20 January 2013
It was rare that Yamato struggled with a contract. Rarer still that he worked with others. So to see the teenage assassin in an office, the light only coming from the outside neons that hung across the buildings of the city, with two other people, talking was certainly a nerve-racking experience.
For the other two, at least.
The first was a woman in her late twenties, with cropped black hair and an athletic build. She wore a long red dress, with a gold necklace and two diamond rings on her left hand. In her hands was a rifle - a QBU-88 standard Chinese semiautomatic sniper rifle - and at that particular moment she was applying a silencer to the end of the barrel.
The other in the room was a man, perhaps in his late forties, Yamato couldn't exactly tell. All he could tell was that the man had seen his fair share of battles. Smoke rose from the cigarette in the man's mouth, rising above the buzzed greying hair atop the gruff head. A scar ('of course there was', Yamato added) was across the man's left eye and ran down to his neck. The man was in a military jacket, with a furred hood, and the mutterings that escaped from the man sounded much like Persian. The gun he used came from the Soviet Union, a Dragunov. Or, if Yamato's deductions were correct, a Nakhjir sniper rifle. Again, semiautomatic.
Yamato was likely to be the youngest of the trio, but no less deadly. In his trademark black trench-coat, a Metallica Tee and dark jeans, he was the most youthful looking. Around his neck were a pair of headphones, and across his eyes were dark shades that his identity. In his hands however was a British standard L115A3 long-range rifle. Unlike the other two, this rifle was a bolt-action, meaning he had to manually load each shot.
Not that he needed to. He only had one target, after all.
Yamato sat down in a chair, with the butt of his rifle against the floor, and his hand lazily tapping the side of his silencer. He leaned his head back, listening to the music, and let out a small groan in boredom. The Persian looked toward Yamato, before he shook his head and continued to brood against the wall with his arms folded.
Yamato turned his gaze toward the woman who was waiting patiently on the floor, her hands positioned on the gun. She was lying in wait with her eye stuck into the telescopic sight. Yamato meanwhile was only looking at the lady's arse, and let out a small whistle. He turned his head to the Persian, and made a gesture with his finger by moving it back and forth a hole he made with his other hand. The Persian however remained stony-faced as ever, and stared back at Yamato with steely eyes. Yamato grimaced. 'Barrel of laughs, this one,' he thought, giving up on his perverted antics, and sighed once more.
"...it's only a matter of time, Señor Pitriva. We have to move. Now."
Yamato perked up in an instant, and slid into position, with one knee propped up to support his elbow. He loaded a bullet into the rifle, and held his breath as he moved his eye closer to the sight. He smiled at the sight of the Spanish man walking into view, talking to the woman next to him. Señor Pitriva, his beautiful and much younger blonde wife, and his bodyguards. Five targets in total. The Chinese had the wife and the first bodyguard to deal with. The Persian had the other two guards to kill. And Yamato, being the only one who didn't have a semiautomatic, got the main target as a result.
Pitriva was the head executive of TriVita, a pharmaceutical company that had branches all around the world. He was the executive for the London branch. To see this guy get hit was obviously weird to the underworld. Sure, the company was a little shady. Any business that dealt with medicine always had rumours, it was a given. But even Yamato used TriVita. The kid suffered from headaches from time to time.
As he lined up the crosshair over the man's head, he hesitated to breathe for a moment, thinking about what he was about to do.
Then he remembered the five-hundred thousand reward he was about to get for the kill.
"On three..." he whispered, his grip on the gun barrel tightening. "One... two... three..."
It was over in five seconds. The Persian had been the first to react at the simultaneous shot, his hand coming back and reloading the bullet in an instant, before the second shot took out the other guard.
Yamato had retreated into the shadows once he confirmed the kill, and began to disassemble the gun and replace it into his pack. Once it was all placed and locked up, he hoisted the pack onto his shoulders, and looked toward the other two. "Sayonara, ladies," he smirked, before he turned and ran out of the office. He stopped when he reached the stairwell only to place an earpiece and mike on. He ran upward, right up to the roof.
"'REPORT! REPORT! Death count, five. Includes TriVita CEO and wife. Outside the TriVita building. All units, head to TriVita immediately.'"
Yamato groaned. "Shit! How the hell did they know?" He slammed through a door that went out into the roof, almost crashing through it. He stumbled through it, and quickly looked around. In the distance police cars could be heard, and the occasional chatter came over the radio earphone.
This was something beyond Yamato's capability. He could handle a couple of officers on his own, or he could take out a few cars by mixing up the traffic lights. But from what he could tell, the entire police force was on its way to TriVita, and Yamato certainly did not want to stick around to see what that looked like.
He tightened the straps on his pack, before sprinting across the rooftop and down the sloped edge. At the bottom, he pushed up and launched himself into the air. He landed on another roof on the other side, having jumped over a thirty-foot drop. At that, he ran across the tiles, and down onto a fire-escape, where he quickly got down to the ground and jogged on for a few moments, putting a few streets between him and the TriVita building. He could see a couple of police units blare past the street he was on. Yamato went in the opposite direction.
It wasn't long before a ringer sounded in his earphone, to which Yamato answered.
"Well done, Mister Yamato." The voice was female, and sounded professional. Very business-like. "The money will be transferred to the account that you gave us within the next three hours. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
Yamato stayed silent, and let the phone go dead before he hung up. Long enough to be triangulated. He pulled up an app on his phone, which showed that the call had come from a public line, halfway across the city. "Heh," he smirked, smoothing down his jacket, and could only think of Crystal waiting at his apartment. "Wimps."
Need A Hand? • Opuss № I