Huff laughed. "Woden was right about you. You are an agreeable sort."
So Old One-eye didn't back out of our deal. He better have not.
Huff's gaze then turned steely. "This is what's going to happen. Woden and I will attend your 'execution'. Your IV will be filled with a powerful anesthetic. You will be unconscious for a day or so. We will then take your 'corpse' and smuggle you out of the prison. From then on, you are working for us now."
I nodded. Plan sounded a bit iffy to me but beggars can't be choosers.
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I was being led down the hallway by a group of prison guards. My hand and ankle cuff jewelry jingled loudly. My orange uniform was stained with steak and mashed potatoes, my "last" meal. Soon, my entourage and I burst through a pair of double doors.
A group of witnesses, reporters, family members of victims, and Woden and Huff, all sat in a bunch of chairs. There was a frenzy in the room; they smelled blood. Woden and Huff both grinned smugly at me. Huff winked. I tried not to smile. Then the guards strapped me down to the table.
My arms stuck out like Christ on the crucifix. The head guard pierced the IV into my vein. The clear liquid bubbled a bit and the bag became smaller. I felt the narcotics pump into my bloodstream. I became drowsy; my breathing became slower. Soon, I blacked out.
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When I woke up, I was on a hospital bed with bandages covering my face. "What the hell?" I thought to myself. "What did they do to me?" I said out loud. "Well we had to do it. We certainly can't have a executed murderer seen at a 7-11." Woden and Huff walked into my room.
"The kind doctors and nurses at Hoover Medical Center reconstructed your face while you were unconscious."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
Huff coughed. "Let's get to business." He handed me a manila folder showing photos of a mansion and a Middle-Eastern man. "This is Sharif Al'Muhas. He is believed to be supplying money to several different terrorist organizations. However, the U.S. does not have any concrete proof. So we are sending two Mjolnir Squad operatives i.e. you and another person to liquidate him."
"When do I ship out?"
"Tonight."
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I was sitting on a Chinook carrier helicopter while flexing my cheeks. My cheekbones were now smaller and my lips felt larger. Damn Woden. Sitting beside me was my squad mate. He introduced himself as Charon. I doubted that was the name his mother gave him. I both were armed with M-16 rapid-fire assault rifle (silencer attached), a SPAS-12 assault shotgun, twin Steyr Tactical Machine Pistol submachine guns (silenced), twin 9mm Beretta Elites (also silenced), and a aluminum Louisville Slugger I picked up at the sporting goods store before I left the mainland.
The pilot was listening to a boom box blaring out some hardcore rock song. "Let the bodies hit the floor! Let the bodies hit the floor!" He sang (screamed) along. He stopped shouting in time to hand me and Charon a hip flask. "Have a drink for good luck?" Charon took a swig and handed the flask to me. I took a shot. The whiskey tasted like honey and went down easy. "Augh…" Really strong stuff. My head pounded along with the beat of the song. I was pumped. I felt angry. I was ready to kill.
The pilot shouted to us over the noise of the chopper blades, "We're over Al'Muhas' palace. You two are going to parachute onto the roof. Then you'll infiltrate the building and kill Al'Muhas. When you are done, radio in and I'll pick you up." What was he blabbing about? I knew how to kill. I just wanted to get to the ground and start shooting. Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the floor.
Charon and I leapt out of the helicopter.
