|Ker (_ker_) wrote in peripeteia_rpg,|
@ 2009-07-01 01:47:00
Death Comes on Swift Wings
Who: Leila (Ker)
What: A Hit
Where: The American Embassy
When: June 22, Late at night
Rating: R for Death
Leila stretched out on the roof of what might be the best guarded building in Athens. But that didn't scare her. It only made her relish this contract all the more. It presented a challenge when few things did anymore. Besides, she hated Americans almost as much as she did Israelis. Maybe even more. After all, the Americans were the puppets, though they didn't seem to know it. But they were puppets who supplied their puppet master with the means and the support to continue the atrocities.
No, on further consideration, Leila hated them both and was glad for a chance to strike at either. But to have a chance not only to strike at the bastards that continued to hurt her people, but to do it where they thought themselves safe was a pleasure unlike few others.
Slowly she stretched her body out, creeping over the roof a tile at a time, careful not to trip sensors, or lasers, or make any noise that would be detected by the guards or their dogs four stories below.
Marking her location by the windows on the building across the park from the Embassy where she was to take her prey, she paused. This should be the window.
With the grace of a ballerina and the strength of an acrobat, she twisted her body through her arms to tumble lightly onto the sill of the Ambassador's window. It was open to catch a breeze in this beautiful weather as she'd hoped. As she'd expected. As she'd known it would be.
Like the sensors on the roof, the window being open was something she felt. She couldn't explain it any other way. Though she planned her hits, when she actually arrived on a scene, she often tossed whole chunks of the plan by the wayside. She felt, in her bones, that her best work was the result of instincts, not planning.
But now she found herself exactly where she wanted to be, wedged into the windowsill of the office of the man she was to kill. The floor length gauze curtains billowed in the breeze, hiding her slight movements as she took the small pistol from her thigh holster, chambering a round with a soft snick.
The noise was quiet, but it still seemed to echo to her ears. Certainly the target heard something, for he looked up at the noise, glancing her way.
This was the hardest part for her. Always. She wanted to launch herself at him, to rip his throat out with her fingernails and drink his blood. Dance in it until the floor was crimson with the patterns of her wild exultation of joy.
But this time, planning won over instinct, especially as the moment passed and the target looked back down at his desk, going over his last correspondence before he retired for the night to the bed of his lovely mistress.
A manic grin split Leila's face as she slowly, steadily squeezed the trigger, bringing his Fate to him.
The silencer took much of the fun out of the death, but Leila did at least get to enjoy watching him flinch at the impact, the bullet landing exactly where she'd intended, severing the join of head and neck with a meaty thunk!
He flopped forward, blood spattering the leather blotter, his desk, the walls, and even dripping down onto his white shirt collar making his back blossom with a scarlet rose of blood.
It was hard to contain the satisfaction she felt, seeing the blood spread, and for a moment she was carried back, a visceral memory of bloody battlefields and carnage and ribbons dipped in the blood from mortal wounds while her victims still lived-
It was gone as fast as it came, and shaking her head, she reached for the slight overhang of the roof, pulling herself back up by the sheer strength of her muscles yo inch her way back to the tree she would use to climb down. In and out with no one the wiser.
Well, someone knew, but he was in no state to talk.
Now she'd collect her payment, and lay low until her next contract. Which if her current employer was being honest about, would come soon enough.