Hitman: The Life…

Prologue: The Awakening

Agent 47 awoke. As his eyes flickered open he found that his arms and legs were strapped to an iron hospital bed. He tried to stand but the straps were firmly tightened. His cold blue eyes scanned the dark room he had awoken in, looking for any nearby objects he could use to escape. He lay quietly for a few minutes and calmly assessed the situation. The bed was positioned in the middle of the room, roughly six feet from each wall. From what he could see, the room's walls were made of padding and apart from the bed he lay strapped to, there were no other objects in the room. His first instinct was to rock the bed from side to side but soon realized that there was no point as the bed was obviously embedded or firmly attached to the ground. He knew there was nothing he could do but wait in the darkness of the room, wondering what was going to happen, and if his "brothers" were experiencing the same treatment.

47 was unsure if it was hours or minutes that had passed until the lights in the concrete room finally turned on. It took a few moments for the Agent's eyes to adjust to the change in lighting and for him to notice that the straps around his arms and legs had considerably loosed. He slowly sat up for what felt like the first time and looked around the room in search for anything he hadn't noticed before the light had been turned on. The only thing of interest was a wooden chair in the corner of the room, on top of which lay what appeared to be a black suit. 47 heaved himself up, flinching as his bare feet made contact with the freezing floor, and took a few steps towards the chair. He noticed a small piece of paper tucked inside the top left breast pocket of the blazer and carefully unfolded and read the handwritten note inside.

A Gift…

47 looked down at the black suit. He identified it as Italian, consisting of a 2 button jacket with notch lapels, a pair of double pleated trousers - both of which were in black, black leather gloves, a white dress shirt and a red silk tie with gold stripes. Black socks and a pair of well-polished black shoes completed the ensemble. Agent 47 was unsure of what to make of the "gift" and was worried that he would be put in isolation for accepting it. However, he eventually decided that if the guards hadn't wanted him to have the suit they wouldn't have allowed it to have been delivered to him. He changed as quickly as he could, worried that a guard would come in and catch him, but had some trouble remembering how to do a tie; eventually managing to assemble something of the sort. So far confused at what was happening, 47 heard a sudden click and then the sliding of the bolts in the door being unlocked. As the door slowly swung open a warm draught of air drifted inside, making the Agent realize how cold the room really was. He peered into the hallway and having not seen or heard anything or anyone from outside, decided it was safe to step out into the corridor.

The marble corridor consisted of dim green lighting and pale coloured walls. It was eerie and seemed desolate, even by 47's standards. He couldn't help but be suspicious that the door to the cell had just unreasonably opened, as well as the fact that not one single guard was on patrol. He took caution as he stealthily walked the corridors. His only priority now was to escape, something he tried several times towards accomplishing. He reached the elevator and pressed the service button, resulting in the loud groaning noise as the old elevator rose to his floor. After waiting patiently in the darkness for a few moments to make sure no one exited, 47 stepped inside and observed the many buttons. His immediate attention fell on the one conveniently marked "Surface Access" but as the Agent's eyes scanned the panel he noticed another room that took his interest. "Weapons Hall & Shooting Range" 47 stared at both buttons for a few moments and then quickly tapped it. The elevator complied with his demand of destination and began slowly sinking downwards, the groaning noise echoing throughout the complex.

It didn't take long for 47 to reach the designated floor, and on arrival he quickly darted out into the shadows. But, as he expected, the range was empty. 47 stepped out from the shadows and slowly walked down the aisle of the shooting range. On his left were exactly forty seven separate shooting areas; while on his right, closely spaced racks of weapons took up the whole sixty foot long wall, all grouped by category, and labelled appropriately. Ammunition, accessories, and cleaning gear were stored below the firearms in stainless steel cabinets. However, none of these weapons favoured 47. Unlike most of his "brothers", he preferred the tactics of silence and deception in order to complete the tasks he was instructed to perform.

The tall suit-wearing man made his way to the 47th shooting range area – his area – and ran his gloved fingers against the brick wall to the right of his range. The gloved hand closed around a loose brick which he carefully pulled out and placed on the desk in front of him. He then extended his hand inside the gap and extracted two AMT Hardballers, equipped with silencers. 47 held them protectively in the palms of his hands, blowing the dusty dried cement off of them. Having christened the weapons Silverballers because of their pearl handles, 47 used them for taking out targets up close and sometimes at long distance, with a suppressor to ensure he remained undetected. Knowing that if he ever found himself in a tight situation, however, he could always rely on the extra fire-power of dual Silverballers to neutralize the threat and escape. The guns had immediately become his signature weapons, which was why he had ingeniously hidden them in the makeshift hideaway so that no one else could use or steal them.

47 placed them on the desk and retrieved the second weapon from the hideaway. A medium sized strand of a non-metallic fibre wire which was complete with handles, allowing him to apply all of his strength into pulling it tightly around his victim's neck, effectively crushing their windpipe. This eliminated any chance of a possible scream or yell being released by the victim. The only requirement being that he had to quietly approach from behind to apply the deadly technique, but once the agent had a grasp, death was certain. 47 slipped the tool into his inside right blazer pocket and then searched the room for a two-gun shoulder-holster rig. He soon found one in one of the many stainless steel cabinets and slipped his arm into it, before attaching his two Silverballers and putting his blazer back on again. The suit perfectly concealed all his weapons, and with a quick adjust of his tie he made his way back to the elevator and pressed the button marked "Surface Access". Time to escape, he decided.

The journey to the surface took longer than expected. The Agent had never realized how far below ground he really was. When the elevator finally reached the surface and he heard the peculiar chime as the doors slid open, he darted out into the hallway and crouched for a few minutes behind a large wooden chest of drawers. 47 waited in the darkness of the hallway for a few moments to make sure the coast was clear. Would he be severely punished for trying to escape, or would they just kill him this time? It didn't matter, he wasn't going back… not now. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a sliding motion. The Agent turned and found that the elevator had disappeared and in its place found nothing but the green wallpapered wall which ran along the hallway. This was when 47 really acknowledged the fact that he was escaping, really escaping. As he descended down the hallway he felt the feeling of an ounce of liquid lead sloshing around his stomach and realized that his hands were shaking. He reached a brightly lit room and noticed that a plaque on the side of the wall said 'Recepție' which he translated as Romanian for reception. He noticed a door just opposite him which displayed a light green exit sign above it. He couldn't take it, he had to try. He rose from his crouched position and made his way for the door...

And then someone else entered the room.

47 noticed them out of the corner of his eye, just after he had made a step towards the door. It was too late. He knew he would be seen. The person was on his left so he quickly drew the Silverballer under his right arm with his left hand. He fired twice, one in the head, one in the chest. Whoever it was, they probably hadn't even seen him yet. They took the first bullet directly to the temple, plastering blood over the wall, and the second in the chest which brought them to the ground. 47 made his way into the middle of the room and drew his other Silverballer, pointing both towards the doorway making sure that no on exited. After a minute, 47 decided that there was no one else.

Agent 47 quickly observed the body. It was a woman, possibly late 40s or early 50s. She wore a green dress as well as a name tag, both beginning to stain with blood. A smashed cup of black coffee lay next to her, which drained off in different directions. The name tag hinted that she was the receptionist, but 47 didn't care. He kept the Silverballers pointed at the doorway and hallway and made for the exit. The door opened easily, letting a cold gust of wind into the room.

He was free.