Hey, y'all!
Firepower's back with an all new fic! This has been in the works for well over a year, as this chapter was written back in April... of 2017. The idea is nothing new, for Monkey and I explored multiple ways on how this story is to be executed in an understandable manner (it's going to be fun trying to explain the madman scientist, Faolan, and how he messed everything up), and finally I decided to dive in headfirst and see where it goes. The first chapter is a little shaky, as my writing has changed since last year, but I'm confident it will all smooth out soon!
(Additional Notes: Although it's rated T, this fic will have clean language, but there will be scenes of violence and darker themes following. Banja is evil: you have been warned.)
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The room could not be considered normal, by any means. It was larger than any he had ever seen in his life - he'd witnessed numerous large ballrooms and indoor venues in all his years of existence - and it was entirely crowded with invited visitors within the first hour of required arrival. The walls, albeit bland and undecorated in comparison to the refreshment tables surrounding the edges of the dance floor, flashed an array of glimmering colors, moving in time to the roaring music that blared from the speakers in every corner.
Since this was nothing less of a grandiose party, overhead hung numerous brightly painted miniature disco balls, sparkling and multicolored, creating a circle around the ceiling centerpiece, which was a normal-appearing, yet extremely sparkly and reflective glass ball. It was said that the huge masterpiece alone was crafted with over one million dollars worth of shimmering diamonds, furthering the entire feeling of the party: ostentatious, outrageous, with only the most distinguished guests who were renowned by society allowed to attend. Those who were held in such high esteem, like their life was more of a prize than any normal person, as if they were more important than the people who acted as though they worshipped them. Though, really, it was only because of the amount of money in their pocket and their net worth. It was nothing more than the large, luxurious mansion they owned but never lived in, the parties and galas they were invited to and frequented, how many times their face could be plastered to a billboard or on the face of a popular magazine.
And in the midst of all these illustrious celebrities, he did not fit in.
If asked, he was a movie actor, who had spent his childhood in front of cameras and flashing lights and red carpets. He was one of those few who had won the lottery, lost it all in Vegas, and somehow still remained as wildly popular as before the money was carelessly thrown away. He was someone important, who had the brilliant idea to bring about this, or had a fleeting thought in the middle of a mundane, boring lecture that Something Important! needed to be invented - whatever that 'Something Important!' was, it had aided in the growing of the world's technological age. If asked, he was anything but himself.
It would not go over so well if, in the scenario that someone stepped up and boldly demanded to know his title - Movie Celebrity, Up-and-Coming Musician, Famed Author for some abhorrently repulsive book that filtered in through the market searching for that specific junk nowadays. He was not going to simply state the truth: that he was none of the above, and truly did not deserve to attend this festivity whatsoever. If anyone knew the right answer, he wouldn't have been so easily admitted at the front doors, the police would have been contacted immediately, and he would have been halfway to a prison cell at the moment.
Because his profession was what some called an assassin. Truly, he felt his title was more of a subcategory of the word: a contract killer. His occupation relied solely on orders given by those employing him, and once instructions were given, he was to act quickly and with level-headed judgment on how, precisely, to take out whoever was chosen to be the victim of his task. Afterward, he received whatever form of payment they had offered, be it monetary or otherwise. He was a hired gun, a hitman. An elusive ghost-like figure who got in, achieved his goal one way or another, and got out with no one being able to trace the murder back to him or his employer.
Really, it wasn't half as bad as it sounded at first.
This occupation was the exclusive reason he attended such fine celebrations such as this, acting as someone more important and better known to the world. He was not Ace, the assassin, in these cases. He was Ace, the I'm-Just-As-Important-As-Anyone-Else-In-Here.
Get in. Find the specific target he was looking for. Accomplish the objective. Get out before anyone realized anything out of the ordinary had happened.
Normally, the task was quite simple. It didn't require a lot for him, for he was well experienced and had enough training in his lifetime, and therefore he knew just how very careful he must be, how he must think several steps ahead in every move he made. Any little mistake could alert someone of his abnormal activity, and that would be horrifically deadly. Not only because he would more than likely be taken into custody and charged for murder, but because he knew, for sure, in that case he open fire on anyone who found out his secret. Anyone who witnessed him in his quick, skilled work would be shot dead immediately, as was required by those over his command. They did not want to be found, and nor did he. Consequently, it was an operation where stealth was essential, vital if he was going to get out of this alive.
With all this knowledge tucked away in the recesses of his brain, Ace had no fear that this assignment would be no different than all the others. Successful.
An hour and a half into the party and no one had noticed anything was off. He had already spotted his prey, and tonight it was a rather interesting, very dazzling case. With his charming demeanor, he had wooed one of the womanly guests, at first starting with one of the stupidest pick-up lines that he had ever heard before moving on to various subjects that pleased her to discuss - her position in society, her wealthy family, all of the achievements made in her time of fame. People loved to talk about themselves, and if listening to them drone on about every single boring event that had occurred during their lifetime was what it took to gain their trust and acceptance, Ace was not going to deviate from this course of conversation.
At the moment, the lady (who, Ace surmised from her continuous talk, probably would have been really kind and normal in character had the spotlight not changed her for the worse), was droning on and on about her profession in the acting career, how there were just so many offers to choose from, how they taxed her to commit so many lines from so many jobs to memory, despite her obvious insistency that she could handle it. Ace nodded along, feigning interest, guiding them off the dance floor, in the direction of the refreshment tables. He was desperately in need of something on his tongue other than retorts and admonishments to this woman for the career of hers she was explaining to him in great detail, which got worse and worse as she continued on.
"Would you care for a drink, my dear?" Ace asked, holding up a cup of bright pink punch - probably a mixture of some spicy fruit juice and some alcoholic beverage that no doubt he was too young to drink.
The woman paused, midsentence, staring at his raised paw as if she had forgotten an actual party was going on around the retelling of her life story, before nodding gratefully and continuing on where she left off.
Ace did not mind. Because, as she had accepted the offer of the drink, now was the time. He would only be given one shot at this, it was his only chance to complete the assignment, to fulfill the orders given to him in a manner which did not attract attention.
Reaching into his well-fitted, traditionally black tuxedo, Ace withdrew a small white paper packet, not unlike a sugar sweetener used to mix in teas and the sort, and quickly made work of the pricked opening hole already made into the tiny package. He was in the process of tipping the contents into one of the tall martini glasses, nodding and humming along to the woman's story as if he were still riveted in the detailed scandals of her life, when something gripped the paw that had been, moments before, well hidden from hers and anyone else's distracted sight.
For a moment he had no reaction except to freeze, mid-pour. The little white specks, which were very, very miniscule, paused, only the beginning of the package having already been dumped. His hand righted, the packet turning so that any more of the substance did not spill out. It was not his own action, he could feel a tight grasp around his wrist, pulling it away from the beverage and the wine glass it sat in.
Ace, with a casual, patient smile, raised his free paw to draw the woman's story to a temporary close, before turning around slowly ... coming face-to-face with quite a large and intimidating beast of a man. Yet this did not halt his practiced appearance and act, and instead of cowering at the thought of being caught, he glanced calmly at his held wrist, the tightened grip that held him hostage.
"Excuse me, sir, but I do believe you are cutting off my circulation."
The man growled, but his hold did not relent. "What do you think you were doing to her drink? What's in your paw?"
Shrugging, Ace offered him a debonair smile, as if they were having a normal, jovial exchange instead of possibly being interrogated by one of the security guards, or whoever the host of the party had hired to "ensure the safety of all guests" (though he doubted the men weren't anything more than a show of decoration). "My lady would like a drink, and this here, sir, is extra sugar provided in the little black containers over there by the drink dispenser. After all, there is nothing too sweet for a such splendid woman as herself."
"I didn't see you take one from there," the man said, his tone suggesting he wanted nothing more than a fight, if not by words than by physical measures. "And I have had my eye on you since the moment you walked in. You look far too young to be the required twenty-one years of age, and you have been acting . . . off all evening."
The calmness never left his features, though this did slightly concern him. The woman who he had been with, who he had spent the entire time trying to convince to trust him in a manner that he could take her out silently, with no one noticing anything until too late, was watching the discussion with full interest. Thankfully, no one else had spared more than a quick, bored glance in their direction, before returning to their activities, their loud chatter and swap of gossip and what not.
"Oh, my dear sir, are you accusing me of bringing my own beverage sweetener to a party that already provided it?" Ace faked a gasp, drawing his unrestrained paw up to clasp over his muzzle, feigning surprise. "Why, wouldn't that be rude of me, if I didn't trust the gracious host to have only the best, already sweetened drinks?"
The guard growled, snatching the packet out of Ace's grip within the time it took to blink. He released the paw from his powerful hold, inclining it and pouring the tiniest bit of white, grainy substance into his palm. He brought up hardly enough to even taste, placing it carefully to his lips, before immediately spitting it out in a glob of saliva onto the slick floors. This behavior was regarded with disgust from bystanders, but it drew interest almost instantly when one glanced over the event for longer than a moment. And of course, no one here had any sense of minding their own business, and before long they were beginning to flock and bring attention to the scene.
Which was precisely the opposite of Ace's goal - get in, go unnoticed, get out.
"That is most certainly not sugar, or any artificial sweetener," the man barked, leaning in get mere inches away from Ace's face. Though he did not want to come off as frightened or threatened, Ace could not help but take a step back from the loud intruder. "It isn't salt, either. And I know what both of those taste like, so don't try to play games with me! What were you pouring in her drink?"
"Oh, you do know the distinguishable features between all the artificial sweeteners, plus salt? Wow, you certainly were prepared for this one moment to come up in your lifetime, weren't you? And now that this prime time has arrived, why don't you suggest to me some more flavorful sugars to use. I certainly do not desire any less for myself or someone by far sweeter than any -"
He had begun to face the charmed woman, but both his sentence and his turn was halted abruptly. He frowned, his act of false cheer and conviviality dropping as he tilted his head in the direction of the the taller dog. His eyes darkened and warnings were flashing in the back of his brain, seeing several sets of eyes from his peripheral vision watching the disturbance as it started unfolding.
He already had an idea where this was going.
He had already guessed what was going to result as being found out by someone, mid-act.
That didn't mean he was fine that it had turned out this way.
"Excuse me, sir," Ace spoke through clenched teeth, focusing solely on the man in front of him, trying to ignore the gathering crowd, the spectators who obviously had no intentions of meddling only with their own conversations. "But you are being very impolite and are disturbing this fine lady's evening, as well as my own. Please return to -"
The man's first mistake had been to interrupt Ace.
The second had been when he continued questioning Ace and his grand plan, and thus brought forth the unwanted attention of the fellow party goers.
The third was now, as the larger, more intimidating dog made an accusation that caused the entire room to gasp.
"We have been monitoring you closely since you first arrived, and our net searches brought up very little and terrifically unreliable information on the supposedly famous Jeremy Mathison," he growled, now hardly a breath away from Ace's forcefully calm stature. "And you have acted more than a little bit suspicious, not to mention that we received concerns from an anonymous caller that somebody might soon be attempting to visit with the renowned Miss Pollyanne, someone with dark intentions."
And the fourth mistake he made was by calling him out as a deceiver, and moving to lay his paws on Ace's shoulders. That was where Ace drew the line, and where his plan went fully awry and he switched tactics - if you can't kill only one person and go without being noticed, kill them all.
It was just a blur, a trained reaction that was no less instinct than breathing was, a second nature to him. He shrugged off the gripping paw on his shoulder, reaching into his dress coat and withdrawing a hand gun in the same movement. People who had assembled around the arising scene of promising drama and an excuse for future gossiping now shrieked in sudden fear, scrabbling and stampeding across the ballroom in desperation to get away.
Ace's face was neutral as he shot the man in front of him, not even watching to see if it was a fatal target or not before pivoting a half circle and taking down the pompous woman he had been talking to the whole evening. With that covered, he shot blindly into the crowd, before it came to his awareness that the more noise and single-shot destruction he caused, the more the security guards who he assumed were mere decoration advanced in his direction, hurrying to bring forth their own weapons.
It was clear to him that he was outnumbered. And desperate times called for desperate measures.
He sprinted across the dance floor, running too hard to concentrate on the people that swarmed away from him, screaming, bawling hysterically, creating a clear pathway for the grand windows that were opened. Opened, leading onto a balcony that stretched across the length of the building's western wall.
Dodging nimbly around the bullets that were aimed in his direction, Ace reached again into his jacket, frantically unbuttoning the first few buttons of the white shirt underneath and pulling off a taped object. It was in a matter of seconds that he had done this, skilled and long prepared for this moment for years, and in the time it took to bat an eyelash or for the crowd to cry out in even more fear than before, Ace had initiated the beginning of the explosive in his paws. A ticking took up all of his hearing, as he blocked out the screams and the demanding shouts of those pursuing him across the lengthy floor, and in his mind he began a mental countdown to the beat of the bronze watch in his dress coat.
... 8, 7, 6, 5 ... Second by second, heartbeat by deafening heartbeat. The windows were open and parted for a full view and access to the outdoors, for a quick breath of fresh evening air, and were mere yards away from him. He ran harder, the grips on his boots slipping on the slick flooring in his struggle to propel himself away from the security bouncers.
... 4, 3, 2 ... Ace reached the the wide door when he flicked the furiously beeping bomb over his shoulder, never once coming to a stop. That would be suicide, that would be a death wish, and after all that had happened tonight, he did not feel like dying.
... 1 - The sound of the detonation overpowered the beating of his heart and broke all the concentration he had on keeping a countdown of the bomb. Ace had already leaped over the edge of the balcony and into the evening light when the might from the explosion sent him further than expected with a powerful gust of forceful wind mixed with shrapnel and debris from the positively destroyed ballroom.
He was falling now, head over paws, no longer a controlled jump. He knew how high up he was. He knew that the protected ledge stood over a pit of water that, at most times, resembled a calm lake with a current that was no doubt connected to one of the larger rivers surrounding the vicinity. It was obvious that the impact would be painful, and he was not looking forward to it. Dread filled his stomach as the world spun and air rushed past his ears, as the falling sun moved wildly in his vision. There was no focusing on one object, and it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps leaping off of a very, very tall window after setting a bomb to explode and finish the job he had started at the beginning of the evening was not the brightest plan he'd come up with yet.
Perhaps he would still get paid, for completing his job. While he had been, at first, skeptical to believing the promises made by those hiring him, he had no reason to assume that they would refuse rewarding him for a job well done. Because, while no one had predicted an ending to the night such as this, he had achieved his main goal.
Perhaps they would not go back on their word, as many had done in the past, and fulfill their end of the bargain. He would be very grateful if this is what those who hired him did when he returned.
If he returned alive, that is.
The gust rushing past his face as he spun midair prohibited oxygen from filling his lungs, and as black specks danced across his vision, he could feel the watch pressed into his coat pocket burning like a low flame.
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I apologize for any missed mistakes, the revising of this project takes almost longer than the actual writing. I can't promise chapters will be posted at a steady rate, because of work and school and life in general, but I'm going to try my hardest to keep a once-a-week schedule at least.
Feel free to leave feedback, advice, and let me know what you think of assassin!Ace!
-Firepower
