The Anarchist
Chapter 1 - Bad Press
He slowly inspected himself in the mirror, hair freshly cut and face cleanly shaven. He took one last breath and left the apartment, he would be considerably richer when he returned. It had been planned for a month now and tonight would see them plans come to fruition.
It was a crisp September night, the full moon cast a watchful eye over the few citizens that roamed Liberty's streets. The city was still recovering from the month's of bloodshed caused by Liberty's underworld. Rumours had circulated through the tabloids that a lone gunman brought it all to a brutal conclusion with the destruction of a helicopter near the dam that lead to further innocents being killed when it hit the floor. Travis Winters was recalling these events in a dimly lit office, the Liberty Tree journalist was proofing an article on the gunman. Travis hated the guy, he was a vigilante. He took every journalistic opportunity to savage his actions and had just completed another attack. After one last check Travis switched off his computer satisfied with his scathing piece of writing and rose to his feet. Checking the room he realised he was the last person in the office and muttered curses about the others' lack of dedication.
The target from his apartment was a short drive away and he pulled up outside within a matter of minutes. A light was still on in the office upstairs and he spotted a silhouette shuffling around. The engine was quickly switched off, the kuruma door slammed shut and the office entered.
Why the hell had they fired the security guard? Doing the rounds pissed Travis off, it wasn't his job. It was the price he paid for working such hours and always being the last to leave the office. From his workstation he shuffled through the office into the lobby. Glancing around he saw nothing, the can machine glowed in the corner and the ceiling fan continually hummed in its mesmerising fashion. Just one other room to check he thought, the printroom. He strolled over to the over side of the lobby and went through the door. Nope, nothing here. He was walking back to the door into the lobby when a light switched on outside. Puzzled he shouted, "Who's there? Joan is that you?" He spotted the guy as he was opening the lobby door. The figure stood there. Deathly silent. The man was dressed in a dark jacket with brown pants. He had shortly cut dark brown hair. SHIT! It was him!
"I don't agree with your articles about me in the press and I'm here to express my...dissatisfaction." At that the figure thrust a hand into his jacket pocket and clasped a handgun that began gleaming in the harsh office light.
It took three bullets, two for the journalist and one for the surveillance camera just as planned. The gunman darted out of the office back to the kuruma. He now had to make his way to the docks at Portland for his payment. The car screeched to a halt by the harbour, there was no-one around as expected. He could hear the waves lapping against the harbour and the trawlers out at sea. Not far away was the piercing call of a police siren, a familiar sound in Liberty. He cautiously walked up to the harbour's edge, he hated it round here. From the shadows behind him a voice rasped, "Is it done?" The gunman deftly pivoted round to see the small familiar figure in front of him, he relaxed.
"Yes, Winters is no more."
"Did you shoot the camera after you shot him?" the voice was became harder. "Did you?"
"Yes, yes. Just like you said" the gunman replied.
"Excellent" the small figure returned back to the shadows.
"Hey! Where the hell's my payment?" the gunman shouted at the darkness. His reply came in the sound of two muffled shots, both in the head. Back in the shadows the gun was swapped for a cell phone,
"It's Darkel" the voice rasped. "Yes they're dead, both of them."
It was blustery by the harbour, the cold air was biting. A small cigarette light sparked in the shadows and the glare from the cigarette's cherry meandered slowly through the trucks and trailers to a waiting vehicle.
Chapter 1 - Bad Press
He slowly inspected himself in the mirror, hair freshly cut and face cleanly shaven. He took one last breath and left the apartment, he would be considerably richer when he returned. It had been planned for a month now and tonight would see them plans come to fruition.
It was a crisp September night, the full moon cast a watchful eye over the few citizens that roamed Liberty's streets. The city was still recovering from the month's of bloodshed caused by Liberty's underworld. Rumours had circulated through the tabloids that a lone gunman brought it all to a brutal conclusion with the destruction of a helicopter near the dam that lead to further innocents being killed when it hit the floor. Travis Winters was recalling these events in a dimly lit office, the Liberty Tree journalist was proofing an article on the gunman. Travis hated the guy, he was a vigilante. He took every journalistic opportunity to savage his actions and had just completed another attack. After one last check Travis switched off his computer satisfied with his scathing piece of writing and rose to his feet. Checking the room he realised he was the last person in the office and muttered curses about the others' lack of dedication.
The target from his apartment was a short drive away and he pulled up outside within a matter of minutes. A light was still on in the office upstairs and he spotted a silhouette shuffling around. The engine was quickly switched off, the kuruma door slammed shut and the office entered.
Why the hell had they fired the security guard? Doing the rounds pissed Travis off, it wasn't his job. It was the price he paid for working such hours and always being the last to leave the office. From his workstation he shuffled through the office into the lobby. Glancing around he saw nothing, the can machine glowed in the corner and the ceiling fan continually hummed in its mesmerising fashion. Just one other room to check he thought, the printroom. He strolled over to the over side of the lobby and went through the door. Nope, nothing here. He was walking back to the door into the lobby when a light switched on outside. Puzzled he shouted, "Who's there? Joan is that you?" He spotted the guy as he was opening the lobby door. The figure stood there. Deathly silent. The man was dressed in a dark jacket with brown pants. He had shortly cut dark brown hair. SHIT! It was him!
"I don't agree with your articles about me in the press and I'm here to express my...dissatisfaction." At that the figure thrust a hand into his jacket pocket and clasped a handgun that began gleaming in the harsh office light.
It took three bullets, two for the journalist and one for the surveillance camera just as planned. The gunman darted out of the office back to the kuruma. He now had to make his way to the docks at Portland for his payment. The car screeched to a halt by the harbour, there was no-one around as expected. He could hear the waves lapping against the harbour and the trawlers out at sea. Not far away was the piercing call of a police siren, a familiar sound in Liberty. He cautiously walked up to the harbour's edge, he hated it round here. From the shadows behind him a voice rasped, "Is it done?" The gunman deftly pivoted round to see the small familiar figure in front of him, he relaxed.
"Yes, Winters is no more."
"Did you shoot the camera after you shot him?" the voice was became harder. "Did you?"
"Yes, yes. Just like you said" the gunman replied.
"Excellent" the small figure returned back to the shadows.
"Hey! Where the hell's my payment?" the gunman shouted at the darkness. His reply came in the sound of two muffled shots, both in the head. Back in the shadows the gun was swapped for a cell phone,
"It's Darkel" the voice rasped. "Yes they're dead, both of them."
It was blustery by the harbour, the cold air was biting. A small cigarette light sparked in the shadows and the glare from the cigarette's cherry meandered slowly through the trucks and trailers to a waiting vehicle.