Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or anything else from Hitman: Codename 47, which is the property of IOI Interactive. However, the original characters are mine.

Author's Note:

Jacketed Hollow Point

Chapter 3: Birds of Feather

Jin's eyes widened as he became aware of the cold touch of the wire upon the sensitive skin of his neck and reflexively whirled around, thrusting his leg at his attacker's chest. The kick landed squarely on the man's center of gravity, releasing the wire from Jin's throat and sending his assailant tumbling towards the ground only to hunch into a backwards roll, standing up and regaining his footing almost instantly.

Amazed at the man's speed, Jin backed away and reached for his M500, grasping the rubberized grips of the revolver and drawing it from his coat pocket only to look straight up into the barrel of a finely polished chrome pistol, clutched in a black-gloved hand and leveled squarely at his head.

"Drop it." The man spoke in fluent English, with a voice that was detached, yet determined. Although it carried an almost casual tone, it somehow managed to sound deathly serious at the same time, an effect probably slightly enhanced by the barely noticeable, almost British accent his speech carried. An empty clatter interrupted the quiet howl of the winds as Jin dropped the revolver to the ground. "Put your hands behind your head and lie face-down on the ground. Slowly."

"What do you think you are, a cop?" Jin spat in disgust. The reply came in the form of a foot swiftly crunching into his face, smashing his lower lip against his teeth and sending him reeling backwards and landing hard on his back. Stunned from the blow, he only managed to raise a hand to wipe some blood from his partially-crushed lower lip before he found the other man standing directly above him, pistol still aimed at his head.

"Put your hands behind your head and lie face-down on the ground. I'm not going to say it again." This time, Jin decided against offering any replies and grudgingly complied.

As he turned around to face the floor, Jin managed to get a better look at his opponent. The man was tall, probably Caucasian. He was clad in a jet-black suit, which fit snugly over a pair of square shoulders. The suit was unbuttoned at the top, partially revealing a white formal shirt, split down the middle by a blood-red tie. Jin tried to get a look at the man's face, but his attacker had positioned himself directly in front of the moonlight just so that it would silhouette his figure, obscuring most of the facial features of his bald head with a cloak of dark shadow. The man obviously knew what he was doing and was quite obviously not a law enforcement official, seeing how he had apparently attempted to garotte him to death earlier.

Once he was lying securely on his stomach with his hands raised behind his head, Jin heard his captor continue to speak.

"I want you to tell me who the informant is."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Jin heard a tired sigh emerge from the other man's mouth and froze as he felt the cold metal of the silencer barrel press against his skull along with the soft click of the hammer being cocked.

"You knew I was staying in that room. Who told you?"

Jin honestly didn't know which to be more alarmed at. The fact that this man holding a gun to his head was his target, or the fact that he honestly didn't have a good answer to the man's previous question. If Jin were to give Ricky's name, his captor would almost certainly continue to ask him for the identity of the person who had informed Ricky. It was almost certain that not having an answer to that question couldn't possibly have a good outcome. Taking in a deep breath, Jin turned his head slightly just so that he could see the bald man in the corner of his eye and spoke.

"So, why would you want to know that…Mr. Rieper?"

It was a long shot, but Jin figured it might buy him the time he needed. Say the guy's name when he doesn't expect you to know it, causing him to gasp or hesitate for a moment, buying you the second or two that you need to turn the tables. Almost always works in the movies, he figured to himself.

"Three."

Unfortunately, these weren't the movies. Mr. Rieper didn't gasp, hesitate, pause or show any sort of response. In fact Mr. Rieper's facial expression hadn't even moved an inch.

"Two."

Then again, that was probably because Mr. Rieper was a name that he had borne only for as long as was necessary. A very impermanent, disposable thing, another label temporarily attached to the bald assassin for another country, another place, another contract, and inevitably, another accident, tragedy or murder left in his wake.

But surprisingly, underneath all the falsified documents and fake identities, Mr. Rieper did have a real name. A name that began as a production number of sorts, bestowed upon him like an unwanted blessing by a twisted creator. A name he was addressed by only when speaking to his employers. A name almost never spoken outside the agency's walls. Shrouded in secrecy, myth and lies as it was, nothing changed the fact that it was, is and always would the closest thing to a real identity he had.

His name was 47.

"One."

47's finger brushed the trigger of his pistol, and the quiet song of the wind was shattered once again.

Only this time, it was not by the crack of a gunshot or the scream of a human life vanishing forever, but was the deafening crash of the door to roof being kicked open by an unwanted observer, who was quickly frozen in place by the sight of 47's swiftly-drawn second pistol trained on him.

Hearing the disturbance, Jin wasted no time in attempting to snatch his revolver from the ground, but immediately stopped upon seeing the black-suited assassin standing between him and the intruder, each hand gripping one pistol, one pistol aimed at each enemy.

47 glanced between both targets quickly. Jin was inches away from his M500, and the intruder grasped a small black pistol, too far away to identify. Shooting either one would be risky, as it would give the other the time he needed to take a shot at him. Realizing his only option, 47's normally passive face twisted into a frown as he began to back away towards the door, twin pistols still leveled on both targets.

Jin's mind worked furiously as he watched the man back away towards the doorway, considering whether or not to try taking a shot at him. Eyes passing over his adversary's weapons, he realized that it was out of the question. They were a pair of customized AMT Hardballer pistols, long slide variant. The extra length of their slides meant extra accuracy, and if the bald assassin was as skilled as he appeared to be, it meant practically next to no chance of him missing either of them with the first shots at this range.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as 47 moved step by step towards the door, each footfall raising the tension for all three men. Raw adrenaline flooded their veins as their senses grew sharper by the second, each watching and waiting for an opportunity to strike. The intruder slowly pivoted to face 47 as he neared the doorway, his heart pounding faster and faster within his chest with every step the black-suited man took towards him and the door.

Finally, 47 reached the doorway, standing almost directly beside the intruder and pausing for a moment. However, the pause did not last for long as he grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him off balance and kicked him forwards, sending him tumbling forward. Raising the twin Hardballers, 47 dove backwards down the stairway, firing off a volley of wild shots at the two as he fell, the roar of each gunshot accompanied by the sound of concrete shattering and cracking as the .45 rounds bit into the surface of the roof around the two men, who immediately rolled out of the way. Leaping to their feet, they both immediately grabbed their guns and sprinted towards the open doorway, only to find nothing more than an empty corridor, thick with the smell of gun smoke and littered with a trail of freshly discarded shell casings.

Jin's eyes narrowed as he felt the steel barrel of a SIG P226 pistol press against the side of his throat, but didn't bother moving; his own weapon was already pointed at his adversary's gut.

Jin then slowly turned to look at the other man, who was already facing him. His adversary looked young and was slightly shorter than him, though not by much. He was of an exceptionally slender build, almost more like a boy than a man, though he was by no means frail; The midnight purple casual shirt and the flowing black trench coat he wore tightly hugged the upper portion of his body, flattering his lithe frame and his slightly-squared shoulders. One of the shirt buttons was left undone, the soft, thin fabric parting to reveal pale, alabaster flesh interrupted by a contrasting, jet-black choker running across the middle of his slim neck. Long, feathery bangs of black hair that shone slightly brown in the moonlight obscured most of his forehead and one of his eyes, the rest of it flowing down to shoulder-length and gently blowing in the chilly breeze. His thickly-lashed almond-shaped eyes, thin, well-defined eyebrows, sharp nose and small, soft mouth combined with the pale complexion of his smooth-jawed, oval face to give him a slightly delicate, almost innocent look. However, any illusion of innocence promoted by the man's appearance was entirely negated thanks to the pistol he still held pressed against Jin's throat and the small smirk playing along his lips.

Jin was certainly very surprised at his opponent's appearance. The man looked like the last type of person you'd expect to find in this situation.

"Who are you?" He asked, finally breaking the silence. The question was spoken in English, as Jin assumed that this man certainly wasn't a local, judging by his appearance.

His adversary let out a sigh. "Can't you be more original?" he said in a slightly mocking, sing-song voice.

Jin cocked the hammer on his revolver. "Don't play around with me, prettyboy. I want to know who you are, and what you were doing up here. I want you to tell me now." He said threateningly, his patience with the newcomer quickly evaporating.

"Oh? Why the hostility? I'm only up here for the same reason you are, after all."

"So you're on my side? I don't buy it."

"Never said I was." The man let out a small laugh, bringing up his other hand to give his fringe a light flick. "Let's just say that you know just as well as I do that we're both merchants of death, and we're both after the biggest catch in the market."

The sentence was punctuated by the distant wail of approaching police sirens, echoing upwards from the streets below and filling the night sky.

"Hmm, and I suppose that's our wake-up call. I'd best get going for now…But before that, would you be so kind as to aim that someplace else?" He smiled, gesturing towards the revolver pressed against his body.

"You seriously think that I'm going to lower this gun and let you just stroll off?" Jin snarled, having long since developed a strong irritation towards the other man's careless, playful attitude.

"And why not? You mean you'd prefer to let the lawmen make their merry way up here to find us in this little John-Woo style standoff?"

Jin muttered a low curse as he acknowledged the man's reasoning. As much as he wanted to get some answers out of this man and pull the trigger on him soon afterwards, they didn't have much time before the area was filled with cops, obviously alerted to the scene by Mr. Rieper in an attempt to slow them down.

"Fine. I'll let you go…THIS time." Jin relented, feeling slightly relieved as he felt the cold touch of the gun barrel pressed against his throat fade away almost simultaneously as he lowered his own weapon. "But don't expect to get off so easily if I see you again. You've already made a big mistake by telling me that you're my competition, so don't make another by being stupid enough to get in my way."

The other man laughed, then turned to leave, quickly slipping into the stairway and disappearing down the stairs, leaving Jin once again alone on the roof, surrounded by the howling wind.

After standing there for a moment, Jin hastily slid the M500 revolver back into his coat, wiped a fleck of blood from his lip and turned to make his own exit from the now-silent rooftop.

"Shit." He muttered as he descended the empty staircase, footsteps echoing all around him.