Scott the Assassin-Part 3 With disciplined patience, Scott waited in the supply closet, his ear pressed flat against the door, one hand resting on the knob, the other hanging by his side. Amongst the commonplace items- mop with bucket, racks housing bottles of cleaning solutions, stood this very uncommon male specimen - a young, Korean-American with a bodybuilder's physique that was expertly skilled in the ways of killing. His tight, drawstring khaki shorts were almost bursting with thick quadriceps muscle and did nothing to conceal the glorious shapes of the two firm bulbs that was his ass. A black under armor shirt was plastered around the contours of his forward-thrusting chest, the groove between each pec deep, while below the beautifully carved nooks and ridges of his abdominal wall were suctioned-sealed against the material. His arms were sleeveless with perfectly proportioned and wide slabs of bicep and tricep muscle hanging loosely by his sides, truly awesome even when unflexed. He heard the distant sound of radio static and chatter, and as his hand held the doorknob, the muscular striations in his forearm perceptibly jumped and tensed, his physique poised and excited by the quickly approaching opportunity to do what he had so rigorously trained it for. He heard two distinct sets of footsteps nearing him, the clop-clop of hotel security officers walking side-by-side and making their rounds of the basement. The footsteps got closer and closer until, as expected, they passed the maintenance closet. Scott's hand swiveled the knob, swung the door open and he leapt out. Before the two black-suited guards had a chance to swing around, he immediately drove his knee up into the small of one man's back. "UH!!" The guard cried as he spasmed in pain and dropped to his knees. Scott curled his arm up and knocked his elbow into the base of the skull, instantly plummeting the man into unconsciousness. With hasty panic the arm of the second guard was fumbling to unholster the firearm from inside his jacket. Scott pivoted and swung his muscle-laden leg out high, a devastating roundhouse kick delivering his heel to the man's temple. The guard was thrown against the wall and slowly slid down before flopping to the floor, one hand clutching his head. Scott pounced on the man's back and pinned him down. He needed to extract information from him and he wasted no time. He seized the man's wrist and wrenched the arm behind his back. "No, no, no, no-Wait." The guard began to moan as he felt his own arm quickly being twisted behind his back, being unstoppably manipulated into unnatural angles the joints were never designed to go. He suddenly let out a girlish scream and almost vomited as he felt a shocking flash of sharp pain and heard the crisp snap of his lower arm splitting in two. Scott tossed the broken limb back to the floor, seized the man's other wrist and jerked it behind his back. "This arm is still in one piece. Answer my questions and it'll stay that way." Scott said, "Otherwise..." he trailed off, giving the man's wrist a painful downward tug that sufficiently completed his sentence. "Okay!" The man cried out, breathing heavily with fear. "This hotel just admitted several new guests. VIPs. Foreigners." The guard was trying to think rationally now, sorting out his thoughts amongst his dread of death, the agonizing throb of his broken arm, and his desire to avoid any such similar pain elsewhere on his body. "You...you mean...those gooks?" Scott's palm and thumb pressed straight down on the man's wrist, compressing the joint until it emitted a few playful pops. The guard yelped and his legs kicked out. "No please!" he begged. "I think you meant, 'those Japanese'. Hiromi Takahashi and guests." "Yes! Yes! They just came in tonight....leaving tomorrow morning" "What room are they staying in?" "Ah...the...the 3rd Executive suite. 23rd Floor." "Are they there now?" "I don't know. I got a radio call... one was heading for the massage parlor." "OK. and where is that, chief?" "Th...third floor." "You did very good, chief." Scott crouched in close to the man's ear, "But that comment about 'gooks', bad fucking mistake." He jerked the arm, his strength bending it into some absurd pretzel until he heard the cartilage in the elbow pop and the joint surrendered entirely with a grisly crunch. The man let out a long sustained howl and his body began to writhe under Scott bodyweight, desperate to escape. Scott dropped the mangled arm, reached into his pocket, pulled out a 5-inch knife and slid it out from its leather sheath. He cupped his palm over the man's forehead and yanked the head backward. Reaching forward, he promptly cut the man's throat, the blade slicing deep across the larynx and severing the carotid artery. The screaming was instantly replaced by a pathetic combination of gurgling and gasping. Scott let go and the man's forehead smacked back down to the floor. The man's broken arms twitched and shifted uselessly, as he instinctively wished to bring his hands up and cover the wound, but to no avail. Scott stood up, confident the man's frantic heart, which had now become his own worst enemy, would efficiently bled him out within 90 seconds. He heard a groaning from the first guard awakening from his nap. Scott stood over him for a moment, then raised his right leg in the air, his thick quads and hamstrings hanging off like a meat rack, before savagely stomping his foot into the brain stem and twisting his heel. He heard the tell-tale crack and the man's groans were abruptly cut short. Scott didn't concern himself with the bodies, figuring it would take another 30-45 minutes before their disappearance was noted, and he fully expected to complete his job before that. He took off, bounding down the corridor, his pecs bouncing beneath his shirt as he turned a corner and ran up a stairwell. Who he hoped to find on the 3rd floor was Hiromi Takahashi, boss of one of Japan's most notorious yakuza organizations. Barely sixty minutes ago Takahashi had departed from a meeting with Scott's employer, Sal Petrone. The graceful Japanese elder possessed a seemingly endless supply of heroin and international ambitions, and had already begun distributing his goods along the eastern seaboard of the U.S. The meeting did not go well. Communicating mostly through his interpreter and boss of the American operations, a slick young man from San Francisco by the name of Ken Ninoyama, he mocked Petrone and expressed that he was only here to take the money of "American scum", not form unnatural partnerships with them. Minutes after they left, Petrone dispatched Scott. "When they go back to Japan, they don't go first class, they don't go second class, they don't go coach. They go in fuckin' storage. Understand?", was his command. Scott opened the door marked "Level 3" and stepped out into long, brightly lit corridor. It was nearly 1am at the Millennial Hotel and the halls were virtually deserted of guests. Yet, as one on New York's most exclusive and premiere hotels, its staff offered its services around the clock. Scott walked down the hallway till he came to any open door, a plaque next to it reading "Massage & Body Care". He pushed the door open gently with his knuckles and noticed a man seated and reading a magazine next to a collapsible massage table. Wearing a set of headphones and bobbing his head along with the music, he looked up with sudden surprise at Scott and tore his headphones off. "Oh. Sorry!" He blurted standing up embarrassed and somewhat flustered by Scott's thick bodybuilder physique. "I'm not supposed to be doing that, but you know it get's pretty slow here at this hour. My name is Kevin. Are you Mr." he looked down and read off a piece of paper "Nino-yama?" Scott looked the man over. He was very young, perhaps a college student moonlighting as a masseuse while working on his physical therapy degree, or perhaps one day planning to open his own massage parlor, or perhaps he had entirely different intentions in life. Either or, it didn't matter. Scott had found the right room. Scott didn't respond to the young man's question. He walked straight up to Kevin and immediately gut-punched him. All the air was forced from his belly as his body jerked up. Scott fired four piston-quick blows into the mans' chest with a thud-thud-thud-thud, causing Kevin's arms to flail like a spastic puppet. The Asian muscle-man slapped his palm on the back of Kevin's head and yanked it forward. He snaked his muscle-swollen arm around the neck and secured it tightly in a reverse headlock. Scott's forearm began to unmercifully compress the man's trachea, cutting off oxygen and the opportunity to scream. Kevin's fingers seized the bulbous tricep and desperately tried to pry it away, while the other slapped futilely against the expansive wing of Scott's lat muscle. Scott straightened his posture and then hoisted up, yanking Kevin's shuffling feet up to his shoe tips . This maneuver transferred virtually all of the stress of the young man's bodyweight straight onto his own neck, which was now stretched and bent taut Scott jerked his arm downward and heard an immediate clean snap of cervical vertebrae and felt bone separate against his bicep. Kevin's legs gave a spastic kick and the fingers clamped on Scott's hard tricep gently relaxed before slipping off, his arms now swaying lifelessly in the air. Scott sighed to himself as he continued to prop up the dead bodyweight in the crook of his arm and felt the man's short-circuited nervous system spasm out the last bits of life. "Sorry about that buddy." Scott said, giving Kevin a pat on the back. "Wrong place, wrong time." He heard the sound of someone walking down the outside corridor, talking on what was most likely a cell-phone. Scott flipped Kevin around, grabbed him under the armpits, and dragged him across the room. He opened a storage closet, dumped the limp body inside and shut the door. Just in time. Into the room walked a young, handsome man who was finishing up a call on his cell phone, Ken Ninoyama. He pocketed his phone, looked up at Scott and the smug smile from his face disappeared. "You the massage guy?" Ken asked after a moment, looking Scott over with arrogant contempt. "Yep." Scott smiled, his thick, sleeveless arms hanging exposed by his side. "Well, Let's get started," Ken said, pulling off his suit jacket, "And better make it good. My people are paying a lotta fucking money to stay in this place." He threw his jacket on a chair and began to climb onto the massage table. "Ah," Scott cleared his throat, "It's better if you take your shirt off." He looked Scott over for a moment, unenthusiastic about removing his shirt and exposing his own inferior body. The bodybuilder masseuse simply smiled back at him, and Ken couldn't tell if it was a genuine or a challenging smirk. "Fine. OK. What happened to the guy who was here last night?" he asked, grumpily slipping his tie off, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it on the chair as well. Scott slapped his palms together and rubbed them as Ken laid belly-down on the cushioned table. "Oh. He took a break." Scott smirked. He laid his palms Ken's shoulders and began to gentle squeeze the man's soft muscles. His fingers squeezed deep into the muscle tissue in a slow pattern, causing Ken to emit a soft moan of pleasure as he felt tension begin to slip from his shoulders. His consciousness began to drift, his mind receded as he felt these strong hands knead his backside. "So, you in town on business?" Scott asked. "Look," Ken opened his eyes, "Just mind your business and do your fucking job." Scott grinned, "Relax. I'm getting to that." Scott quietly crept onto the table. Kneeling over Ken, his leg muscles compressed and bunched up, his meaty pecs hanging over the man. Scott brought his thumbs within a half an inch apart and ran them down along Ken's spine. The prone man let out a soft purr as he felt two thumbs press deep and slide soothingly down his long erector muscles. Scott brought his hand up and placed his thumb gently on the man's neck. His thumb then proceeded to sweep down over the bumps of the man's vertebrae, tracing a circle around each delicate bone. Scott possessed the pure muscle-power to break any man's spine easily. However, severing the life-giving spinal cord presented hidden dangers and was unpredictable. He had once broken a man's lower back with the intention of only paralyzing him, but the man's lungs stopped working and the fucker quickly died. His thumb stopped and settled midway down at the base of the thoracic spinal column. His fingers straightened, plied together tightly like a spade set to stab downward. He breathed in deep, focusing his mind and his body. He quickly realized a fracture at this region would cause cause catastrophic kidney failure and a too quick death. Correcting his mistake, he shifted his hand down one more vertebrae, his two straightened middle fingers pressing into the groove. "Hey. What are you doing?" Ken mumbled as he opened his eyes. His eyes went wide as he noticed the door to the office closet had creaked open. Heaped on the floor and leaning against the wall was the kid who had massaged him last night. Something was vaguely askew about the tilt of his head. The kid's eyes were open, but they stared back at Ken emptily and unmoving. A flashpoint of dreadful realization shot through Ken's brain. "Holy Shi-" Scott's two middle fingers thrust down. He heard a gruesome crunch and felt the spinal column split. Ken's eyes flew open wide and his mouth opened, gasping dumbly. Scott was only halfway done though, as he had merely broken bone. His five fingers stabbed painfully into the man's flesh, seized the lower half of the broken spine and jerked up. The muscular striations of Scott's forearms swelled with definition as he lifted the spine up half an inch, effectively severing the vital nerve encased within, the intricate skeletal details of the broken spine clearly etched against the thin, stretched skin. He let go and the demolished fragment of bone sank back into the man's backside. Ken's face was a fixture of total shock, his lower body paralyzed, his arms hanging off the edge of the table and swimming slowly in the air. Scott leaned in close to him, his firm pecs pressing into the backside and his lips near Ken's ear. "Now Ken." Scott whispered as both hands gripped the immobilized man's shoulder blades and began to pull them back. "Tell me. Where is Takahashi? Huh? Can I expect to find him upstairs?" "Uhhh...UHH..." Ken groaned. He felt thumbs sinking ruthlessly into his flesh and prying his shoulder blades unstoppably back. He struggled to breath as a growing ache and tremendous pressure built in his upper chest. "Uhhh..FffUCK you..." The definition in Scott's biceps bulged and the V-taper of his lat muscles spread as he gave the shoulders a brutally powerful jerk back. Ken's chest lifted off the table and his entire body shuddered under the strain. He let out a long anguished groan that was cut short by the sound of ribs popping free of the sternum like firecrackers, followed the sharp crack of the sternum itself breaking. Scott let go of the shoulder blades and let the man thud chest first back to the table. He reached down, grabbed Ken's dangling right arm, cupped his palm over the man's wrist and gave the compression lock a tweak of pressure that caused the man to yelp. "I can do this all day, asshole." Scott growled, "So many bones left to break. Where...is ...Takahashi?" Ken's eyes were barred and he sputtered. "Sauna. He's in...sauna." "How many men with him?" "I don't-uh-four-five I dunno." Scott flung the arm in his grasp away. The compact bodybuilder reached forward, grabbed a clump of Ken's hair and yanked back. He wrapped one arm around the man's forehead and without a moments hesitation, jerked Ken's head hard to the right, snapping the most important bone in his body. A brief convulsion shot through Ken's entire body and a last gasp of air slipped form his lips. Scott's lips hovered next to the dead man's ear and whispered "Thanks." He hopped off the table and for a brief moment starred down at Ken, impressed with his own handiwork, the man's backside contorted and the unnatural ridge of the spinal fracture clearly visible against the skin. Time to get back to work. He shoved his arms under Ken's body, hoisted him off the table and took him outside, where he dropped him against the wall. Scott leaned back into the office, flipped the lightswitch, pressed the lock on the door knob and shut the door, leaving Kevin quietly in his closet grave. Amid the still white haze of the Millennial's enormous, white-tiled steam room, six men sat on a wooden bench their backs leaned against the wall. They were arranged in hierarchical fashion, with Takahashi in the middle, his eyes closed and sweat dripping from his face. He felt completely placid, as if today's brush with the grotesque and fat Italian mobster was being cleaned from his pores. He was flanked by his bodyguards, those he had entrusted with his life. They were or various heights and shapes, most with elaborate and colorful tattoos coating their skin, sitting in a heat-induced stupor, naked save for the dampened towels around their waists. They had left their firearms along with their clothes, which now lay bundled in the locker-room. At the far end, the men heard the sauna door open and two feet slap on the tiles. Takahashi opened his eyes and watched the figure that walked toward them through the white haze slowly acquire definition. It became clear the man was carrying something. Takahashi quickly recognized the "package" in the man's arms. I was his own employee and servant, Ken Ninoyama. He was clearly dead, for his backside sagged between the man's arms like a shapeless, heavily loaded sack of groceries and his head was flopped entirely backwards, his eyes and mouth wide open in frozen shock. With a sneer of disgust, the muscled man dropped the corpse and it struck the tiles with a smack. Now Takahashi could get a good look at Scott. As a Japanese, he could easily distinguish the figure before him was of Korean descent. The man stood there almost completely naked save for a pair of small white underwear that barely covered his ass. His physique cut an incredible impression in the steam room; his deltoids were like bowling bowls, his chest hard packs of meat, with two thick wads of muscle flanking hanging off his flanks, the muscle gliding down and fattening into two solidly thick and powerfully built legs, which tapered down to the beautiful shapes of his balled calves. "Hideo! Yoshi!" Takahashi barked. Two men suddenly leapt up and dashed for Scott. He leapt back, pivoted and swung his leg in a dizzying arch through the steam, his foot impacting with Hideo's jawline with a crack and sending the man sideways, his skull ramming into the wall and shattering tiles. Scott had completed the kick and gracefully swung around in a full circle to address Yoshi's incoming punch, which he deftly countered by striking the man's elbow with the side of his palm and knocking his swing off course. Scott's fist delivered a flurry of blows in rapid succession; three to the chest, one to the head. The man momentarily stunned, Scott's hand reached out and his fingers seized Yoshi's adam's apple like a pincer and then violently swiped his arm away. Yoshi immediately stopped his attack and stood their gasping, his face contorted into an expression of pure horror as his fingers fumbled frantically over the gaping fresh hole in his throat. Scott smiled and held up the piece of flesh between his fingers for Yoshi to see, the bloodied chunk of his own larynx. Yoshi slowly crumpled to his knees, still clutching his throat and sputtering. The other man lay slumped against the wall. He was still, his head flopped forward and two rivulets of blood streaming from his nostrils and into his lap, something critical in his brain broken. Takahashi barked another command and two more of his goons hopped up and ran for Scott, one nearly tripping over a corpse. Scott swung his right fist and struck one man in the temple, then immediately ducked to avoid the other's swing, twisting to deliver a sharp uppercut to his chest with a thud. He seized the towel around the man's waist, yanked it off and quickly looped it around the man's head. Scott's hands tightly gripped both ends of the towel and he began to swing the lassoed man around in a full circle, the man's feet desperately trying to follow Scott's lead, keep up with the building momentum and maintain his balance. Scott's biceps erupted into a solid hard bulge as he suddenly jerked the towel hard in the opposite direction and heard the man's neck snap. He forcefully swung the body around and released the towel, sending the corpse flying into the second man who had already resumed his attack, both of them falling to the ground. The man grunted in disgust as he struggled to push the naked corpse off him. Before he had a chance to fully rise to his feet, Scott slammed his knee straight up into his chin, knocking his head back against the wall. Scott reached down and roughly positioned the man belly-down on the floor. He swiped the towel off the floor, slipped it around the dazed man's forehead and held it tightly with one hand. His left arm hoisted the man's legs up over his own back. He yanked back on the towel with convincing strength and the man let out a cry of pain as his chest rose off the floor and his spine bent backward, his body now contorting into a U shape. Scott straddled the man and then suddenly thrust his entire muscular bodyweight down on the forward bent legs, hearing the fatal crack of the spinal column. "UH!" the man cried sharply, and then nothing more. "Kazuo!" Takahashi barked. The mast remaining bodyguard stood. The man looked Scott straight in the eyes as he slowly stepped over bodies and approached. He was taller than average with a lean muscle frame, his long black hair dampened and behind his shoulders and a beautifully ornate tattoo of a dragon across his chest. He assumed a combat stance, fists ready. Scott swung out his leg but the man ducked and suddenly lunged, delivering a whirlwind of strikes that Scott deftly blocked, Scott jumped back, crouched, pivoted and swung his heel to the man's flank. Kazuo grunted and stumbled to his side. Taking advantage, Scott swung his fist in a tremendously fast and relentless arch until it collided with Kazuos's temple. He gripped the man's hair with one hand, while his knuckles fired another five times in violent succession into the skull. The barely conscious Kazuo bent forward, exposing his back, and Scott simultaneously rammed his elbow down into the backside while his knee thrust up and crushed the nose into a flat stub. His hands gripped Kazuo's shoulders, keeping the battered man from collapsing. Scott's dick was now pushing out the fabric of his underwear, the mushroom-head and his cum filled balls screaming for release. He threw the limp and unresisting Kazuo to the ground, his naked flesh slapping against the tiles. Scott looked up at Takahashi. The older man had not moved once since the Korean-American had entered the sauna, his face still placid and calm as always. There was a slight smile on his lips as his eyes noted Scott's hardon, then darted up to look the Korean-American in the eyes. "You have won. He has lost. He is much shamed and no longer worthy. Do with him as you please. I will not stop you." Scott eyed the man suspiciously as he slowly crouched down, hooking his thumb into his underwear and pulling them down his quads, his hard cock pointing straight out and yearning to penetrate a target. He ripped the towel from Kazuo's buttocks, pulled the ass cheeks apart and pushed the mushroom-tip into the unresisting and inviting hole. "Mmm..." Scott briefly moaned as he began to rhythmically gyrate his hips up and down, the heavy muscle that hung from his thighs at first contacting Kazuo's soft ass-checks with a gentle, persistent pats. The rhythm soon increased, the tingling pleasure in his dick building unstoppably to a delirious peak as his heart raced with excitement and his thighs now slapped with vigorous abandon against Kazuo's ass. The fallen man was now weeping quietly to himself, fully ensconced in his own failure and humiliation. Scott hooked his arm under the man and pulled him closer, his face pressing into the backside, their sweat mingling. His face was tensed with excited exertion, his breathing increasingly rapid when his face suddenly seized, his perfect body tensed, his eyes clamped tightly and his mouth opened wide and shot out a sharp groan: "AH! Ahh!". The piston movements of his hips seized for a moment, his ass clenched and an intense shudder shook his body. He gave a few more pumps, his hips slowly winding down as his muscles were visibly flooded with relaxed relief. The tension from his body dissipated, now almost overcome with the heat of the steam room and his own exertions, Scott was tempted to lay and sleep on top of Kazuo, drool dripping from his partly opened lips onto the man's backside. He still had work to do and Scott forced his eyes open, extracted his dick and used his knees to shuffle forward. He slipped his arms around Kazuo's neck and secured a rear naked chokehold cupping one palm over his wrist. The defeated man began to gag as Scott's arms constricted. The flow of blood cut from his brain, the man quickly lost consciousness. Scott kept the deadly pressure on the neck for a full two minutes. Several violent spasms shot through the unconscious man's body as his lungs, his brain and his heart simultaneously struggled futilely against death. The twitches soon ceased. Scott felt confident the man was gone, but to make sure the fucker had no surprises left, he jerked the head back until he heard a rapid popping sound and felt Kazuo's skull break free of its anchor. He unwrapped his arms, let the head plop to the floor and stood up, panting and looking exhausted. "I'm tired Takahashi." He said approaching the seated man, his fist clenched and prepared to administer a killing blow to the heart. "So let's make this quick." "Oh?" the man asked, smiling "Are you so eager to waste such an opportunity?" "What do you mean?" Scott furrowed his brow. Takahashi sweep out his hand, gesturing to the five dead men whose bodies littered the steam room. "They were among my best. They are defeated. But that is okay. You are worth one-hundred of them." He looked into Scott's eyes confidently, "What loyalty do you have to that fat-man? None! You wish only to destroy. To kill. And to be paid well for it. Both of which I can provide limitless opportunities of. That is what I speak of." Scott wiped the sweat from his brow, sighed deeply and placed his hands on his hips. "Let's talk about this outside, old man. It's hot as hell in here."