Chapter 12 Shut It Now

KRUGER

Hunting was a primal instinct. Something he knew naturally. The skill of tracking and killing was as normal as breathing to him. Compassion, however, was quite a skill to be learned.

The next day was one of the worst I had ever experienced. Nothing compared. The only one that might come close was the day I had my heart punctured with a katana. It was an awful, horrible, grievous, outrageous, terrible, heinous form of punishment not even I could endure...
"And then I told him, 'better back up, cause I'm packing!'"
Drake would not stop talking.
I was not one to partake in copious amounts of conversation, and when I did, I was entirely drunk. Right now, I was utterly sober, and right now, I was willing to leap into traffic to get away from this unyielding, annoying little chatterbox.
"Then he dropped the box and ran away. I laughed after him like a pirate. You know, 'har-har-har'! That kind of thing. I carried the spoils back to the boys and we feasted like kings! OH! That reminds me of this time when I caught this farmer's alpaca..."
Since breakfast, I had given up on telling him to stop talking. Every time I snapped at him, he stared at me and continued his stories. Even when I physically threatened him, held him up against the wall with my katana to his throat, he looked at it, looked at me, and told me about the time he wanted to be a ninja.
I had been second-guessing my merciful actions to bring him along.
Drake's eight year old life story had not yet reached the end of its tales. He was still chattering about himself. I was honestly surprised, and a little hurt, that he had asked anything about me. The stranger who was armed to the teeth and had allowed him to follow along on a contract like a school field trip. I had a story to tell. Someone deserved to know that even I experienced humanity.
"ENOUGH!" I finally bellowed. Drake's mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide. I stared him down, looming over him to make him physically bend backwards to look up at me. "Now," I growled intimidatingly, "are you going to shut your mouth, or am I going to shut it for you?" He shook his head briskly, understanding that I was close to my limits with him. "Good. Now let's continue. Perhaps we can play 'the quiet game', eh? Won't that be fun?"

I couldn't help the irritation that enriched my voice. The natural tendency to sass was coming back to me after the recent days of bitterness. I was feeling more like myself, admittedly around Drake, than I had the last few days. And even though he annoyed the fuck out of me, I liked having him around.
"Hey..." Drake mumbled up at me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow. "Um. My mom used to say, if you're ever lost, you should ask questions." Drake looked up at me, as if asking my permission to continue. I stalked away, walking towards the Raven's due landing space. Crowe and Abbott would be arriving shortly, considering I had signaled them an hour ago. The lazy bastards were probably so hungover.
Drake skipped up beside me, skittering sideways on the dusty ground. "So, so, so," he continued, "since my mom said I should always ask questions, I should ask what your name is." He stopped in front of me, blocking my way. He seemed to realize his mistake and flinched, as if waiting to receive a wallop. I stared at him intently, startled a little at his show of fear. He must've come from a home similar to mine. I had felt that fear, that bracing for the strike. Perhaps that was why I had grown attached to the boy. I saw myself in him.
"I guess you should."
He looked up at me with stars in his eyes, either out of respect or out of gratitude that I had not struck him. His eyes glittered now with curiosity. The least he deserved was to know the name of this idolized assassin.
"Kruger," I said simply. He didn't need to know my first name. No one did.
"Kruger..." He repeated my name breathlessly, as if memorizing it. He looked up at me. "Is that your only name? Like, that a last name or soemthing?" His mouth dropped into an O-shape. "Like a code name or something? I want one! I'll be..." Before he could start to brainstorm, I clamped a gloved hand over his mouth.
"The quiet game, remember?" I rolled my eyes and barked a command into my talkie at Crowe. "Where the fuck are you guys? We're burning daylight."
A crackle responded to my question, then Crowe's voice rang out above the interference. "We'll reach your destination in thirty... twenty nine... twenty eight..." While he was counting, I heard the heavenly whirl of my craft's engines soar past my head. "Three... two..."
The Raven landed several feet away. The wind from the craft as it landed sent my hair whipping across my eyes. It nearly blew Drake off his skinny little feet, but above the roar of the engines, I heard an enthusiastic "wicked!" from the boy. Smiling widely as Crowe plundered out of the hanger door, I embraced him as though it had been days. He smelt of heavily of alcohol.
"Damn, you betta not be driving my craft with that much bubble in your blood, mate!" I roared over the engines, clapping him on the back. I didn't give him time to respond before I jostled him back towards the Raven.
I was still more than pissed at him for the incident on Elyisum. He never went into details as to why the Elysian government had tracked him to the proletariat's house, only that he wasn't proud of what he did. I had rolled my eyes at him and docked him this week's pay. I was in the mood to do much worse, however, three long days ago.
"Let's go, Drakey!" I called to the boy, who eagerly ran over to me when I signaled to him. The look on Crowe's face was priceless. Something caught between amusement and disbelief. I howled with laughter, and slapped his back playfully again. "I'll git you acquainted on the way."
The three of us shuffled our way through the dust being kicked up to the Raven's hanger. Once we were all inside and secure, only then did I address Crowe's suspicion.
"This hea is Drakey," I introduced.
"'Ello!" Drake piped up enthusiastically, waving his hand madly at Crowe. "Ow's ya doin', gov'na?"
I could see Crowe bristle angrily. Drake had picked up Crowe's English nationality and mocked it before he knew what Crowe's temper was like. Luckily for him, though, Crowe was relatively docile and thought before he acted. But at this rate, the only way Drake would survive the journey was if I physically placed myself between the two of them.
"Drakey, Crowe."
"Hey ya, squirt," the pilot grumbled, knowing that since his superior officer had invited the child aboard, he had no choice but to deal with the pest. Crowe now turned to me. "Abbott's flyin' now, sir. Got to admit I been out drinkin' more then I shoulda... Thought it best to test-drive the new co-pilot."
"Ja, good thing, too. Now you and Drakey can git better acquainted!" I clapped his back and scrambled to the cockpit without another word.
Abbott glanced back at me briefly before returning his eyes to the sky. When he didn't say anything, I awkwardly asked "so how's our course?"
"We should be at the upper east end in twenty minutes. Sir."
The way he spoke was mechanical. I didn't like a man who was afraid to address his captain any way other than as if under inspection. He made me uncomfortable, plain and simple. Frowning at his turned head, I sat down in the pilot's seat. As I did, I heard Drake and Crowe beginning to argue about something. Their voices heightened, bickering loudly about which was better; rugby or football (in the English sense). I could sense that this argument would either make or break a friendship between the two of them.
I snorted with amusement and turned my eyes forward to watch the city below vanish into rolling green jungle. Since the co-pilot wasn't interested in being any kind of conversational, I laid back and rested for the rest of the journey.
Being left to my own thoughts wrought me with agony once again. Without distraction, I was only left to think about one thing, one girl that had changed my life, whether or not I wanted to admit it. She was the one thing that ever made me question myself. My instincts were never wrong and worse yet, I had never let a target escape me. Then again, I had never felt desire for a target.
It was desire I had felt then, and what I felt now. Though the feeling was alien to me, I was beginning to understand what it was. I knew what attraction was; I hadn't earned the title of 'lady-killer' because I was incompetent around the opposite gender. I knew what lust was, yes, but this wasn't lust, no. There was a depth to it I couldn't fully comprehend. A sort of longing to be beside her, to be with her, to protect her from harm. Now that I would surely never see her again, I was terrified of myself. Of what I would turn into. I was bred to be a monster, yes, but even monsters experienced existential crises.
I hadn't realized that Abbott had been droning at me, telling me that we had landed near Mr. Veteriage's property. I removed my iron grip from the armrest, and trudged back into the hanger.
Crowe and Drake were still arguing about their sports, each fiercely defending with attacks on the other.
"What good is it to kick a ball?! Ya pick it up, run with it, and tackle anyone who tries to take it! THAT'S a real sport!"
"That's where skill comes into it! Anyone can pick up a ball. It takes skill to defend your goal. Skill and strength! Brains and brawns!"
They each stopped when they noticed me staring at them. A depressed expression still hung on my tired face, dragging the corners of my mouth into a scowl. Crowe looked concerned while Drake looked inquisitively at me.
"What?" I snarled.
"Nothin'..."
"Good. Let's go. We're hea."
Drake obediently got up from his seat while Crowe stayed sitting. He would stay here and monitor the airspace while Abbott, now Drake, and I would take our target. I hated taking chances when I was about to kill. I always played it safe, eliminated the variables. I was always so sure...
A spray of ocean breeze hit my face as soon as I stepped out of the Raven. The fat man's house was sizable. It looked more like a small mansion than a house, spanning three stories directly up. It had a clinical feeling to it. White, pristine walls stuck out against the dull landscape, looking not at all like the upper-class shacks surrounding it. There was something about the house that struck me as odd.
"Careful," I said, unconsciously holding a hand before Drake. Abbott stopped, scanned the area and continued forward. He held his gun aimed at the front door of the house, pointed towards the grand bay window that looked into the main foyer of the home. He stalked forward low, like a cat stalking prey, until he reached the front porch. I saw him turn his head to signal me forward just before a loud crack emanated from beside his head.
Instinctively, I dropped to the ground, dragging a heavy hand down on Drake's shoulders. I heard a grunt when he hit the floor, and I held an arm over him protectively. For several long moments, nothing happened. There was silence. I thought for sure that Abbott was dead, the crack having had something to do with his head. Fortunately, my right hand was still alive, crouched low to the ground, alert to whatever had made the sound.
It sounded like a hollow gun shot, the kind of sound that tried to be stifled by redirecting it. From my highly educated guess, someone was in a gun fight.
I peered up from the ground, ignoring Drake's grunt of protest as my hand became heavier. I saw no telltale signs of a far-off assault, like a sniper trying to ward off bounty hunters. There was no bullet-hole beside where Abbott's head stood moments before. The front of the house was unscathed.
As I was scouting, the sound came again, and again, the three of us flinched instinctively. Using my skillful hearing, I located the origin of the sound to be around the back of the house, near the boardwalk leading out to the ocean. Another crack sounded almost immediately after the second.
Abbott and I both responded at the same time. Pouncing forward from a crouch, I side-stepped towards the side of the house, keeping an eye in front and behind me. Drake kept a steady pace, slowing down and speeding up when I signaled at him. He had picked up a piece of broken metal, a wickedly sharp broken rebar, and carried it like a spear, pointed towards the possible danger.
He will make a good little soldier one day, I thought proudly for a moment, now all he needs to do is shut up...
When we convened at the side of the house, Drake was the first to peer cautiously around the corner. Clutching his rebar, I saw him shiver, either with anticipation or fear. I gently pulled him away from the edge of the house, laying a heavy hand on his skinny shoulder. "Come away, boy. This ain't your turn to die."
He looked at me with wide eyes, wondering how I was so prophetic and sure of myself. I only shook my head. If I knew what hunting was, it was competition.
Someone else had gotten to the fat man.
I had known he was a highly valued target. Delacourt had paid me handsomely for this kill. 'Dead or alive, I don't care, Agent 32,' she had said, 'just...dispose of the body if you prefer the former...' I could barely contain my laughter as she said that. The look on her face was priceless. Her aversion to anything remotely unclean, including me, was laughable. I wondered if she would appreciate a fat little head on her pretty Elysian doorstep.

I braced, ready to anticipate a gruesome and gory scene, full of blood and horror. I honestly would have preferred gore to the guileless violence I saw when I turned around the corner.