Kun-Lun Mountains, China; Thursday, June 9, 7:18 P.M.…
The Panda King sat calmly, quietly in his rocking chair in his small house. The creaking of the wooden chair was his only company, and the only sound in his home.
He glanced back at his collection of fireworks that he had stored over the years. Many different types, different shapes, different sizes, as well as a few prototypes, were spread out on tables or hanging from the ceiling, or hung from the wall. In the center of the room sat a massive, four foot-tall barrel of gun powder. On the small table next to it was the massive, red cylinder that it would go in. It was approximately two and a half feet long, and nearly a foot in diameter. Next to the cylinder, the triangular cap. That would be his final one before he retired. His finest creation. His last firework. This new model would be the largest he ever made, and was designed to unleash a flurry of colors and streaks once set off. The numerous tests had prepared for this one model, to be launched at the upcoming New Year's Eve Festival.
He turned and looked forward once again. He sighed, thinking ahead to exactly how the ceremony would go. How he would set it off. How proud he would be. The praise he would receive…
Ever since the failed Cooper Vault job, he had returned to his life of solitude and no crime in the mountains of China. After nearly a decade, much had changed. His daughter, Jing-King, had become married now. He found himself all alone now. Even his sister, who had taken care of Jing-King in the few years after her kidnapping, had moved into the city. After that, he remained in the small hut right next door to the hut where his sister and daughter had lived, which sat empty and he often used as a second house. He was the only person living in this area, the nearest settlement at least fifty miles…
He suddenly heard a loud creaking behind him. He turned his head around towards the back wall…
…only to see that the sound was the wooden shutters opening on the window in the back wall, just over the table where his prized firework sat.
He slowly lifted himself out of the chair and lumbered over to the window. He leaned outside and scanned the area, searching for any sign of an intruder. There was nothing.
The wind. He thought. He reached out and closed the shutters. He turned back around and returned to his chair.
…
Just below the window, wearing a special black jumpsuit that made him blend in with the night, he released a very slight exhalation of breath out of relief. He had not counted on a gust of wind coming up at that moment to nearly blow his cover. He turned around and peered through a small hole in the wood beneath the window, just large enough for his eye to see through.
The figure eyed the unknowing panda, rocking peacefully in an old, wooden chair. Despite his peaceful demeanor, he knew that this man was yet another target on his list, and had to die.
He slowly looked around the interior of the hut through the hole and studied the surroundings. Just as he had suspected, it was a time bomb waiting to explode. The explosives, fireworks, and this large barrel full of gun powder placed almost too conveniently against the back wall, barely a foot from the hole he was peering through. Almost instantly he recognized the perfect set-up. Not only would it be effective, quick, and easy, but it would look just like an accident. The explosion would surely be massive enough to destroy the bullet, and no one would ever know.
A slight grin formed on his face as he slowly turned and silently treaded back up the hill, to the small ledge where his newly-stolen helicopter was waiting for him, along with his own personal arsenal.
He slid open the large metal door, and scanned through his many weapons. He eventually found the one: the .45 long-slide. It was a sleek, silver handgun, with one powerful hit. He plucked it out of its place in the row of other, similar weapons, also grabbing the single bullet that was alongside it, and loaded it. The weapon in hand, he turned and crept slowly up to the rock ledge that overlooked the small valley where the Panda King's house sat.
He squatted down, his feet bending as he slowly maintained a firm military stance. His left knee stuck out to his side, his right knee in front of him. He grasped the handle firmly in his right hand, his left hand clasping around it to secure it. He slowly placed his right index finger on the trigger. He stretched his arms out in front of him, straightening them out so that they were nearly like tree limbs. He slowly and casually rested the gun on top of the rock ledge, keeping it steady and unwavering.
His gun was specially equipped with laser sighting and a military scope. The moment he applied even the slightest pressure to the trigger, the thin red beam appeared from just above the barrel, its small red dot landing right where the bullet would hit. This only confirmed accuracy, in addition to the crosshairs of the scope.
With these two effective tools, he carefully aimed his weapon at the small hole in the wood that he had earlier used as his peephole. Looking through the scope, he could see right through it with an enhanced, higher quality image. Through that hole, he could see the side of the massive barrel of gun powder.
His target in sight, he gave the trigger a slight squeeze, causing the red beam to appear. The small dot flickered into sight, planting itself on the wood just millimeters to the left of the hole. He slowly shifted the barrel over about a hair's width, moving the dot right into the hole, dropping farther out of sight and landing on the barrel itself. He held it steadier than ever, keeping it from deviating for even a moment.
This was it.
He knew that, in order to ensure 100% accuracy, he had to remain perfectly still. He slowly inhaled a long breath, paused for a moment, then exhaled just as slowly, relaxing his body, releasing him of all physical tension. After the exhalation, he froze instantly. His eye stayed behind the scope, with the hole in the wall lined up perfectly in the center of his crosshairs, and with the motionless red dot only corroborating that his target was in his sights.
Then, with one final effortless motion, he squeezed the trigger completely. The lack of recoil due to his firm grip allowed him a clear view of the ensuing explosion.
The bullet found its mark, sliding effortlessly through the hole without even scraping the side, and planting right in the barrel. The hit ignited the gun powder, creating an incredible fireball which set off a chain reaction of all the other explosives in the room, immediately consuming the entire house. The old, retired criminal in the rocking chair didn't even have time to react before the explosion ended his life.
He watched as the explosion completely consumed the entire small house, debris and burning wood flying in all directions. Several small fires suddenly appeared in the plants and scenery around the explosion, and the fireball itself slowly ascended into the sky, turning from a ball into a mushroom cloud, the orange giving way to pitch black. The sound resonated throughout the valley, eventually echoing away and vanishing just as the cloud itself vanished upward.
His second job done, he slowly holstered the gun and stood up, looking down on his accomplishment with satisfaction. He turned around and returned to the helicopter, pulling the heavy door closed behind him and sliding into the pilot's seat. He reached to start the engine, then stopped.
He had all the time in the world, of course. The house had been built in this small, isolated valley specifically because it was so deserted and away from civilization. The nearest village was many miles away, and it could be at least several weeks before someone finally caught on. But he still wanted to vacate the premises immediately.
With the time he had, he slowly reached into his pocket and removed a small slip of paper that had been perfectly folded over four times. He unfolded it bit by bit. Written on it, in one perfectly-aligned column in the center of the sheet, were seven names, all of them written in a very neat, old-fashioned style of Cursive.
Sly Cooper
Bentley
Penelope
Murray
?
Lousteau
King
Fox
Similarly to how the last name was neatly crossed off, he took an 18k gold pen that was also in his pocket, and pressed the small button at the end of the pen, causing the tip to pop out. Holding the paper steady against his knee, he slowly and firmly drew the tip of the pen across the paper, dashing a neat, perfect line through the second-to-last name on the list.
King
He then neatly refolded the paper exactly as it was before and returned it to his pocket, the pen accompanying it. He then reached over and started up the engine, the propeller blades slowly coming to life, then spinning faster and faster until they were a blur. Slowly lifting up the throttle, he lifted the helicopter up off the ground, slowly bringing it up past the trees that hid it from view. Once he had cleared the trees and the small mountains nearby, he immediately thrust the chopper forward, leaving the valley of destruction behind.
To be continued…