after their job is done.
He threw the M4 carbine and the mangled remains of the sub-machine gun out into the lobby. He found on the dead body, a pistol. A Glock 20c 10mm pistol, with 3 clips of ammo.
He put the pistol in his right hand and pressed the 5th floor button on the elevator panel.
As he went up, he dropped the clip out and inserted another. He pulled the slide back on the pistol and let go. It made a metallic click.
Bring it on!, he thought, I can take on anything you can throw at me.
The elevator dinged as it hit the right floor. The doors opened.
The room he saw was square, with the same type of tile, only blue this time. It hade four columns in corresponding places throughout the room.
What had his attention first, though, was the man in the middle of the room.
He was of African descent, and his head was completely bald. He wore a large snake-skin pattern trench coat. Under the coat was a purple button-up shirt, tucked into a pair of black dress pants, creased military-style on the front, with a simple black leather belt. His shoes looked almost like mine, he thought. He was sitting Indian style with his legs crossed.
The first thing he noticed about the man was the katana in his lap. Made of 40 inches of folded steel, and sharpened to a point, this sword was not something to laugh at.
He raised his gun, and leveled it at the man's head.
"That will not be necessary.",said the man. The words were simple, but had a tone that said he was used to being obeyed.
He pulled the trigger. The bullet glided towards it's target. His aim was impeccable, it would hit.
The man moved his head to the side in the blink of an eye.
The man stood up. He noticed the man had on a pair of sunglasses, with nothing on them going to his ears, they were held on by the nosepiece.
"I said, that will not be necessary.", the man said, in the same type of voice as before.
He didn't even notice his shell had never hit the ground. He heard it make a metallic pitter-patter.
"Impressive", muttered the hitman.
"Not really.", the man lowered his head and gazed at him over the sunglasses,"So I bet your wondering who I am."
"No."
"Well, as I am a gentleman I will not kill you until we are formally introduced."
"Gee, thanks."
"Enough with the sarcasm!", his voice grew agitated,"My name is Morpheus. I already know yours to be Sergei. That is all I need to know."
"Nice to meet you."
As Sergei said that he aimed and fired the pistol at the man's chest.
The man moved to the side before the discarded casing hit the ground, again.
Morpheus chuckled. It was a short laugh that said you don't know what you've got your self into.
"Prepare to die, my friend."
"YOU ARE NOT MY FRIEND!!!", screamed Sergei as he fired the remaining 13 rounds at the man.
Morpheus ran forward at Sergei, dodging bullets all the way. He even deflected a few with his sword.
He lunged, the point of his sword aimed at Sergei's chest.
Sergei spun the pistol and knocked the sword away with the gun's butt. As Morpheus switched stances, Sergei hit the release switch and flicked the gun in his direction. This caused the clip to fly at Morpheus. He cut it in half with a quick swipe from his katana.
That gave Sergei just enough time to flip the gun around, and slam the clip he had in his left hand home.
He wasn't fast enough to work the slide, though.
Morpheus delivered a kick to his chest with the sole of his shoe.
Sergei flew backwards and slammed into the wall.
He didn't move his head, as he moved his left hand over to the gun.
Click-Clack!
He raised the pistol, and moved his head painfully back so he could see enough to sight up his target.
Sergei saw a glint of silver, before the knife buried itself in his right shoulder.
He screamed out in pain.
Then his body went limp, the gun made a loud, metal clunk as it hit the floor. His hand still clasping it.
"Too easy.", muttered Morpheus to himself.
He slowly walked over to Sergei's body. He placed his right foot on the body's left shoulder, and wrapped his hands around the knife. It was a Navy SEAL knife slightly shorter and lighter than the combat knife inside of Sergei's coat.
Morpheus felt the knife give way, and he stumbled back as it came out.
He gazed at it for a brief moment.
Something cold touched the right side of his face.
"Dodge this."
"Oh S—!" He didn't even finish his curse.
The ¾ inch hole in the right cheek of his face expanded into a crater on the left. His blood, facial tissue, hunks of muscle, and even some grey matter splattered onto the floor. The body finally crumpled to the ground, in an undignified heap.
He threw the pistol, and grabbed the katana out of the dead man's grip.
"This will work."
He loped off Morpheus's head, and picked it up by the open mouth.
He gazed around the room and noticed an open doorway, which lead to a cheap concrete stairwell.
He opened the door, at the top of the only flight of stairs, and pushed it only enough so that the lock wasn't in place.
He tossed the head a the door from the bottom of the stairs.
He heard the impact and the door flew open, he saw the head sail through the air.
Then he heard the displacement of air and echoing crack of a .50 caliber rifle.
The head disintegrated. Small flecks of blood hit his face.
He didn't even have to say it.
SNIPER!
A well equipped sniper, too. From the round size used, he probably has the Barret M82A1 Anti-tank rifle. The exact caliber of it's rounds are .50 BMG, and with a 5-round clip, plus the fact it is bolt-action, every shot must count.
Well he hit a severed head while it was in the air, thought Sergei, that is never a good sign.
No use in trying find cover, 50 cal goes through just about everything. Maybe I can get to him. Besides I made it this far, I'll improvise. I can sprint faster than he can follow, so I should be good. Just remember, I can do this. I can do this! I CAN DO THIS!
"I CAN DO THIS!", shouted Sergei, as he ran out the door.
He put his left shoulder out in front of him so it took the brunt of the door. It slammed into the wall, making a loud metal on concrete noise.
Sergei dived as soon as he heard the sound.
While he was in the air, he changed his dive into a flip. He hit the ground on his back and rolled until his left hand could push himself up.
He saw a glint of shiny black out of the corner of his eye.
His adrenaline kicked in.
His world turned a dark shade of crimson.
His sense of time faded away.
He saw time tick by, seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours, hours to days, everything slowed.
To him the crack of the rifle turned into a loud whoosh followed by a sonic boom.
He literally saw the bullet as it came at him.
He stood up and stared at it.
Then he bent backwards and used his left hand to hold up his body. He made a u-shape with his back. He used his right hand to ready his sword.
The bullet passed over him, and as it did he put the blade of the sword in front of it.
It was sliced neatly in half.
The force of the round made him drop the katana.
He pushed his legs backwards over his head and he flipped onto his feet.
The world went back to normal.
The two pieces of bullet hit the ground with a small tink.
As amazing as the feat he just performed was, Sergei had no time to reflect on it.
He sprinted across the rooftop.
His environment became clearer to him. He was on a large, grey, concrete roof. The only thing mildly interesting was the door he just came out of. About 50 feet from the roof was another one. The exact same except it had an about 100 foot tower of metal girders and wooden planks on it's surface. A yellow ladder lead to it summit.
Perched atop it was the sniper.
He pushed himself to run faster, and as he hit the edge of the rooftop he did just that.
Some people say anything is possible.
They are right.
Sergei crouched down as he pushed off the edge of the roof.
The he flew over 100 feet straight up into the air.
He straightened out his form in the air and finally landed on the tower.
Directly behind the astounded sniper.
When he hit the tower, he landed on one knee, slamming his fist into the 2x4's that made up the it's floor.
The entire tower crumbled under the power of his blow.
Out of the rubble rose Sergei.
Covered in dust and wood splinters, he looked worse for wear.
He noticed that there was a small twitching in one part of the pile of debris.
He smiled and shoved his fist into the spot. It emerged holding the neck of a man.
He wore a black leather trench coat buttoned up to his Adam's apple. His face was white, whether from dust or fear was anyone's guess. His hair was an orange-ish red. It was arranged on his head in an almost buzz cut, and he had a small, devilish goatee.
"So, how's it goin'?" asked Sergei, in a sarcastic voice.
"Screw you!" shouted the man.
Sergei punched the man so hard in the face that he knocked at least ten teeth out. He didn't keep count after ten.
He flew from Sergei's grip and lay sprawled on the ground.
He began to crawl as he heard Sergei moving rubble around looking for something.
He got within three inches of the door, when he heard Sergei come for him.
Sergei's shoes made an audible click when they hit the ground.
Two inches.
One inch.
A heavy foot landed on his back and a hand grabbed his collar.
"Come with me, comrade." said Sergei. It was so friendly that had his face not have been bleeding, he would have probably gone with him.
He hauled him up by his collar.
He walked for what seemed like a day, but in reality was half a minute.
Sergei gently placed him on his knees.
"Wh-wh-what are you do-do-doing to me?" stuttered the man.
"What you deserve." muttered Sergei.
Then the man heard a sound that, had his mouth not been full of blood and a few teeth, he would have screamed.
CLICK! CLACK! CLINK!
Sergei worked the bolt of the .50 caliber sniper rifle.
"OH GOD NO!" screamed the man, but it was in vain.
The barrel of the gun was pointed at his mouth.
Sergei shoved the barrel down his throat.
He vomited as Sergei lifted him up by the gun.
It slowly dripped down it, until he was dangling in the air over the side of the roof.
He screamed, a loud, muffled shriek.
Tears rolled down his face.
"Screw you.", evilly snarled Sergei.
He pulled the trigger.
The man's head was splattered over 50 red feet.
He let go of the rifle.
It fell off the rooftop.
He looked down, and noticed his coat and pants were covered with blood, brain matter, and skull pieces.
He wiped his face.
His hand came away with a large hunk of something in it.
He looked at his hand.
In it was a human eye, lathered in blood and with the veins hanging off the side of his hand.
"I see you!" shouted Sergei, as if he was talking to a baby.
Then he laughed, and tossed the eye off the roof.
Sergei walked over to the only landmark visible on the roof, the concrete surrounded, rooftop door.
He turned the knob and...
CLICK!
"Well then door, if you insist..."
He lifted his scuffed shoe and kicked metal door so hard that the hinges tore out of the concrete.
They clattered to the floor and a small poof of dust floated up as the door hit the tiled floor on the other side.
He made his way down the steps until he heard footsteps coming up from below him.
He slid onto wall by the next flight of stairs, this way he would not be seen by whoever was in such a hurry.
To be Continued...