'The sun shines on the aluminum
I guess this must be the home of the hitmen'
(The Sisters of Mercy)
After a day of rest and relaxation, he decided to take a stroll down the beach. It was almost night time, and the sun was dying down fast. It looked liked a bloody halo; a ring of red light encircling the beautiful blue sky. Mr. Black finished the last gulp of alcohol in his flask as he stood on the beach barefoot; his right hand in the pocket of brown khaki pants with a white shirt covering his toned chest.
'It's getting late, and I've got somewhere to be tomorrow,' he thought to himself as he finished his walk along the sandy beach before heading back home.
Mr. Black's 'home' definitely could not be considered modest; it was a private chateau nestled away in the nearby hills. No one knew it even existed; it wasn't on the charts, and it was hard to find if you weren't looking for it in the first place. Even then, it took some difficulty to find the front door. Security is everything to Mr. Black; he is a very paranoid man. He does not sleep at night without a gun under his pillow and a knife on top of the end table next to his bed. Every night, he personally inspects each door and window to make sure each one was locked tight. His estate granted him ample security and peace of mind.
The home looked unassuming enough; just a large place in the hills. No automated turrets or a mine field in the front yard. It was almost a normal place for a wealthy man to live.
Almost.
Truth be told, it was really a fortress. Once inside the home, trained eyes would fail to notice how many knives, guns, explosives, and other assorted, lethal gadgetry lay hidden in the various rooms and corridors. The estate is Mr. Black's sanctuary, and it is a morgue to any intruder foolish or unlucky enough to stumble across.
Mr. Black is no ordinary man; he is a killer. Mr. Black is an assassin of the highest caliber. He is responsible for the deaths of over one hundred and fifty active G.U.N. operatives and countless civilians. He has no single employer; he grants his services to the highest bidder.
Currently, the highest bidder is the leader of an unknown, seemingly unimportant and nonexistent faction who holds a grudge against an old, apparently retired G.U.N. brigadier general named Nicholas Patterson. The contract was a simple one: two hundred grand for the elimination of the officer by any means necessary.
Any means necessary...
Black already had his plots, strategies, and contingency plans ready for the job: the good general decided to take a business trip to London, England. All Black needed to do was find the poor soul and take him out along with anyone unfortunate enough to witness the deed.
'Mm, yes. Easy money,' he thought to himself as he entered the chateau and casually made his way through the various corridors. he made a turn to a door leading to the basement and stumbled down the steps; he was slightly intoxicated from one too many drinks earlier in the day.
"I didn't expect to see you home, John," he blurted as he saw a figure sitting in a dark corner of the room.
"I was wounded."
"Since when did that stop you from skulking around and wasting your targets? Speaking of which, where are the others?"
"They're still abroad finishing the assignment. They don't need me to finish the job."
"Of course. What happened to you, anyways? Usually a Black Arms clean-up party results in scraped skin or a bruised knee at the most."
"Uninvited guests tried to crash the party. What about you, I thought you said you wanted to relax before tomorrow's flight?"
Black raised his arms,"Well, I'm buzzed... that's all the R&R I need. I'm down here to pack for tomorrow."*
"In that case, I will make myself scarce and meditate elsewhere," said the shadowed figure as he kowtowed to Black before slithering upstairs, the light not removing the shroud of darkness covering his body.
In all assassination and mercenary contracts, his call sign and code name is 'Assassin Black'. His true name, however, is Jonathan Black. He is the brother and only living relative of Mr. Black. The assassin possesses the unique telepathic ability to make himself forgotten and slip by unnoticed by living creatures. In addition to being able to toy with other peoples' minds, his body is infused with NanoBLACK, a system of nanites developed by a genius inventor, which grant him the physical ability to slow his heart rate and lower his body heat, so he cannot be detected by sensors, and to repair any damage he may recieve in battle. Code Name: Assassin Black is the perfect infiltrator; the stealthiest, as well as one of the deadliest, assassins in the trade. He is only outdone by a handful of men including his brother.
"Pansy wraith," muttered Black as he entered a few keys on a nearby neon-lit console.
As he pressed one final button, a door disguised as a part of the wall quietly slid open. The hidden room, which was fairly large, revealed various weapons placed on tables and perched on display stands attached to the walls. In the middle of the room was a large table for weapon maintenance and assembly. Black opened two fairly large suitcases and placed them on the table. He began to pack various weapons, necessities, and accessories.
"First off, my babies," he stated as he picked a fairly large pistol from the table in the center of the room.
'.50 Action Express Caliber Mark XIX Desert Eagle. Seven shots per standard magazine. The rounds are powerful enough to leave a gaping hole in any living being unlucky enough to be in its path' he cited in his head as he delicately placed the weapon in a small black case and into the larger case.
Black then proceeded to grab a chrome .45 ACP Colt M1911A1, two twin polished-steel .40 ACP 96F Berettas, and silencers for the three stylish tools as well.
"Bling bling, baby. Now for something a bit more practical," he said with a devilish grin on his face as he selected a black 9x19mm Parabellum M9 Beretta from a stand. Black admired the firearm with glee.
'Small caliber, but you don't need too much firepower when you have the element of surprise.' He decided that five handguns were enough.
The assassin proceeded to take several attachments for the M9 from a drawer beneath the weapon's display case. A silencer and two extended magazines were among his choices. Mr. Black placed each pistol in a lead-lined black box to hide them from airport X-ray machines. The contractor arranged for a private jet to fly him to london, so his luggage would be carried directly to his plane.
"Mm... yes... now for the bigger weapons," he mumbled to himself,"SG 550 Sniper Rifle, AR-15 semi-automatic rifle with detachable stock, 9x19mm MP5K-PDW, and attachable silencers for all of them as well, hnhnhn... oh, and we wouldn't want forget to forget extra ammunition for all my little friends, now, would we?" he asked himself as he delicately placed weapons in larger black cases with spare ammunition.
Mr. Black had filled the two suit cases with clothing, harnesses and holsters for his 'tools', body soap, several energy bars, water, two days worth of M.R.E.'s, tooth brush and paste, and, of course, the disassembled weapons, ammunition, and assorted blades and knives stored in similar black, lead-lined boxes before bringing the luggage upstairs. He placed the luggage in the main hall, so it would be ready to go in the morning when he was, and stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom. It was late; he had been down in the fairly large basement for an hour and a half.
Once he entered the room, he glanced at his decorative grandfather clock by the door; the clock read 1:14 AM. The room's walls were a dull, ivory tint with contrasting ebony oak furniture; an ornate bed, a beautifully carved dresser, intricately designed desk, and the rather tall and imposing clock. The desk was placed against the opposite side of the clock and entrance; a large window with a panoramic view of the outside landscape above it. To the wall on the right side of the room was the large, king-sized mattress. To the left side of the room placed in the wall, a 48" LCD television screen. Under the screen was his dresser which consisted of four columns of three drawers each. To the right of the dresser was the entrance to a medium-sized bathroom with a simple standing shower big enough for two, toilet, and large sink. This was not the master bedroom. No one used the master bedroom. Hell, there were four master bedrooms, but none of the four people who occupied the vast estate felt comfortable in the oversized bedrooms. Black's room was neither small nor large; it was the right, comfortable size for a man used to living in various, cramped spots across the globe for days at a time before relocating to a new, 'safe' position.
"I could live a life of luxury and vice if I wanted. I don't need the money, heh, not anymore, but there's nothing quite as exhilarating as the thrill of a good kill. I'm a murderer. Killing is my passion, and I love getting payed to pursue my passion," he said aloud to no one in particular. He began laughing to himself as he took off his shirt and slipped into his large, comfortable bed. Black checked the weapon underneath his pillow before switching off the lights with a simple snap of his finger.
Tomorrow is going to be a bloodbath.