July 23, 1982, Indian Dunes, California
"My God..." He watched Loe trudge across the shrubbery with the two children in hand. The foliage swatted and slowed them, buffered by the helicopter beaming its spotlight around. Stroking his grey beard, he leaned further back in his director's seat and brought the megaphone to his mouth. "Lower! Bring it lower!"
Reeking of sweat, the pilot cautiously descended. The night only illuminated through the surrounding pyrotechnics. Through them, he saw the tall, artificial treetops. The sooner the shot ended, the better it would turn, he felt.
"Rodney!" One of the set designers grimaced as it drifted dangerously low. He tapped the director's shoulder, pointing at the height. "Tell him to fly higher! If he goes any lower, everything's gonna go to shit!"
In an instant, he furrowed his eyes, staring at the designer like he said something stupid. Before he retaliated, however, something snapped. The noise rattled across the whole set, followed by a deafening whir.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The helicopter spun and swept the foliage—including Loe and the child actors—with it. The propeller spun off, bouncing and cutting across the shrubbery like butter. It all stopped, with metal crashing against the ground, kicking up clouds of smoke and dirt. Muffled by the catastrophe, the parents were first to scream.
Provided with stationary firefighters, it didn't take long for help to arrive on the scene. The film crew shouted and ran across the set towards the disaster. They grabbed onto the tangled shrub props and pried. The firefighters shoved them aside to work, hosing the flames dead.
Everyone could only watch as the firefighters moved. They helped the pilot of the helicopter out first. They called out for Loe to respond. There was hope they were somewhere in the carnage, buried beneath the helicopter and the set props.
Ripping through the foliage, one of the firefighters froze as he tore a gaping hole in the mass. The firefighters crowded and slowed. The film crew who caught sight of them stumbled backward, feeling their insides rise. Unable to move their legs, they keeled over and vomited.
Far from the disaster, Rodney White called his lawyer.
30 years later
"This is Iris Quinn, reporting live at the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood! Here I stand before the influx of renowned actors and directors alike, all eager to attend this year's Oscars Award ceremony!"
The reporter plugged her words when someone walked between her and the camera. Firming her grip on the microphone, she scowled at the bald man. "Cut! Watch where you're going!"
"Don't mind him, Iris," the camerawoman said. "It was probably just an accident. Let's continue."
She huffed. "Alright, Pam, how about we move somewhere less crowded?" When Iris glanced around for the man, he was already long gone.
At the entrance, he held his invitation up for the guard. He stepped right through.
"Welcome to Hollywood, 47," his earpiece chimed. "Your target is Rodney White, lifelong director well-known for works such as Wild Witches, The Sky's Way, Dying Years, and most infamously, Beyond Judgement. During the film's production, the above helicopter's propeller got caught in the tree props, tangling the entire set of foliage with actor Loe Peterson and two child actors still inside. They were promptly crushed and mangled to death.
"The incident led to years of civil and criminal action and was responsible for the introduction of new procedures and safety standards in the filmmaking industry. Rodney White was charged with manslaughter but ultimately acquitted with the help of the law firm Morgan, Yates & Kohn. Despite the incident, Rodney went on to direct more films that found great success, winning him awards and later fame.
"As of now, he is a primary candidate with everyone's attention for the Academy Award for Best Director, spurred by his most recent film, Respice Finem, which quickly became the decade's highest-grossing movie. Voting records show that Rodney White will win the award by a landslide. To eliminate him in the packed theatre, you will need to get thinking. Happy hunting, 47."
Location: Hollywood, California
Target: The Director
Celebrities strode across the red carpet, donning smiles for the flashes of light and camera clicks sent at every step. 47 stayed within a crowd of guests as they shambled through.
"Your target has already arrived at the Kodak Theatre, and you can find him somewhere in the auditorium, waiting for the ceremony to begin."
He slid past the eyes, entering the lobby. Few of the celebrities hung around for idle chatter, most of them funneling past a pair of double doors. Through it, the faint cacophony of the crowd pierced through.
With gloved hands, he pushed open the double doors to be welcomed by a blast of frigid air, and the illuminations of the hundred or so lights lining the auditorium. Rows of box seats and additional floors of seating striped the inside. A scent of fresh mahogany scratched his nostrils. The theatre was filled to the brim with chatter as the red, cushioned seats were with icons of the film industry.
Putting the target's picture to mind, Agent 47 walked down the aisle, nestled between the fanciful celebrities.
And, sitting on the third row furthest from the stage, close to the aisle, was a man with short, grayed hair combed back to show his receding hairline. The hair ran down his sideburns and around his lips, meshed with black dotting his beard. He cleaned his pair of thin glasses as a small crowd of celebrities stood around him, chatting.
"That is Rodney White," Diana chimed, "the director responsible for the tragedy in 1982. He was acquitted for the disaster, and his remorse is non-existent. He's sat with his current wife of eight years, Joan White. It doesn't look like he'll be getting up any time soon."
"You were a huge inspiration to me, Mr. White!" one of the men exclaimed, holding his hand out to the director.
Rodney put his glasses back on, glaring up at him, almost squinting. His scowl morphed into a smile. He took his hand, shaking it firmly. "You are?"
"Oh, right! Sorry!" The man rubbed the back of his head with a chuckle. "My name is Dino Bosco!"
"Dino Bosco? From the Tony Dan films?" Rodney's eyes lit with recognition, and Dino's countenance came to match his interest with elatedness. Rodney nodded as he leaned back in faint recollection.
"Is that so?" Joan piped up. "Your career's going to launch you off your feet in no time," she remarked.
While Dino went on a tangent as if plowing down a mental list of Rodney's movies, the director raised a brow, feeling a pair of eyes dig into him. He twisted in his seat, making eye contact with the bald man just a short distance from them. "You need something from me?" he called out, interrupting Dino.
"No," 47 said. "I'm just thinking." The hitman continued down the aisle.
Rodney gazed at the back of his head for a moment, his squint returning for a few seconds. "Weird tattoo..." he muttered, before refocusing on the fanboy.
Skirting through the inaudible chatter, Agent 47 eyed the stage. Overwhelmingly laden with glitz and glamour, able to make anyone on stage feel minuscule, yet glorified in ego. A sole place for everyone to direct their attention, isolating themselves from the crowd in the auditorium.
He particularly observed the stage entrance to the side, tucked neatly out of view. At any moment, the Oscar host—talk show veteran Levi Terell—was set to waltz on stage.
As 47 observed the stage, two guests sat near him and began to talk.
"Nora!" a man said, stopping in front of a seated woman. "Long time no see!"
She put a hand over her mouth. "Is that you, Whimsey?"
"Yeah! It's been, what, two years since we met in person?" He took his seat beside her. "You were absolutely phenomenal in Binary Skull. The whole scene where you broke out of Area 47 had my kids on the edge of their seats!"
"I... I'm glad you liked it."
Whimsey cleared his throat. "Anyway, where's your sister?"
Nora pointed away. "She's at the back, waiting for Steelburg to pop in at any moment. Maybe she'll have a better Oscar experience than last year."
Whimsey grimaced as another thought hit him. "Mia's first ceremony was that?"
Nora nodded gravely. "She never got to meet him because he angrily stormed off stage after the TruthSpeaker hack interrupted his speech to call out Rodney about the Beyond Judgement incident."
He nodded. "You know, at the time I thought old Steelburg was pulling the whole hijacking, getting those people to wring Rodney dry. He's hated his guts since '83."
"Yeah..." The actress shifted uncomfortably. "Let's talk about something else. You find someone else, yet?"
He raised an eye at the sudden question. "No... But, Nora, if you want to start again—"
Nora quickly shook her head. "That ship has already sailed. Besides, I'm holding off on love for now. I'm in a... strange place, let's say."
"Excuse me, do you know when the ceremony starts?"
The two looked up at the bald man. Whimsey was first to speak, scratching his head. "Aren't you the host?"
"No. Do I look like Levi?"
"Yeah, actually..." Nora said, eyeing 47's face.
Whimsey peeked at his watch. "Anyway, it should be like 10 minutes or so."
The hitman nodded to the actors, then walked back to the aisle. The seats were steadily filling up, and the atmosphere became brighter and brighter. 47 passed by Rodney White again, and Dino Bosco was still before him, ranting on like a child despite the director's unenthused look.
He'd re-enter the lobby, gazing around for certain entrances. And, tucked aside was a door with an "Employees Only" sign plastered on it. Standing around it were three people in black shirts saying "Stage Crew" on the front and back.
"I heard the other day that Rodney had attended Loe's funeral-high on coke?"
"Mhm," his older, more gruff-looking co-worker answered. "His then-wife and one of his employees had to help him walk around. Then he dared to claim that Loe liked working on Beyond Judgement. Loe would always tell me how terrible the film was; how embarrassed he was to have it under his belt."
"Damn! Do you think—"
"How's everything looking? Can the lights hold for the ceremony?" Another stage crew joined the group.
"The cameras and their jibs are running smoothly," the third said. "As for the lights, just don't touch them and nothing bad'll happen; I spent all morning touching them up."
The last one sighed in relief. "Thank God."
"Joshua says they'll be fixed after the ceremony. Because these socialites can't stand waiting an extra day."
The first crewman noticed a guest approach them, perking up to greet him. "Can I help you?"
Agent 47 pointed to the auditorium. "My friend Rodney White is being bothered by some young actor by the name of Dino Bosco. Can you separate them?"
"Rodney..." his friendly smile twitched for a moment. "That would be a job for security."
Before he grabbed his radio, though, his older co-worker stopped him. "I don't wanna make a huge fuss. Rich people don't like it when you call security on them." He glanced between the other stage crew. "You three try to handle it. I'll get someone just in case you need extra help."
With a quick affirmation from each of them, the group departed. The three left for the auditorium first while the lone man went through the staff door. With a yawn, he gently threw the door shut behind him, expecting to hear the closing click of its knob.
Only, it didn't. He let out a struggling gasp as an arm locked around his neck, bringing the crewman to the floor.
Agent 47 tightened his grip with each gurgled exhale from the man, waiting until his kicks and jolts died down. He let go, gently laying him flat on the ground.
47 grabbed his leg, dragging the body through the dull, flatly colored hall they were in—a stark contrast to the rest of the theatre. Peeking around a corner, four dressing rooms lay in sight. Past the next hall was a bigger room with the stage crew and security in view, all focused on their hectic work rather than what was behind.
"47, the ceremony is starting," Diana notified. On cue, the faint music of its opening made its way into the hall.
The hitman dragged him into a dressing room, stuffing him into the closet. 47 left with a new fit of clothes.
Going past the dressing rooms, walls a sickly grey and litter crunching beneath 47's steps, he reached the scene dock. There, in an ironed tux and bald head was the host, Levi Terell. The late-night talk show host just now walked on stage to the sound of applause.
Around a turn, two men's voices started. "Aside from a few people trying to get by with fake invitations, nothing out of the ordinary. But security's real damn tight compared to last year."
His partner chuckled. "So the manager was right... It's because of some guy called 'Tsardine,' with a T at the beginning."
The other paused, raising a brow. "That like a codename?"
"No, no, he's some dude on the internet my kid watches. Has around 20 million fans. And, just last year, he and some friends snuck into this place and stuck for the whole showing. Made over 20 million views. Even shook hands with Rodney White."
"That's... not good for our image, is it?"
"You bet. I heard the manager, Josh, say that's why security has beefed up since then. Now nobody can sneak in here."
Agent 47 walked by the two guards, opening a door into a staircase marked as said manager's office. It was devoid of any person. The office had a window on the outer wall overlooking the whole theatre, and the hitman watched Levi do his act. He looked on as he called up actors and set designers to reward them.
Each time, the theatre lights lit up spectacularly.
A glance at a pinned schedule behind the desk told him that Rodney indeed was set to win the Oscar. Committing the assigned time to memory, 47 went to the manager's desk and began pulling through its drawers.
He grabbed a keychain, storing it in his pockets just as footsteps neared the room.
The manager paused, eyes glistening with a momentary, yet temporary recognition. "Who're you?"
"Tobias Rieper. Last-minute secondment. I was told to find you for further instruction?"
Joshua Hahn, whose name was plastered on his badge, scratched his head. "I didn't get an email..."
"Are you sure?"
Josh stared briefly into the stranger's blank gaze for a moment—he averted his eyes subconsciously. He sighed. "Gimme a minute, I'll check." Briskly, he moved to his desk.
47 fondled through the keys as they swapped sides of the room. "I'll be right back. I need to use the bathroom."
One uncaring nod from the manager, and 47 was off—off to the breaker room, electrical key nestled in his fingers.
...
"... and me oh my, did those stars burn bright! Now that we've seen this year's pinnacle of Hollywood's actors, how about we move to the leading role-arguably the brains behind the whole industry: Directors!"
Levi held his hand out to the applause; but in the corner of his eye, Levi caught one of the stage crew behind the curtains, off to the side. He barely made out the hand signal, and Levi sighed through his nose.
With a meek smile, he said, "Please excuse us for a moment as we... set things up!" Levi walked off stage, much to the concern of the spectating crew. He met up with the bald employee, swaying his arms. "What's up? Is there a problem?"
"It's... you should see for yourself."
With a huff, Levi motioned for the stage crew to lead the way. Usually, they'd get other crew for problems, wouldn't they? So when Levi was led to a broken set piece, he was all the more confused. Keeping his eyes on the piece, he didn't think to watch the stage crew as he disappeared. "So... what do I—"
47 thrust the hammer against Levi's head with a hollow 'thud.' The host collapsed onto the floor as the impacted area bled. The hitman took his arm, dragging him to one of the nearby crates and swiftly taking his attire.
The 'host' re-emerged on stage, taking to the mic once again. "Directors are one of the few, legal occupations where you can do everything imaginable to realize a singular vision. These five such visionaries have been nominated for their exemplary work. Here are the nominees for the Best Director." The screens flashed with five names and film titles.
"Doesn't Levi sound a little different?" someone whispered.
"Sounds like a dry throat. He did have that episode with Everett Emery last night, and we all know how much of a shitshow that was. I'm just surprised it's kicking in now."
47 read them out. "Rodney White, Respice Finem; Fionn Hardy, Boy of Stardust; Teddie Sawyer, Dwindling; Sabrina Esparza, Glory's Serpent; Seward Steelburg, The Haunting of Beldingford Manor."
He unfolded the golden envelope. "And the award goes to..." He raised his gaze, meeting the target's own. "Rodney White."
The auditorium erupted with applause. Rodney forced himself up, stretching his back as his neighbors turned to congratulate him. He smiled expectantly, bending over at his wife's tug for a kiss. "You deserve it, dear," she said, then ushering him forth.
The roaring applause continued as he appeared on the aisle, striding towards the alluring stage. He raised a hand to acknowledge the audience's kind words and cheers. He rushed up the few stairs, clambering into the entrancing spotlight to meet the host. Shaking his unusually cold hand, Rodney readily took the shining Oscar and its accompanying envelope.
"What's up with you, Levi? Smile a little more," he whispered, then turned to the audience.
He took to the microphone, beaming. "Thank you! Thank you!" The clapping gradually died off as he spoke. "Thank you." There came a momentary silence; a prideful look around the crowd from the victor.
"There came a time when I thought I would never be allowed in the film industry ever again. I know that you all know of that time. And I know that many of you only know me from that horrible, horrible incident 30 years ago. And not one day goes by where it slips my mind. See, even now, I hear my fair share of 'critiques,' putting it kindly. I often dream of how my life would be, had it never happened.
"But it did, and we've all had to come to terms with it." Rodney took in a breath. "Think of it this way: This stain on my career was a step forward in the industry. The incident happened so it would never happen again. Loe Peterson was proud to have worked on a film set directed by me, as were the other crew on set."
"The fact of the matter is, my friends..."
Backstage, the crew upped the power supply voltage. The stage lights flickered on, even making Rodney squint his eyes momentarily.
"No matter who you are, where you are, when you are..."
47's hands drifted over his pocket.
"Death can come when you least expect it."
The lights faltered, hushing the theatre to whispers as it dimmed, then lightened. They flashed brightly, brighter than even the spotlight that kept on the director.
Then, darkness, pushing everyone to crowded mutters. Everyone spoke at once, creating an inaudible cacophony of words.
Rodney bit his lip, warily glancing around despite the total blackness encasing the theatre. Stepping behind him, something yanked his neck. Someone kicked his legs forward, forcing the director onto his back. The Oscar clattered against the floor, bouncing onto its side. Rodney scratched at his throat, trying to claw at the thin fiber, desperately choking for help. The attacker pulled him off his feet, dragging Rodney away by the neck.
His vision blacked out; his hands went limp for seconds at a time. He kicked at the ground, trying to gain footing. His mouth fell and his muscles weakened. The director gasped for breath, only losing more air with each exhale. His arms fell to the side, eyes rolling back. Rodney White went limp, limbs trailing behind him.
Finally, in the theatre, a guard flicked on his flashlight. There was a sigh of relief as several more came up, illuminating the building well enough for everyone to see. "Please remain calm!" ordered a man with a shout. "We are only experiencing technical issues with the power! Please stay in your seats while we investigate!"
Around the guard, however, his colleagues tapped their earpieces. "Rodney White and Levi Terell are missing."
Dragged to the scene deck, Agent 47 left the body behind a cardboard prop leaning against the wall. His earpiece scratched to life. "Target down. Good work, 47, the money has been wired to your account." He left the room, locking the door with the keychain. "Now head towards an exit."
Agent 47 peered onto the stage, where several security guards now combed the place. They each waved their flashlights from side to side. As they encroached on his location, he observed how they swung their lights. Then, as their vision veered away, 47 broke off in a steady crouch, careful not to make a singular noise. He weaved between the wavering lights, close enough to hear the guards' breathing.
He descended the stairs, making his way into the aisle between the worried crowd of stars. Joan White firmly gripped her armrests, holding her lips shut as she looked the stage for her husband. While they murmured and glared ahead, 47 walked across the auditorium, up to the double doors that led to the lobby.
"Iris Quinn, reporting live at the Kodak Theatre where this year's Oscar ceremony was currently taking place, right up until the lights surged to blinding levels before burning out and leaving the whole building in complete darkness.
"Security says that the ceremony will proceed as usual once they figure out what went wrong with the lighting. Curiously enough, the host, Levi Terell and Rodney White, who was giving a speech at the time of the blackout, appears to have vanished, dropping the Oscar and the envelope at the podium. We will keep you updated as events go on. In other news—"
Iris bit her tongue as someone walked between her and the camera. "Cut! You again?" she spat. Pam sighed, lowering the camera for now. "Now I know you're doing this on purpose!"
"Iris, Iris, calm down!" Pam caught her just before she charged after the man. "Let's just take a minute to cool off, okay?"
She sighed. "Fine." When she looked back at the man—much like last time—he had already vanished.
MURDER AT THE OSCARS!
Rodney White murdered during ceremony. Killer's identity still unknown.
During the ceremony meant to honor talent in the film industry, famed director Rodney White was found murdered backstage following a temporary blackout that occurred during his speech. The host, Levi Terell, also vanished in that instant, and he was later found in the theatre's scene deck unconscious and stripped. It is currently believed that during the blackout, an unknown assailant attacked and dragged them both behind the stage.
The scene is still under investigation, but the only clear motive can only be related to the 1982 Beyond Judgment incident. Although he never suffered court punishment, Rodney expressed remorse on numerous occasions. He leaves behind his wife and two children.
The notorious assassin known as the Crimson Mongoose took credit for the murder in a recent message to state authorities. The Crimson Mongoose, a contract killer of Russian origin, is notoriously responsible for many high-profile deaths in recent years, including infamous Japanese yakuza leader Masahiro Hayamoto. International authorities are unable to procure his identity or his location, and whoever this assassin is shows no sign of stopping.
Many remember 2011's Oscar ceremony for Pseudonym's audacious hijacking of the broadcast and had hoped this year would return to normality. Unfortunately, the future of the ceremonies now remains under intense scrutiny-particularly in the security department...
POSSIBLE BREAKTHROUGH IN MYSTERY OF THE ARTISAN SERIAL KILLER
For a morbid cold case that has stumped investigators for years, there is still hope for answers, now that a collected DNA sample is being tested at labs. Found at one of the Artisan's gruesome crime scenes, it was kept in collection untouched until now. Can this be the answer authorities were looking for?
The Artisan left a dozen people dead, each of them brutally maimed and mutilated in what the killer dubbed "his works of art." The only suspect arrested at the time was released due to lack of evidence and lives peacefully in Ireland...
JUSTICE BLANC'S ESTATE RAIDED BY FBI
In a shocking turn of events, controversial Supreme Justice Sandra Blanc had her estate raided by the FBI searching for illegally kept documents. This is following a recent scandal where a phone call between the judge and an unidentified CIA agent was leaked to the public. The phone call revealed details of corruption and a possible transfer of nuclear codes beyond her authority.
No further details of the raid have been disclosed, and Justice Blanc has not commented. What this spells for her career, though, appears bleak...