I was climbing through the window when it happened.
The glass tore them.
My favorite jeans on earth.
The only thing I have besides jewelry that is Juicy Couture.
If I killed that man for no other reason, it would be for this.
So, the hottest style this year for teenage assassins?
A Kevlar vest covering a bloody Jayhawks V-neck from pink makes a great top. Juicy couture skinnies with a gaping slash in the butt pull the whole outfit together. Especially when finished with red converse, as long as the bottom is ripped out of one of them.
Yeah.
I trotted down the hallway. No one in sight.
I checked in a room. Again, no one.
I tensed. I could hear footsteps above my head.
I looked around; the stairs were at the end of the hallway and to the right.
I thought for a minute, judging what room they would be in.
I counted the steps down the hall to the stairs. 27.
I looked up the staircase. It seemed safe enough, no one guarding it.
I checked behind me one last time. Still, no one.
The stairs were carpeted, which was great, because no one upstairs could hear me, unlike at home with hardwood floors. It is impossible to sneak downstairs and eat ice cream when those wooden floors are creaking louder than my dad's joints (which is saying a lot. I call him rice crispy. You know, snap, crackle and pop?)
Upstairs, I turned and looked down the hallways.
I took a few steps down one. It led into another hallway, which seemed right since I had to turn on my way to the stairs. I looked around the corner and ducked back fast.
3 guards were down the hallway. Two at one door and one at another. I clicked the suppresser into place on my desert eagle and walked into the hallway.
Their bodies hitting the floor was louder than the three slight coughs that my automatic pistol made.
I walked quickly down the hall and stopped outside the door that had had two guards.
This was probably the more important secret of the two. I opened the door and almost screamed.
I covered my mouth back up.
The room was the most horrifying display of fandom I had ever seen.
I'd never seen so much Michael Jackson in one place.
It was frightening.
There were 3 cutouts of him standing in a trio in the corner. 1 as a kid. One as a teenager or 20 years old. And the one I was most familiar with. Creepy, pale Pat kind of thing. I walked in closer, shivering. The walls were covered in photos of him. A huge shelf was covered in his CDs. There was a collection of autographs and other stuff. Hats, cups, posters and other concert crap covered another wall, with shelves.
Why the hell would a Russian gazillionaire with plans to destroy the world be a fan of Michael Jackson!?!?!
He's dead now anyway!!
I backed into the hallway.
No one wonder two guards had been outside that one!
I shuddered and closed the door.
If I survived the next 24 hours, id make sure the Veitenhovs had to pay for my therapy.
I stepped back into the hallway and pulled out the radio, turning to Alex's and my channel.
"Any luck" there was a minute of static, with some distant gunfire. Finally, a scratchy reply.
"Nope"
Damn.
I put the radio away, and opened the other door.
I jumped back immediately.
Another guard who was standing in the doorway had swung the butt of his gun at my head. I whipped up the desert eagle and shot, but missed by a foot.
He kicked the gun out of my hand and it clattered down the hallway.
I dove in low and kneed him in the groin.
He squeaked and doubled over, which gave me enough time to punch him in the face and shoot him.
I was standing up when someone grabbed me from behind. I felt the pressure around my throat tighten. Gasping for breath, I clawed at the arm. Nothing worked. My lungs burned from lack of oxygen. I reached down and fumbled for my combat knife. Lights flashed in front of my eyes. Finally, I found it, yanked in out of the sheath and drove it through the man's side.
The grip released and I gasped. I leaned against the wall for a minute before picking up my two guns. I walked back into the scary room.
My desert eagle was silent, but shooting the Famas F1 would tell everyone where I was.
Perfect. One wall had a bunch of water bottles. I grabbed four and poured the water out, leaving the lids on the floor.
I pulled the duct tape out of my pocket (what? Don't you carry it around with you?) and secured one of the water bottle on the front of the Famas. Homemade suppresser. I doubt you'll see that on the craft channel. I didn't even learn that in my training. My dad taught me when I asked him about being a sniper. The only problem is that it only works once.
I tied the rest of the water bottles to my belt with my shoelace.
Everything ready to go, I ran into the room.
I'll admit it I suffer from RAOCATWPT.
Random Acts of Clumsiness At The Worst Possible Time.
When trying to save the world from a Russian Multibillionaire, whose nuclear missiles are ready to launch, it is best to not trip and fall on your face.
After picking myself up, I took a moment to be glad I was the only one in the room. Not only would a guard have been able to kill me, but that was pretty embarrassing.
I looked around. It looked kind of like a hallway or sitting room. One coffee table sat in the corner, and that was the only furniture. However, there was a door at one end.
I carefully approached the door.
I shot the guard standing by another door. The suppresser had worked. I ripped it off and taped on another.
I kicked open the other door and shot another 2 guards.
At the far end of the room there was someone sitting at a desk with a big computer screen in front of them.
I walked slowly towards him.
"IF you move, I will kill you!"
I warned him.
He put his hands up on his head. Good. He knew how to play the game.
I walked up to him and pressed the nose of the Famas into the side of his. I looked at the screen. It had three options.
Launch Warheads
Disable Missiles
Check email (3 new messages)
I'll admit it. I found the last option a little strange, but hey, a computer is a computer.
The mouse was hovering over the Launch option.
Still pressing the gun against his head, I took the mouse and clicked the Disable option. A box popped up.
Please enter Password:
The computer guy hesitated.
"Do it!" I growled, pushing the gun harder against his head.
He typed it in, a long string of numbers that showed up starred on the screen.
A second box popped up.
Pass Code:
He typed it in quickly this time.
Missiles Successfully Disabled.
The computer screen went blank, with a few icons in the corner.
I fumbled for my radio and sent out a message to every in Morse code.
Was the Morse code necessary? No. I could have easily called everyone. But come on, let's face it.
Morse code is cool.