We're here again for another chapter! Last time, our hero passed away from the fall. So, what's going to happen in this chapter?

PugilisticSonofaGun: Because spy is not in assassin's creed... so the stab failed! xD

Navi2413: thanks again! I always have a smile when i read your little review again.

And, I'd like to thank Govnuh again for checking the chapter. Leave a review if you liked it or if you have anything else to share!

Enjoy!

Chapter 3: The target

I was hurt. So hurt. It was like as if a hammer was bashing my skull, or like a clapper's bell hitting my head. Then, the whole cacophony spread through the limits of my paralyzed body, increasing the amount of pain consuming me.

It was this torture that awakened me.

That awful headache dragged me out of the darkness. The heat began to reach my skin, my numbed limbs roasting under my soaked, bloody cloak, with the taste of blood in my mouth.. I was a little dizzy, and quickly, wanted to feel the light on my eyelids. I gently open my eyes, and understand right away that my glasses were still on my face, yet still covered with the Frenchman's remains. No one removed it, and I started becoming worried and nervous again. I was also feeling nauseous: at the rot smell of the cadaver, the corpse wasn't far away from me. I could still inhale the distinct scent of death.

I moaned in pain when I tried moving my arms. Okay. Think and try to remember. New-Mexico. Teufort. Killing contract. The weird guy with a television. The young women. The briefcase's thief.

Little by little, I recovered my last memories and senses back. I passed out after a strong impact, just after I felt myself glide in the wind. Then, nothing: the blackout.

I moved several fingers in order to check the good use of my muscles. A slight pain came across them. I waited for my temporary paralysis to clear itself, before I hardly raised my unscathed arm. I clumsily undid one of the two leather strips on the side of the glasses, taking them away. I was finally able to see the dazzling light, warming my entire body.

When the sun reached my eyes, I was blind for a few seconds; it drew some tears from my eyes. As I was recovering my sight, a shadow leaned over me, hiding the comforting sunshine from me, blurring my vision. Slowly, it got better, to find again its natural sharpness, to whine in surprise when I saw the man watching me.

A guy, sitting cross-legged next to me. He was wearing a heavy black rubber latex gas mask, keeping a close eye to my reactions behind his tinted plastic glasses.

He noticed my dazed expression, then my certain fear at my wide opened eyes. This man, or even woman -because there was no clue of his gender, it made me shivered by his mere presence. He was wearing a bright red, hazmat-looking suit, with a belt filled with explosive devices and ammo solidly tied to his torso. He had a flare gun fastened at his waist, and, the most terrifying part, had a stick, looking like the handle of an axe handle beyond his back. There was some traces of blood on his clothing, without mentioning the foul smell of burnt flesh. I could barely stare at his flamethrower lying next to him, a bead of sweat running down my neck.

"Mphmp mmph phumph?" He spoke, his voice thoroughly muffled by his mask.

I remained still, while he continued gazing at me. He softly turned his head to the left, then to the right, to observe me better. He even came closer to my face, staring at my brown eyes. Then, he slowly raised his arm with caution, bringing it closer to my terrorized face...

I knew it. He was going to roast me alive.

… and he waved his hand instead, offering a friendly salute.

Seriously, was I on drugs again? I was honestly doubting my mental health. Did I take a hit on the head when I fell? Faced to this so weird situation, I was in the right to think it. Few years ingesting acids and hallucinogenic misled me on many occasions...

I turned my head to avoid eye contact with the strange guy. The shack was upon us, pieces of wood all around the ground. I saw, at the same time, three silhouettes of three men, a few meters from us. There was a very tall, big bald man, still dressed in red, strangely looking like one of my past observations. Crossing his huge arms, he listened to the two fellows next to him. One of them was wearing small, round glasses, with dark hair, wearing a long, white medical gown. He was carrying a strange device in his back, wired to some kind of gun. The last, and surely the smallest, was scratching his forehead with an iron wrench. I could hardly see his face, since he was wearing an orange hard hat, and similar goggles to mine. And, again, he was in red clothes, with an apron: he looked like a mechanic with the big red toolbox lying near his feet.

"Huda phda mphmp phm!" The masked pyromaniac made wide signs through the air, trying to get attention from the three red man.

Even if I wanted, I was way too tired to turn and give him a look. So I just stared at the strangers, attracted by the signals of their comrade. They quickly arrived, the white coat man first, to scan me with suspicious, questioned looks.

"So, our little friend is alive!" he said, with satisfaction. Like the Frenchman, this one had a very loud accent, but a German one. "He vill not go anyvere. He's still too shocked." he whispered to the smallest.

"Yeah. He seems more tired than anythin' after the fall. But careful fellas. We don't know him, and what he was doin' here." he replied. "And any experience or somethin', doc."

"Ja, Ja." The German rolled his eyes.

"What a strange clothin'..." he wondered to himself.

Someone ran, far distant from us. I geard him coming toward us, and finally saw a boy, a dynamic young man approaching the red men.

"Scout." the mechanic announced, with a smile. "Did ya get Miss Paulin' already?"

"Yeah. The ol' witch wants him alive an' healed. Don't ask why, 'cause I dunno why." he said, with a Bostonian accent, while he was swinging his baseball bat though the air. According to his facial traits under his brownish cap, he was very young, maybe twenty years old at the most.

"The Administrator herself? But..." He opened his mouth, but remained in the silence. "Well, then. Anyway, thanks, Scout. That'll be all for now."

"Wow, the fuckin' man's lookin' like a fuckin' junkie." The teenager laughed as he saw my disguise. "Just like tha freakin' spy in f*** stupid clothes!"

The giant watched me at his turn, with his bright blue eyes, smirking at my sight. He seemed both interested and suspicious towards me.

"So, you heard, Medic?" He gave a look to the German. "You know what you have to do."

"Ja, Ja. I vill take care of him."

I felt like I my fate was in their hands, as they could end it in a simple move. Another noise interrupted the sympathetic meeting of my guards. Behind them, another person jumped off a rusty staircase, who was leading to the precedent shack. He stepped forward as the circle split up to let him walk and join them.

I stared him with my eyes fulled of surprise. He was carrying my rifle in his hands. He knew.

"What's that thing!" exclaimed the Bostonian, as he rushed to the man, trying to snatch the weapon off his hands.

"Don't touch that!" he growled, elbowing the whining boy away. "This is not a toy, and even less for you."

"You found it, Sniper?" asked the mechanic.

"Yeah, mate," confirmed the Sniper. He walked until he was facing me with all his size. A hat made of leather hid his face by its shadow, just as like his sunglasses, hiding his eyes by its lenses. He was, as I expected, dressed in red. "It's yours, isn't it?" he asked me, by a sign of the head, with his cold voice, contrasting his Australian accent.

I couldn't lie to the man. He climbed to find my gun, to confront me with it. He knew since the beginning that I wasn't here to check out the view, but to kill someone. Everybody knew.

I just nodded to answer him, without moving or saying any word.

"Just like Oi though."

This ''Sniper'' glared at me. He was still cold toward me, watching me just like to break through my mask, and stare at my whole face. The other red men became more hesitant at the sight of the gun, more careful about my person.

I thought and thought. I was in a bad situation, and every move could possibly lead me to death.

I remembered the contract, still in my trouser's pocket. I started to actively look for it, my hands searching through my mantle. It was folded in four, in the back pocket of my battledress. Everyone payed attention to my movements, and even more when I took a hand out of the cloak, to held the precious paper toward them.

Every man gave me strange looks, before the mechanic walked toward me, and smoothly took the paper. While he was unfolding it, in order to quickly read it, I closely watched the surroundings of the area. If it wasn't enough to prove them I wasn't an enemy, I will distract them, and attempt a run away, to escape from this place.

As I memorize the structures, paths and other obstacles, I looked upon the roofs, in case I have to escape by the heights. I saw then a very small detail that caught my entire attention. Someone was standing on the top of the main building, hidden by the powerful sunshine. I spared few seconds to my eyes, to let them get used to the light. My body stiffened when I was able to completely see the man.

I immediately reckoned the target, with his black suit, his old hat, and the blue briefcase on his back. He was here to insure himself that I was indeed held responsible for his robbery, even if his presence was a bit risky. But it wasn't the most important, since the moment I saw the dark rifle he carried on his shoulder.

I grew pale, as I managed myself to get up. My agitation alarmed the group, the guy with the gas mask first. He mumbled few words when I raised on my feet, but, quite unexpectedly, didn't try to prevent or stop me. I began to step forward, as the mechanic broke his reading. The man who had my M21 in possession firmly caught my forearm, an expression of anger on his face. The others remained silent, but still were as tense as the Australian. I tried to get rid of his hold, absorbed and panicked by the apparition of my target.

"Calm down! You're not going anywhere!" yelled the Aussie.

"The freakin' junkie is tryin' to..." I hastily pointed my finger at the thief's direction, making him shut up. He grumpily mumbled, before seeing, with shock, the man standing there. "What the hell! There's a BLU on that roof!" he exclaimed.

"Scout, what are you goin' on about..." the small mechanic stopped talking, at his turn, as the Bostonian keep swearing. "It's true!"

I was crawling in panic. While the attention was on the man, I quickly grabbed my weapon from the Australian's hands. He staggered, due to the sudden change of weight, and swore under his breath. "Bloody hell!"

As soon as I had my rifle in my hands, I searched for the thief; through the scope, although I couldn't correctly aim with the cut in my arm. I finally saw him, aiming at me, ready to shoot. I internally swore. He was going to shoot me! My heart raced. Without taking any time to concentrate, I pulled the trigger. The bullet went through the air, as a high-pitched tone went along with it.

I missed.

I prepared myself to repeat my moves, when the gun suddenly shook. The Australian had pulled the barrel, to point it at the sand, with both his hands. I growled with anger and fear.

"What the hell are you doing?!" While he asked me this, he was trying to take the gun away, with all his strength. Time was running out, as we were almost fighting to master the weapon. Other members of the group came with the attention to immobilize me.

"You don't undertand!" I shouted. "He's having a..."

I couldn't finish my sentence, when a shrill sound echoed.

Before I could say a single word, a sharp intense pain tore my should apart. I cast my eyes down, flared by the adrenaline, to see a huge spurt of blood. I didn't feel anything, first, and was just surprised by the bullet's impact. Then, I felt my bones crushing from the inside, the pain slowly reaching the spinal cords. I dropped the rifle on the dusty ground as I began to stagger. My legs gave out all of a sudden as I fell backwards. I dropped a hoarse sigh; my shoulder suffered too much.

"Reply!" someone ordered.

All was out of focus, beyond recognition. My sight blurred as my breath began slowing down, in respond to the violent shock. I could only hear tinnitusi along the fires.

I felt my body being taken by powerful hands, by the legs and the back, to hide me next to his cold chest. Then, he lifted me up, to carefully carry me. I lost my vision through the plumes of the red desert's dust, then to the dry ground. The giant Russian's body fell on the same ground, a part of his face damaged by a bullet hole. Rivers of blood were flowing from his skull.

A second order echoed, swears came from another.

My tentative to talk resulted in muffled whispers.

The man carrying me shouted something to the German, in front of us. He responded but I heard nothing.

I closed my eyes. I was about the fall in the deepest darkness, once again. A shot like this once was either lethal, or badly wounded. I wasn't able to handle reality. My blurred vision vanished as I entered a cold room, felling the hot, warm light of the sun fading away.