Siren Song
Chapter 6: Target
By: Dark-Elk
Mackenzie's footsteps echoed through the darkness as he walked down the street, making his way towards his target. His face was impassive, the stoic hardness reminiscent of his harsh training. Removing targets was always difficult for him, for he had a certain empathy with many of the so- called "dissidents". This demagogue, this crazed politician. . .was so convinced that the UED fleet in the Koprulu sector had been annihilated that the UED was going to terminate him. Were this target a normal person, someone without influence, Mackenzie wouldn't be paying him a visit as he was now obliged to. Only those with power worried the UED, and the power to rouse the masses, the power to change UED belief. . .that was a power that needed to be extinguished.
It wasn't long before Mackenzie entered the more affluent side of town. The two sides were like the faces of a coin, one complementing the other. There couldn't be slums without a rich neighborhood to contrast with. Likewise, the rich felt more so knowing that mere klicks away, men who could otherwise be their equals were being oppressed, kept down by their lack of currency. It sickened Mackenzie in a way little else did, not so much the belief, but the fact that the UED had never made any moves to curb societal excesses, never held out a hand to those in need.
This side of town was beautiful, almost picturesque. Everything was perfectly painted and manicured, giving it a false appearance of perfection. Under the surface, the hearts of many of these rich men were as black as the void of space. Mackenzie hated them, because though he knew them evil, he knew what he did for a living was more so.
Despite the news calling him "The Noble Assassin", he was still a killer at heart, destroyer by nature. He loved the elation he got from chasing down his prey, be they hardened criminal or dissident citizen. He hated himself for enjoying the hunt, but was glad that he didn't enjoy the end of the hunt, the actual kill. Mackenzie always strived to make his eliminations as painful as possible, affording his target all the dignity he could. Death was too much for some that he had hunted. . .far too much.
There was only one kill that Mackenzie had ever made that he agreed with, despite how it was resolved; only one out of hundreds of people he eliminated he felt truly deserved the justice he dealt. Mackenzie had hunted his target for over a week across the world, through crowded metropolises and across unforgiving wastelands. Mackenzie had been proud of that kill, not because of the lengths he went to make it, but because of who his target was. The target was a serial-rapist with a penchant for young teenage girls, raping them viciously and then leaving their bodies discarded, no longer holding any value for him. Dozens of girls were killed before the authorities even realized that the rapes were connected, but once they came to the realization, Mackenzie was out the door and on his trail within minutes.
The rapist must have had friends in high places, because he stopped immediately and started fleeing, trying to fool Mackenzie into losing his trail, but things that may fool a normal person won't even register to a well-trained telepath, and Mackenzie was one of the most powerful psionicists the UED had ever known.
The trail ended in a small, abandoned village in a desert. The rapist had made one too many mistakes on the run, as all fleeing from justice invariably do, and had allowed himself to be cornered, his supplies expended. Mackenzie called to the man, ordering him to show himself. The man stood, arms raised in surrender, expecting mercy from his foe. He got none.
Mackenzie snapped his rifle down from his back faster than an eye blink, and fired three rounds at the man's chest, obliterating it in an instant, leaving his upper body barely connected to his lower. He fell to his knees, hands still raised in surrender, and died under the harsh desert sun seconds later.
The kill, like all others, was a black mark on Mackenzie's heart, a tarnish on the soul Mackenzie was no longer sure he possessed. How could he, with what he had done? A lesser man would have received dozens of consecutive life sentences for what he had done, but instead he had received medals, commendations, promotions. . .but since that kill he had always tried to eliminate his targets quietly, giving them their dignity even in death, making it as painless as possible.
Mackenzie shifted his rifle on his back, and tapped the side of his helmet, activating the display. A few more taps gave him a map of the city, a route to his target clearly delineated. He sighed softly, and began walking again, this time paying no attention to the neighborhood, instead keeping a close eye on the pedestrians on the street. He wondered often how it must feel to be a civilian, to not have to snip the threads that connected people to life. The life appealed to him. . .but he knew it would bore him. . .there was no challenge to pedestrian life, no use for his talents. No, he was bound to the UED by his talents for as long as he lived.
The sky was beginning to lighten again, a sign that dawn was fast approaching. Mackenzie broke into a jog, and then into a fast run. He needed to reach the target now; his reminiscences and musings had wasted too much of his time, entertaining though they were. He followed the supplied route as fast as he could, keeping alert for any shortcuts he could find. There weren't many, but he did manage to reach the politicians residence before light had completely flooded the sky.
There was a thick gate guarding the mansion; the politician knew he had enemies apparently, but the gate wouldn't stop Mackenzie in the least. Mackenzie took a running dash at the gate, deftly springing up into the air and landing on top of it. He hopped down to the ground silently, eyes scanning around him for any who might have spotted him. Satisfied there were none, he activated his cloaking device.
Cloaking was the only part of his missions that he enjoyed. Cloaking was a race against time, a race to prove who was faster, the bearer or the drain on the batteries of the device. Mackenzie loved it; it was another facet to the hunt, another tool he could use to find his prey.
He dashed quickly up the driveway until he reached the side of the house. The sides were sheer metal armor, clearly making the home more than a private residence and more like a fortress. He thought for a moment, and then reached in a pouch and pulled out a few climbing spikes. He pressed the buttons upon them, and slammed them onto the metal surface. The magnets within activated, and he began his ascent to the politician's window.
The sheer wall was a hard climb, but Mackenzie had done worse before. In one operation he had been forced to climb a surface that angled outwards, thus making falling an even greater possibility. Despite the overwhelming odds leaning towards his fall, he had reached the top, achieving his goal.
Mackenzie paused to get his bearings, and could make out the faint outline of the window above and to the left of him. Adjusting his course, he continued his ascent towards the target. He reached the window, a permanently sealed design for safety. Removing one hand from the climbing spikes, he reached into his belt for a small laser scalpel. He adjusted the intensity, flicked it on, and began tracing the outline of the window. A faint orange beam emitted, not seeming to do much until he had completed his trace, after which the wall section came loose. He attached a small magnet clamp to it and the wall, turning the window into a doorway for his entry. Carefully removing his hand from the other climbing spike, he grabbed onto the newly created doorway, flipping himself into the room beyond.
The man was sound asleep, all the better for Mackenzie; it made his job easier, and the target's death more painless. He started towards the bed before stopping. A small, nearly invisible laser grid covered the entire floor; without his visor and goggles he never would have seen it. Looking around the room's perimeters, he could see the emitters and hidden panels that no doubt concealed automated gun turrets or the like. Congratulating himself on his discoveries, he set about deactivating the system.
At first he had little progress, because he wasn't fully prepared for such a defense, but using some of the supplies on hand he quickly managed to modify the laser scalpel into a remote control, something he had learned from Raymas. Then he scanned the room for low-level communications, knowing that the system was no doubt controlled by something on the politician's person. Seizing the active frequency, he modified the scalpel a little more, and then turned it on. The effect was immediate; all the lasers snapped off silently, paving the way for Mackenzie's further entry. He continued forward cautiously, continuously scanning the room for any changes. He got within three feet of the bed before an alarm went off.
Looking around wildly, he managed to spot a miniature camera placed directly above the window, the only blind spot he had when entering the room. Cursing silently, he darted forward to complete his mission and make his exit, but stopped short as the politician sat up with two pistols in hand, one aimed at Mackenzie's left eye, the other aimed for his abdomen.
"Move and I shoot. I've been expecting you, Surak."
Mackenzie's mind reeled. How had this man known he would be coming? Shaking off the thoughts, he started forward. The man shifted the pistol from his abdomen slightly and fired, grazing Mackenzie's side.
"I'm serious, Mackenzie. I don't want to have to hurt you. I need you too much."
"Who are you?" asked Mackenzie.
"I'm someone who needs your services. If you do not wish to die, you will surrender your rifle immediately. I know all about you, Surak. I know about the dreams you've been having, the misgivings about the Dominion. I can help you, Mackenzie."
"What do you want?" asked Mackenzie, his voice calm.
"Nothing more than your companionship, my friend. For the moment though, I regret being forced to do this."
"Do. . ." was all Mackenzie managed before something stung his neck, flooding coldness through his body. His legs went limp, and he slid to the floor unconscious.
Chapter 6: Target
By: Dark-Elk
Mackenzie's footsteps echoed through the darkness as he walked down the street, making his way towards his target. His face was impassive, the stoic hardness reminiscent of his harsh training. Removing targets was always difficult for him, for he had a certain empathy with many of the so- called "dissidents". This demagogue, this crazed politician. . .was so convinced that the UED fleet in the Koprulu sector had been annihilated that the UED was going to terminate him. Were this target a normal person, someone without influence, Mackenzie wouldn't be paying him a visit as he was now obliged to. Only those with power worried the UED, and the power to rouse the masses, the power to change UED belief. . .that was a power that needed to be extinguished.
It wasn't long before Mackenzie entered the more affluent side of town. The two sides were like the faces of a coin, one complementing the other. There couldn't be slums without a rich neighborhood to contrast with. Likewise, the rich felt more so knowing that mere klicks away, men who could otherwise be their equals were being oppressed, kept down by their lack of currency. It sickened Mackenzie in a way little else did, not so much the belief, but the fact that the UED had never made any moves to curb societal excesses, never held out a hand to those in need.
This side of town was beautiful, almost picturesque. Everything was perfectly painted and manicured, giving it a false appearance of perfection. Under the surface, the hearts of many of these rich men were as black as the void of space. Mackenzie hated them, because though he knew them evil, he knew what he did for a living was more so.
Despite the news calling him "The Noble Assassin", he was still a killer at heart, destroyer by nature. He loved the elation he got from chasing down his prey, be they hardened criminal or dissident citizen. He hated himself for enjoying the hunt, but was glad that he didn't enjoy the end of the hunt, the actual kill. Mackenzie always strived to make his eliminations as painful as possible, affording his target all the dignity he could. Death was too much for some that he had hunted. . .far too much.
There was only one kill that Mackenzie had ever made that he agreed with, despite how it was resolved; only one out of hundreds of people he eliminated he felt truly deserved the justice he dealt. Mackenzie had hunted his target for over a week across the world, through crowded metropolises and across unforgiving wastelands. Mackenzie had been proud of that kill, not because of the lengths he went to make it, but because of who his target was. The target was a serial-rapist with a penchant for young teenage girls, raping them viciously and then leaving their bodies discarded, no longer holding any value for him. Dozens of girls were killed before the authorities even realized that the rapes were connected, but once they came to the realization, Mackenzie was out the door and on his trail within minutes.
The rapist must have had friends in high places, because he stopped immediately and started fleeing, trying to fool Mackenzie into losing his trail, but things that may fool a normal person won't even register to a well-trained telepath, and Mackenzie was one of the most powerful psionicists the UED had ever known.
The trail ended in a small, abandoned village in a desert. The rapist had made one too many mistakes on the run, as all fleeing from justice invariably do, and had allowed himself to be cornered, his supplies expended. Mackenzie called to the man, ordering him to show himself. The man stood, arms raised in surrender, expecting mercy from his foe. He got none.
Mackenzie snapped his rifle down from his back faster than an eye blink, and fired three rounds at the man's chest, obliterating it in an instant, leaving his upper body barely connected to his lower. He fell to his knees, hands still raised in surrender, and died under the harsh desert sun seconds later.
The kill, like all others, was a black mark on Mackenzie's heart, a tarnish on the soul Mackenzie was no longer sure he possessed. How could he, with what he had done? A lesser man would have received dozens of consecutive life sentences for what he had done, but instead he had received medals, commendations, promotions. . .but since that kill he had always tried to eliminate his targets quietly, giving them their dignity even in death, making it as painless as possible.
Mackenzie shifted his rifle on his back, and tapped the side of his helmet, activating the display. A few more taps gave him a map of the city, a route to his target clearly delineated. He sighed softly, and began walking again, this time paying no attention to the neighborhood, instead keeping a close eye on the pedestrians on the street. He wondered often how it must feel to be a civilian, to not have to snip the threads that connected people to life. The life appealed to him. . .but he knew it would bore him. . .there was no challenge to pedestrian life, no use for his talents. No, he was bound to the UED by his talents for as long as he lived.
The sky was beginning to lighten again, a sign that dawn was fast approaching. Mackenzie broke into a jog, and then into a fast run. He needed to reach the target now; his reminiscences and musings had wasted too much of his time, entertaining though they were. He followed the supplied route as fast as he could, keeping alert for any shortcuts he could find. There weren't many, but he did manage to reach the politicians residence before light had completely flooded the sky.
There was a thick gate guarding the mansion; the politician knew he had enemies apparently, but the gate wouldn't stop Mackenzie in the least. Mackenzie took a running dash at the gate, deftly springing up into the air and landing on top of it. He hopped down to the ground silently, eyes scanning around him for any who might have spotted him. Satisfied there were none, he activated his cloaking device.
Cloaking was the only part of his missions that he enjoyed. Cloaking was a race against time, a race to prove who was faster, the bearer or the drain on the batteries of the device. Mackenzie loved it; it was another facet to the hunt, another tool he could use to find his prey.
He dashed quickly up the driveway until he reached the side of the house. The sides were sheer metal armor, clearly making the home more than a private residence and more like a fortress. He thought for a moment, and then reached in a pouch and pulled out a few climbing spikes. He pressed the buttons upon them, and slammed them onto the metal surface. The magnets within activated, and he began his ascent to the politician's window.
The sheer wall was a hard climb, but Mackenzie had done worse before. In one operation he had been forced to climb a surface that angled outwards, thus making falling an even greater possibility. Despite the overwhelming odds leaning towards his fall, he had reached the top, achieving his goal.
Mackenzie paused to get his bearings, and could make out the faint outline of the window above and to the left of him. Adjusting his course, he continued his ascent towards the target. He reached the window, a permanently sealed design for safety. Removing one hand from the climbing spikes, he reached into his belt for a small laser scalpel. He adjusted the intensity, flicked it on, and began tracing the outline of the window. A faint orange beam emitted, not seeming to do much until he had completed his trace, after which the wall section came loose. He attached a small magnet clamp to it and the wall, turning the window into a doorway for his entry. Carefully removing his hand from the other climbing spike, he grabbed onto the newly created doorway, flipping himself into the room beyond.
The man was sound asleep, all the better for Mackenzie; it made his job easier, and the target's death more painless. He started towards the bed before stopping. A small, nearly invisible laser grid covered the entire floor; without his visor and goggles he never would have seen it. Looking around the room's perimeters, he could see the emitters and hidden panels that no doubt concealed automated gun turrets or the like. Congratulating himself on his discoveries, he set about deactivating the system.
At first he had little progress, because he wasn't fully prepared for such a defense, but using some of the supplies on hand he quickly managed to modify the laser scalpel into a remote control, something he had learned from Raymas. Then he scanned the room for low-level communications, knowing that the system was no doubt controlled by something on the politician's person. Seizing the active frequency, he modified the scalpel a little more, and then turned it on. The effect was immediate; all the lasers snapped off silently, paving the way for Mackenzie's further entry. He continued forward cautiously, continuously scanning the room for any changes. He got within three feet of the bed before an alarm went off.
Looking around wildly, he managed to spot a miniature camera placed directly above the window, the only blind spot he had when entering the room. Cursing silently, he darted forward to complete his mission and make his exit, but stopped short as the politician sat up with two pistols in hand, one aimed at Mackenzie's left eye, the other aimed for his abdomen.
"Move and I shoot. I've been expecting you, Surak."
Mackenzie's mind reeled. How had this man known he would be coming? Shaking off the thoughts, he started forward. The man shifted the pistol from his abdomen slightly and fired, grazing Mackenzie's side.
"I'm serious, Mackenzie. I don't want to have to hurt you. I need you too much."
"Who are you?" asked Mackenzie.
"I'm someone who needs your services. If you do not wish to die, you will surrender your rifle immediately. I know all about you, Surak. I know about the dreams you've been having, the misgivings about the Dominion. I can help you, Mackenzie."
"What do you want?" asked Mackenzie, his voice calm.
"Nothing more than your companionship, my friend. For the moment though, I regret being forced to do this."
"Do. . ." was all Mackenzie managed before something stung his neck, flooding coldness through his body. His legs went limp, and he slid to the floor unconscious.