| "Success and Transcendence" | ||
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Club Samovar, Lower Manhattan May 10, 2008 0246 hours The killer-becoming stood silently, just watching. The environment did not hold her interest as it had done merely moments before. It had been reduced to its simplest denominator, acres of vertically and horizontally poured concrete. The flashing lights no longer dazzled her, the reach of the poured concrete into the sky no longer made her dizzy, even the incessant sounds produced by such a large city were hardly heard by her. She was the killer-becoming, and this concrete jungle was where her transformation would take place. The people, who before had infatuated and humbled her, no longer held their platonic roles as demi-gods in her mind. They were useless, faceless and nameless, and they roamed her killing fields aimlessly. They would be nothing now, as they had not been before. Should her path cross one she would immediately dehumanize them by assigning them a number or a letter or a small word that accentuated a certain feature or stand out trait of their person. This particular method she had never used before, not this way, and with not this much intensity. It was important, this method, if her fragile psyche was to cope with the coming events, if it were to rise above the evilness of her actions, to dehumanize, was to release her psyche from the ability to pity. The dark green eyes of the killer-becoming scouted the area as her mind had done a million times before with every picture stored in her neurological database of this particular piece of killing field. She moved then, hearing the voice in her ear, her Ally, her coat of armor, her protector from the eye in the sky...or in this case, the eye of a camera. Up the stairs, silent except for the occasional moan from a floorboard under their weight, the killer-becoming, and her assistant ascended to the fourth floor. Behind, following dutifully was the Protector. The red door whose opening would mark the beginning of their adventure was badly faded and Paige severely doubted that it was in use. However, one must be careful when becoming a killer and patiently she awaited the confirmation that the door and its lifeline to the world, that which defined it and made it immediately better than other doors with its security alarm, was disabled. There...the confirmation from the Ally. Paige pulled the cotton mask over her face leaving only the penetrating (and guilty) eyes of the killer-becoming peaking out. She also, had dehumanized herself, as if this method, working on others, would somehow make it easier to deal with: killer becoming...becoming the killer. She hoped so, she desperately hoped so... She pushed on the oversize handle and peered into the hallway. It was empty, filled only with a silence that should not be. Surely the club below and the floor she stood on had nothing more than standard issue insulation between them and should be affected by the thumping woofers that she had felt vibrate her sternum so deeply it was difficult to breath. But nothing. Not even a vibration. Strange, she thought, there should at least be some vibration. Dismissing it she moved into the small hallway, the Assistant behind her. The Protector stayed behind, ready in case they should need him. The door, as red as a fire truck, closed silently. From this side, she was sure, the door was operational. She glanced up at the Eye but held no feelings against it as it only did its job. This time, she knew, the feed it sent back to the main hallway and behind the door emblazoned with 'Security Suite' on it, was a loop, created by the Ally and designed to protect her presence. The intel, Paige hesitated a second, had better be accurate, or she would be searching database after database for the FBI man turned DJ's identity, the Moonlighter, to tell him personally that it had not been. But as she was confident in the Ally and in the Assistant, she was confident in the Moonlighter, and even as she spoke into her tiny comm unit, she knew what lay beyond the small hallway. "Alpha 2, to Tac 1, we're proceeding into the main hallway." "Copy that Alpha 2," the Ally's voice responded to her. The duo, clad in black and holding weapons, moved silently down the hall, into the main one, and the steps it took to reach the lift. The killer-becoming, her senses more alert than they had been through the fire door, had to squint her eyes slightly, the effect of the white floors combined with the assault of the overhead fluorescence, reminded her briefly of a surgical suite, and seemed harsher than usual. Her nose, even through the cotton mask, picked up traces of ammonia used on the stark white floor. She could hear nothing, and the silence set her nerves on edge, increasing her heart rate slightly and causing her to adjust her gloved grip on the dull black glock. The key, stolen from the White Rabbit, was inserted into the small hole as Paige watched the hallway, glancing briefly at another Eye, no doubt, sending looped feeds of nothingness back to its watchers. The Ally she was confident in, the Assistant, she was confident in, it would be her, and her ability to become a killer, that threatened to shake the mission. The pair stepped into the lift, "we're in the lift," as the Assistant pressed the button marked with a five. It was a significant number to Paige on many levels, this number five, but it could not be a distraction for the killer-becoming, and she eased her mind back into that direction. The doors opened as the two held their breaths, weapons at the ready, though nothing met them, no guard, no visitor, no drunk club member spinning high on the x being ushered out before he damaged himself, nothing. Just the silence and this bit into Paige as real as any teeth from any animal. She led, forward, out of the elevator, moving not as two now, but as one. They did not have to think about what they did, Alpha 2 and Alpha 3, because they had done it before, in practice, in training, and in their minds hundreds of times. They had to because they had to be successful, they had to stand up to the name that came with their stations...elite...the best...the best of the best. So they did, move as one towards the closest door and whatever lay behind it. "Alpha 2, Tac 1...open sesame." There was a significant pause, as she pictured the Ally, Simon, typing at his keyboard assuring the safety of the killer-becoming and the Assistant. "Go Alpha 2," Ally said. She hesitated...'if you hesitate you will die' admonishing words from her trainers of long ago. One day they may prove to be right, but not tonight. Her hand grasped the long handle and turned it, slightly opening the door. In seconds she had assessed the interior sitting room and slithered inside, the Assistant, properly acting as her shadow. The door was closed and they crouched low, backs against the wall, and surveyed the scene. "Alpha 2 and 3 are in the Warren," she said barely above a whisper. There was no response, as she suspected their might not be, and as the Ally had assured her there would be none. The frequency of their comms, as low as they were, could not penetrate the extra security the Red Rabbit, the Target, had installed. It had been hinted at, not confirmed, but taken as truth. The killer-becoming looked to the Assistant who nodded her head. They were on their own. This room, unlike all the others they had encountered including the respective hallways, was not silent. In fact, a slow rhythm of music steadily made its way towards them. It was highly unlike the music from the club and did not rattle her ribcage at all. She tried to place it but her auditory skills were severely limited and she was only able to utilize those upon hearing the same noise over and over. Even her cell phone, Paige's cell phone, the killer-becoming reminded herself, had no memory for her, and her ability to distinguish it from others like it was only in her ability to recall the movement that had left it where it rung. Her expertise lay within the ability of the dark green orbs that shifted constantly from between strands of black cotton, to provide a window for the element of her being, and that which made her different, her brain, to organize the world into tiny spaces of neurons and chemicals perfectly, and with every detail intact. This is what made her unique and what had dragged, pushed and shoved her along the ceaseless path to where she now crouched: the killer-becoming. Time was of the essence. She had heard it before and its meaning, lightly tossed away under ordinary circumstances, struck her now as inanely profound. She moved with confidence and did not even have to hint to her shadow, the Assistant, that she was moving. They had become one, if only for the time being, and as one, they moved towards the far door. It stood slightly ajar and Paige stiffened slightly and paused at the sounds coming from behind it. Her smoldering green eyes studied the door, and though she might will it, she could not see through the wooden structure. It was not, she judged, open enough to let the smaller part of the two-become-one, the Assistant, squeeze through without announcing herself. Time was of the essence she reminded herself and dropped to her hands and knees. The blob of black moved towards the door as the sounds shifted with the movement of those who made them. She suppressed a shiver reaching out to touch the door so timidly that one watching would think the other side was on fire and the leading edge of the black blob was assessing its temperature. She only moved it a fraction of an inch then paused to listen, the sound drawing the moisture from her mouth. The sounds did not stop, did not increase, nor decrease, but maintained their rhythm. She pushed a little further, twice as far as last time and paused again. The door was open now, enough for both parts of the black blob to go through, though they must separate to do so, though they must separate to accomplish the objectives. She looked quickly, once, at the trailing end of the blob, the green eyes transmitting messages to the brown ones that need not be conveyed with words or movement. A similar transmission was sent back between the blob. It was the last time tonight Paige would look at the Assistant as the killer-becoming. She knew what was going on behind the half closed door, the sound as familiar in her ears as if it were her own voice, but she could not prepare herself for what the windows might allow the brain to see. She moved anyway driven by some power greater than herself, and some need. However evil the next few minutes might be she could not deny she was curious. What had been done before as an act of self defense and self-preservation would be carried out now as an act of violence premeditated, and performed as well as any circus trapeze act, although this particular circus provided no popcorn or poodle acts. The only act here was center ring, murder, assassination, and all around had front row seats to it. The killer-becoming pulled herself on her belly through the half closed door. The sound became louder as she moved into the room making space for the Assistant. Her eyes were drawn to the sight on top of the large bed that dominated the room. It was the naked back of the White Rabbit, her head tossed slightly up, and her arms at her side. Though she could only see the upper portion of the White Rabbit's back from this angle, the killer-becoming knew instinctively what would be attached at the lower end...Him, the Target, the Red Rabbit, and the one who would be getting dead tonight at her murderous hands. Paige puffed into her comm as the Assistant puffed back. They could not be heard outside the interior but they could certainly hear each other inside, and the test was completed. Paige focused on the pictures she had invented in her mind, each one that had been elicited randomly and linked together by years of experience, when the list of charges against the Target had first been read to her. She did not do such things by choice, this conjuring of still pictures of both life and death was all she was capable of doing, and her brain often worked without her approval. Now, she welcomed what her gruesome imagination had conjured up two days ago, and focused on it, letting it feed the personality of the killer-becoming so she might have something with which to justify her actions later. Time was of the essence, and now, it was time. The killer-becoming stood easily, the Assistant following her without fail. She strode purposefully to the bed as if she belonged there in the middle of what some would consider the most personal experiences in their life. Stealth no longer mattered now, no longer played a role. If the couple had been sleeping it would have been handled the same. The White Rabbit and the Target were as much as unaware of the environment as if they had been asleep. But the killer-becoming was very aware. Paige heard the pitch in the White Rabbit's moan changed and knew she was rising towards that height, that achievement, that could bring two closer together as well as topple an entire country. Two more steps and Paige's ears were consumed by the throaty moans of the White Rabbit, transfixed and humiliated by the rhythmic movement of her body on top of the Targets, and his deeper moans of pleasure underneath her. His paws, for one could not call such things of disgust hands, held tight to the White Rabbit's hips, urging her forward with every thrust downward. The hypnotic sounds of their moaning was more in unison now with one step, and Paige began to turn towards the edge of the bed. Her position could be compromised as she appeared from behind the protection of the White Rabbit's back and fixed her blank green eyes on the Target. She had been this close before and her senses ever heightened by her own chemicals being pumped into her blood, could smell his cologne, the White Rabbit's perfume, but most of all, she could smell the sex and it was nearly suffocating. Her eyes still fixed on the Target, she had no fear of him discovering her though she moved now in plain sight, for his eyes were fixed on the White Rabbit that moved above him like a snake goddess, contorting her body to engage the most sensitive of places. A choked moan and the killer-becoming's periphery showed the White Rabbit's head going back and the arching of her body. She was rising quickly, but Paige knew she would not make it, not all the way, not if she could help it. There would be no more of the Target dumping his life into her, there would be no more trips out of the Warren, there would simply be...no more Target. The images of young girls, dead and alive, young boys, dead and alive, young girls and boys, mostly alive, bullet holes, drugs, weapons, money, all her mind had invented ceased...as suddenly as one plunged into complete darkness with the flick of a light switch. This is when the killer-becoming began her ascension. Paige whipped a hand out grabbing a handful of hair. She knew from her periphery that the Assistant had not arrived yet to her front row seat of murder but nothing now could be done. The killer-becoming needed to concentrate on the shot being accurate. Even a messenger of great evil, such as herself, was capable of delivering death with tender mercy. The only way to ensure this mercy, undeserved by him but necessary for her own sanity as well as for the one who still thrusted on top of him, was her shot being accurate. The killer-becoming now visualized the shot, the bullet that she would release and send forth on its death mark to the center of the Target's forebrain, if it reached that far. The opening of her glock was placed at the concave opening of the foramen magnum, where the spinal cord, the ultimate target, entered into the brain's superior domain. She would send the bullet through this and her mind began visualizing the scenario again. The White Rabbit, unaware of the two new presences in the room, was now made aware as the Assistant snaked an arm around the woman's neck. This effort had required the Assistant to reflect for a moment on how best to reach the White Rabbit that sat thrusting her hips further up on the bed than anticipated. And that moment had cost time, and time was of the essence, really. Now the scenario was thrown off and Paige, the killer-becoming could do nothing to stop it. She fixed on his eyes, now becoming aware of her, finally reacting to the hair being pulled on the top of his head. She would have to see, like she had done once before, if there was a change as one passed over from this life into whatever was beyond. There, his eyes were on hers now, the tiny synapses in his brain were trying to sort out the stimuli he was receiving. But he would not. As much as the White Rabbit would never reach her climax, the Target would never complete the synapse that registered who she was. The killer-becoming squeezed the trigger. The White Rabbit had become aware of both the killer-becoming and the Assistant quicker than the Target had. This revelation, however, proved no more useful than whispering in the fury of a thunderstorm. The Assistant sank the dart filled with tranquilizer deep into the muscle along the White Rabbit's neck. No sound came from the White Rabbit, even though the tranquilizer worked slower than the bullet, even though the Assistant had gotten to her AFTER the killer-becoming got to the Target, even though she would watch with horror the creature that was still inside of her take his last breath. The bullet entered the Target underneath the base of the skull. It tumbled through the brain stem, ripping the funny shaped cervical bones that held his head up, to pieces, and continued its way through the brain matter severing neurons and dendrites and chemical pathways that took eons of evolution to perfect, as it went. She knew all this completely and accurately as one should who had seen thousands upon thousands of pictures of human brain anatomy, had been infatuated with it and the notion of why hers was so different. She felt the tug of the hair in her hand, could sense the sudden jerk of the body that the bullet had done its job well, and mercy had finally been delivered. Paige continued watching his eyes, hoping to see something, anything, that might disprove to her that there was no afterlife, nothing to look forward to. The hope that the universe of life and death had been drawn with more wonderful colors than just black and white...but there was nothing. No mystical wave passing over them, no majestic light blinking out, the only reason she knew she had succeeded was the relaxing of the minute muscles that surrounded the very eyes they encircled. She had succeeded. But she had succeeded and transcended. She was no longer the killer-becoming. She was the killer-become. But even the killer-become knew the shot was off before she looked up to see the blood being splashed across the White Rabbit's naked body as the bullet came to rest not in the cerebral cortex, but at the base of the hard palate. In doing so, it had split the delicate vascular tissue out of mere force alone and strung bright red blood across the breasts and belly of the innocent White Rabbit like some ancient sacrificial animal. Still, the Target had not suffered, had not the time to register what had happened, and had not felt anything. Even for the bullets change in trajectory across the landscape of his brain, he had been murdered quickly and efficiently, and of course, with mercy. The White Rabbit, however, may not have been so lucky. Her eyes rolled slightly back in her head and her body slumped to the side. The Assistant pulled at the light body that nearly matched her own weight, down to the edge of the bed. The sound of the bodies disengaging from each other made the killer-become grimace slightly and glance away. The eyes of the Target stared up at her though unlike last time, these were not accusing. These eyes never got the chance to formulate a gaze as powerful as that had been, there had been no time for that, and time, after all, was of the essence for everyone, not just the killer-become. She glanced back at the Assistant who stood diligently guarding the body of the White Rabbit. The tiniest of moments, as they often have a way of being, had meant the most. Those precious seconds might have registered somewhere in the White Rabbit's brain that had been allowed to synapse longer than the one she had been on top of. She may have been able to store these things away and upon waking, might be able to recall them. But it was no longer the White Rabbit...it was Safara come Sara, her team mate, her friend. The killer-become, her duty prophetically fulfilled the first day He had stepped foot in this country, silently stepped to the side in Paige's head. The Assistant, now Jordan, looked up to her. "Get her dressed...quickly," Paige directed. Jordan acknowledged she heard only by gently putting her hands underneath Saf's limp body. Paige looked to the Target, Alexei, his eyes blank under half closed lids. She thought she might close them but that would condemn her to pity him, and she would not, could not, pity something as evil as this vile dead body had once been. Even her, in her moments of most primitive and evil form as the killer-become, was not AS evil as Alexei had been every waking moment of his life. There would be no pity this night and she felt safe that justice had been rendered even though the final judgement had come from her hands instead of from natural causes some thirty years in the future. She dropped the weapon (good weapon) on the bed and wiped it methodically clean of any invisible fingerprints her gloved hands may have left. She then left it next to him. She got up off her knee and turned away from him, the picture of his dead face had become a part of her now, but she still had some control and she pushed this away. She entered the bathroom searching for any of Saf's belongings, anything that might trace back to her. Nothing. She moved out to the bedroom seeing Jordan fitting a lightweight jacket to the limp body. "Fuck the jacket," Paige said stooping to pick Saf up. She put the women over her shoulder and moved the door open with her foot. "Look for her purse," Paige said as she moved to the sitting area door from where they had come in. She scanned the area as she went, the sofas, the table, the glass topped desk that almost made her stop catching her eye and her attention. Why hadn't she noticed that before? "Got it," she heard Jordan's almost silent whisper in her comm, though they occupied the same room, the girl had spoken so low Paige wouldn't have heard it had she not had her comm on. Paige waited for a moment as Jordan edged the door open to check the hallway. Apparently it was clear, as Paige had no view, and Jordan swung the door open and stepped into the hallway. They did not move as one now as they had done before. The weight and awkwardness of an extra body that was not aware did not permit such luxuries. Still, they moved quietly and efficiently. Once in the hallway and clear of the comm blocking interior Paige spoke quickly, "Alpha 2, Alpha 3 to Tac 1, target has been eliminated." To the elevator, "I repeat, target has been eliminated." Inside with the doors held open by Jordan's foot, they got their response. "Tac 1 to Alpha 2 and 3, you are clear to proceed through egress." Jordan pulled her foot back into the elevator as the door whooshed shut. "Alpha 2, status of the White Rabbit." Paige answered automatically, "White Rabbit is recovered Tac 1." After a moment's pause Simon was in her ear again. "We've got movement on the fourth floor...security...three...no four guards." The two Agents, conspirators of death against a man that was high level mafia and wanted in more countries for more activities than a four year old could count, pressed themselves against the back of the elevator. Paige let Saf down gently and having lost her previous companion, pulled out the weapon that was strapped to her left thigh. Nothing should be wrong. With a sinking in her stomach she knew the Moonlighter could not have foreseen such an event. But would he be here now? Paige and Jordan positioned themselves across the lift from one another with Sara pushed into the corner. Their weapons were raised, aimed at the opposite side of the lift, prepared for when the door would open. "We've got civilians on the floor," Simon said with a tone of voice barely short of ecstatic. Paige and Jordan simultaneously took a breath and let it out evenly, then held it. The quiet bing of an unseen digital speaker announced they had all arrived at the fourth floor. The doors whooshed open on their tracks... Return |
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