Beginning of the End
It's a feeling, a feeling I've never felt before in my life. A feeling of, of failure, of discontent. Of all people a situation like this should happen to, I'm quite surprised it would happen to me. I'm also upset, upset that my people left me for dead. They just treated me like I didn't exist after my disappearance. Abandoning me so I may suffer in this Hellish crypt. Oh well, I better make the best of it…
Suddenly, the door is kicked open and yet another Russian Mafiya goon comes in. He picks me up by the collar of my throat. He then drags me to the opposing side of the room an throws me into a wooden chair. Light from the outside shines through the iron bars separating me from the outside shines brightly upon my face.
Another guard walks in, this one in a paramilitary uniform, holding a watt generator and a small metal prod.
"Not this again", I say loud enough for only myself to hear.
"So Mr. 47, are we going to be talking today, or are we going to hook you up with old faithful again?", he says in a thick Russian accent.
"Why don't you just kill me now you Russky bastard?", I say with deliberate offense.
He smiles at me and delivers a blow to my stomach. I fall flat on my ass but manage to force out a pained laugh.
I laugh hoarsely and spit in his face.
The smile is quickly turned to anger as he drop kicks me in the face. He goes for a second kick. I evade thrust forward and head butt him right in the nose. He falls on his back and stares at me as his nose begins to bleed.
I begin to laugh once again. "You bastards are all one in the same in my book."
He gets up and his face turns redder than the blood that pours out of his nose. He draws his Glock 17 pistol and forces me to the ground. He forces the pistol into my face and stares right at me. "You better fucking talk or your brains are going to find their way on the floor!"
I spit the blood in my mouth on to his eyes. It momentarily blinds him and I send me knee into his groin. He rolls off screaming in agony. I sprawl to my feet only to be met by the other guard. He pulls out a Combat Knife and slices at my throat. I narrowly avoid it by a couple of inches. When he moves in for a second attack I spin around and allow him to cut the rope tied around my hands. The knife cuts the rope loose enough for me to pull it apart. He cuts my arm a little and I'm bleeding, but I don't care. I counter attack with a powerful snap kick to his nose. The sound of his neck breaking is reassuring to me.
I turn to the paramilitary man who has by now removed the blood from his eyes and has the pistol aimed in my direction. I duck down right as the 9mm round whizzes over my head. The heat from the bullet seems to burn the skin on my head. I move in and grab the pistol pry it from his hands and put three rounds into him; two to his chest and one to his forehead. I run out of crypt and into the hallway only to be met by, you know what, more guards…
"Freeze!", another mafiya member says. This one's wielding an AK-74.
Before the bastard can aim his weapon I send a round his way. The round blows through his head taking a big chunk of gray matter with it. He slumps to the ground lifeless.
"He's escaped!", I heard several guards say behind the door next to me.
I think quick and notice a window at the end of the hall. I remember that I am on the second floor, shouldn't be too far of a drop. I charge without a second thought and sprint towards the end of the hall. I reach the window when several goons are on my tail. I jump through the window as several hot rounds shear my skin, only flesh wounds…
I land in a pile of empty boxes, the only lucky thing that's happened in the past 3 days, and roll the ground. The guards from the window aim down and begin to spit fire in my direction. I move around evasively but with agility and take cover behind a load of crates. I then aim for the window and send several rounds in the direction but don't look back. The fire stops momentarily and I take the chance to head for a gate that looks like an exit. I run through it only to be met by several sniper's zeroed in on me. Several red dots play tricks with my eyes and crawl on my forehead…
"How did this all start?", Agent Mckinnery asks.
"The beginning, oh that's something completely different and I really don't feel like telling that long drawn out story."
The agent sighs, "47, I have all day, we just need the details."
"Okay then. We'll get back to that story later.", 47 leans back in his chair. Fatigue fills the bags under his eyes. "It all started in China Town, Los Angeles"…