The hazy streets of Madrid were warm and inviting, the Spanish culture laid
a sense of hospitality on the cobble-stoned pathways and lush green parks,
accented at every corner by a beautiful planter of Marigolds or Tulips.
Smiling pedestrians dressed lightly and tourists in colorful silk shirts
abounded the crowded city streets, a nearby public pool's surface lapped
against the ceramic tiling of the side of its basin as another teenager
jumped in, the splash erupting over the side and soaking several woman
sunbathing in small bikinis.
This was not only one of the busiest, and most wonderful cities in the world, it was also the home of Zachary Heartling, or Zack, as his friends called him. His long, red trench coat flowed out wide as he sat atop a medium-sized building in his residential suburb. The narrow alleyway below was dusty, and wires crossed from one building to the next, like a spider's web. From most of them hung long streamers of loudly-colored silk, leftovers form a festival that had ended not long before. Zack had taken to this part of town, making his home in an abandoned apartment building. He was not rich, though he could have whatever he wanted. Thought his boss back in Italy's (INSERT NAME HERE... COMING LATER) had specifically told Zack to keep a low profile, wherever he went. As his small glasses refracted the July Sunlight, Zack had to squint to make out anything on the beach that lay only about two blocks from his house. The chatter of pedestrians below caught his ear, but he paid no attention- it was none of his business what old Mrs. Renko, the drycleaner, was telling the butcher.
Of course Zack had been told to keep a low profile- so what better way to do so than become part of the local circle? The sun reached its apex overhead and activity died down, it was time to prepare for the afternoon siesta, but being an Englishman at heart, Zack had no use for this. He ducked down the stairs into his lodging and fixed his blonde hair in a mirror caked with grime, and grabbed a pair of black leather gloves from the side of the sink, where they had been placed to air out. The fingers were cut off, revealing only frayed material, and small holes had been cut in the back of them in rows. He quickly exited his bathroom, separated from the rest of his apartment by only a small divider, and grabbed his weapons from a cot in the corner- a pair of long combat knives, two custom-issue Berretta handguns, and a .22 calibur Magnum Revolver. The knives went into his black belt, as the handguns went into a pair of hip holsters. The Revolver went into a shoulder holster, completely invisible beneath his long coat. In its pockets were several more clips for his handguns, and his specialized Darts sent from HQ for his revolver, which was more for transportation and infiltration than for direct combat.
This was now his town, his country. He had to defend them, it was not an option to loose contact with the (INSERT NAME HERE... WILL COME LATER), even though if he did have to force an unexpected move, Zack was certain they could find him. He walked down the now-deserted street, allowing his coat to swing forward, concealing all his weaponry. He quickly knocked three times on the third blue door to his left, then ducked inside before someone saw him.
"Good afternoon, Zachary" A thick British accent cut through the still, humid air in the building.
"Why can't you call me Zack, like everyone else around here?" the agent retorted playfully.
"Because" came the reply with a chuckle "I'm working for you. New news from the base, they're received word that a spread of activity is working its way from South. An unidentified tanker with unmarked cargo ran aground in the Gibraltar. Carlos was just sent to investigate before, he should have a report ready sometime soon. It's nothing you need to worry about"
"Then why, Pray tell, are you explaining this to me?" Zack said irritably "I could be off playing cards, you know. I hate missing cards"
"Yes, yes." A skinny, short man with long, black hair poked his head around a corner but I've nothing else to report. Just be ready for sudden orders from base, they said something was wrong in india, as well."
"That doesn't concern me." Heartling said, spinning on his heel and stepping outside again. His contact, Lucas, was oftentimes too talkative for his own good. Zack opened the door to his own apartment, and sunk down on the cot- perhaps a siesta would be nice today. It had been far too long since he had slept last, anyway.
This was not only one of the busiest, and most wonderful cities in the world, it was also the home of Zachary Heartling, or Zack, as his friends called him. His long, red trench coat flowed out wide as he sat atop a medium-sized building in his residential suburb. The narrow alleyway below was dusty, and wires crossed from one building to the next, like a spider's web. From most of them hung long streamers of loudly-colored silk, leftovers form a festival that had ended not long before. Zack had taken to this part of town, making his home in an abandoned apartment building. He was not rich, though he could have whatever he wanted. Thought his boss back in Italy's (INSERT NAME HERE... COMING LATER) had specifically told Zack to keep a low profile, wherever he went. As his small glasses refracted the July Sunlight, Zack had to squint to make out anything on the beach that lay only about two blocks from his house. The chatter of pedestrians below caught his ear, but he paid no attention- it was none of his business what old Mrs. Renko, the drycleaner, was telling the butcher.
Of course Zack had been told to keep a low profile- so what better way to do so than become part of the local circle? The sun reached its apex overhead and activity died down, it was time to prepare for the afternoon siesta, but being an Englishman at heart, Zack had no use for this. He ducked down the stairs into his lodging and fixed his blonde hair in a mirror caked with grime, and grabbed a pair of black leather gloves from the side of the sink, where they had been placed to air out. The fingers were cut off, revealing only frayed material, and small holes had been cut in the back of them in rows. He quickly exited his bathroom, separated from the rest of his apartment by only a small divider, and grabbed his weapons from a cot in the corner- a pair of long combat knives, two custom-issue Berretta handguns, and a .22 calibur Magnum Revolver. The knives went into his black belt, as the handguns went into a pair of hip holsters. The Revolver went into a shoulder holster, completely invisible beneath his long coat. In its pockets were several more clips for his handguns, and his specialized Darts sent from HQ for his revolver, which was more for transportation and infiltration than for direct combat.
This was now his town, his country. He had to defend them, it was not an option to loose contact with the (INSERT NAME HERE... WILL COME LATER), even though if he did have to force an unexpected move, Zack was certain they could find him. He walked down the now-deserted street, allowing his coat to swing forward, concealing all his weaponry. He quickly knocked three times on the third blue door to his left, then ducked inside before someone saw him.
"Good afternoon, Zachary" A thick British accent cut through the still, humid air in the building.
"Why can't you call me Zack, like everyone else around here?" the agent retorted playfully.
"Because" came the reply with a chuckle "I'm working for you. New news from the base, they're received word that a spread of activity is working its way from South. An unidentified tanker with unmarked cargo ran aground in the Gibraltar. Carlos was just sent to investigate before, he should have a report ready sometime soon. It's nothing you need to worry about"
"Then why, Pray tell, are you explaining this to me?" Zack said irritably "I could be off playing cards, you know. I hate missing cards"
"Yes, yes." A skinny, short man with long, black hair poked his head around a corner but I've nothing else to report. Just be ready for sudden orders from base, they said something was wrong in india, as well."
"That doesn't concern me." Heartling said, spinning on his heel and stepping outside again. His contact, Lucas, was oftentimes too talkative for his own good. Zack opened the door to his own apartment, and sunk down on the cot- perhaps a siesta would be nice today. It had been far too long since he had slept last, anyway.
