Agent 47 was running. This was not an unusual activity for him. 47 spent a lot of time running.
Not that Agent 47 is a coward. Quite the opposite, really. It is just so hard to be a top assassin without having the need to run every once in a while.
It was dark, as it usually was when Agent 47 ran. He found that night time was always the best time to hunt. He was an exceptionally graceful and quick runner, as he needed to be. However, he still stumbled and staggered through the thick, dark forest, trying to make his escape.
He had been too careless this time. He had gone into the outlaw's house thinking that this would be just another routine hit. Oh, it was quick and easy, yes. He simply snuck into the drug-lord's home, hid in the closet, and waited for him to be alone. However, Agent 47 wasn't expecting any company.
But there was. A lot of company. A family reunion, it seemed. Each visitor seemed to have come straight out of a 1970s mobster movie. And they heard the yelp as Agent 47 stabbed the drug lord in the lower back with his lucky buck knife.
And there he was. Struggling to run away from the secluded house. Running through the forests to try to get away from the many dangerous men that were following him. He tripped again.
He began to hear voices. He knew he could not outrun all of them. The agent quickly ducked into a ditch, and waited.
Through all the fear and confusion, 47 decided that this was a good time as any to relax and reflect. He needed a plan. Fast.
He opened his large, leather jacket. Inside were guns of every type, including his favorite, the Silverballer pistol. He wished he wasn't so tall, so that he would be able to fit better in this ditch. He noticed his well sculpted muscles, particularly his biceps. Years of combat training and working out resulted in his muscular build.
Mr. 47 laid there for what felt like hours, but he figured were only minutes. He could hear the yells of the mob getting louder.
He tried to think. He needed a plan, and quick. But his mind was not cooperating. He was near exhaustion, and almost frozen with fear.
The voices were very close now. Almost right on top of him. They had to be only a few feet away from him now. He then realized that they had followed his tracks. They would be on him in seconds now. In desperation, and without a plan, 47 quickly stood up, drew his lucky pistol, took quick aim, and shot.
The shot proved deadly. The mob was a bit closer than 47 had originally thought, only 15 feet away or so. However, there were quite a bit less than he imagined, only 4 men (3 men now…)
They attacked quickly. He shot again, but this time he was not so lucky. It was much too dark to have good aim at the darkly dressed mobsters.
Surprisingly fast, there were two men on top of 47. They were clawing and biting, like angry rabid dogs. 47 quickly threw them off of him and withdrew his knife, as did all 3 mobsters. With visibility all but naught, he knew this would have to be a hand fight.
The same two mobsters attacked again with such tenacity that it took 47 by surprise. 47 was promptly and firmly stabbed in the left shoulder. He felt the sharp, fiery pain instantly. He nearly screamed, but he kept his composure, and unleashed a flurry of punches and stabs with his good arm. He landed several good hits, and he knew that he killed one more. Two to go.
The second mobster attacked once more, but with much less assurance. 47 pushed him back, and roundhouse kicked him in the chest. The blow sent the man stumbling backwards, exposing him in some moonlight that had made it to the forest floor.
47 promptly drew his gun, now that he could get his aim. The aim proved deadly.
Silence. 47 looked around. Hadn't there been one more? Or had his eyes played tricks on him in the dark forest? No, that couldn't be. He was sure there were four men, and he had only killed three. 47 frantically scanned the ground, and even up in the trees. He found nothing.
He had to make sure. What if this escaped mobster had seen his face? There could be nothing worse than having a bounty on your head in a large mobster/drug-lord family.
47 began running. Again. Always running. All the way back to the drug house, to catch the witness.