Hello again readers! I have decided to make a bit more story because I got a very quick response. Enjoy!!
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Stan hurried to put the sniper rifle back into its briefcase. Heart racing, he hurried back into the elevator shoving the button for ground floor. He pulled out his phone and flipped it open. Stan smashed in a hasty bad spelt 'Terminated' then shoved it back into his pocket. The guilt had been replaced with adrenaline now. Training had been a mixture of drills and lessons in a classroom. All meant to teach the three main rules of his job.
" do what we tell you, without question, without hesitation, instantly. 2. You are a ghost, nobody knows you, and nobody knows you exist. 3. You do not stop until the target is destroyed, terminated."
The next years after that first lesson had been constant. The schedule usually consisted of Stan being beaten to a pulp to learn how to cope with pain; then being told about how he was just a slug compared to the people in the C.I.A. Stan, like every recruit, had tried to resist the brainwashing that he was being subjected too. However, like all recruits who tried, he failed to hold out for more than a week.
Soon he learnt to hide in plain sight, to become the ghost he was meant to be. The grades he got in firearms and coherent understanding of trickery grew and grew. By the end of year he had crashed, burned, and rebuilt himself to become the top in each subject. Then the torture stopped and he was sent around the country to assassinate and receive information. Each time the government had a use for Stan he was sent a text on a special phone. The phone was only used by the CIA to give images, text and even voice sometimes all at the same time at lightning speed. Whenever your phone had bad signal in a place where there are usually loads, it's probably the government sending an important text.
"Sir?" Stan was jolted, yet again from his flashback. The elevator had reached the ground floor.
"There is screaming outside sir, do… do you know anything about this?" Bebe was curiously looking outside the doors; fear was evident in her eyes.
"I'm sure it is nothing to worry about ma'am. If I was you I would just get back to your work."
"Oh, ok sir…" she walked back to her desk while still looking back at the door through over her shoulder.
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Stan got back to his apartment and hung his coat up. It had been a very distressing assassination. Stan was lying on his bed staring into nothingness. He had killed the two people which had mattered to him most as a child. His BFF and his long-time love. No matter what Stan did now he knew that he would never forget the moments before their death. The loving expression of determination the displayed to the crowd and the passionate smile they gave each other. The passionate smile he always gave Wendy all those years ago. Stan laughed a little when he remembered how he had always been sick on Wendy wherever they got a little too intimate. Almost crying Stan plugged in his headphones and tried to listen to some music. Nothing he liked, a government iPod was the worst iPod playlist you could ever have. Stan hated being a ghost. Not allowed to have a life. Not allowed to have a love nor a real identity of himself. Stan was the only thing he had left, a hollow name on the bark of a slowly decaying tree.
Stan was just drifting of the horrible sound of Hark the Herald angel sing by Bob Dylan (the worst song in history even for Bob Dylan Fans.) when his phone rang. Stan jolted out of bed and jumped to high he almost hit his head on the ceiling. His phone was ringing. Not the text ring but the default call ring. The government had never done this before, not in the previous 100 jobs he had completed. Stan's shaking hand slid down to his pocket and pulled out the phone. There was no number just some **** where the caller number should be. Stan slowly opened the phone and pressed the lime green call button.
"Hello?" His voice shuddered.
"Greetings, code alpha-red. I am afraid we have made a slight mistake…"
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CLIFF HANGER BIATCHZ! Add in a review what you think is going to happen. You never know I might get some inspiration. A few OCs for agents would also be quite handy.
OC form:
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Thanks! - DaAceOfGames
