Bloody Diamonds

by Occams Chainsaw

Mission 1

The orders had been simple. Neutralize the target. It seemed simple enough, and a simple job was exactly what she needed. Too many times had she taken a job which turned out to be too much, but this time there had been no loose ends, no maniacs, no private armies and thankfully no giant crabs. Sometimes she wondered if the agency read her mind.

Looking down through the skylight she saw all the high-society guests scattered across the hall. Only one of them were important, and the woman quickly located him. In the middle of the room stood,a prominent investor in many of the country’s stocks.

The target.

He had surrounded himself with a bunch of other rich people. From the looks of it he was trying to impress them with his achievements on the other continent. Not that it would matter much longer anyway. The woman turned her attention away from the party and picked up a silver briefcase behind her. She put in the code on the digital display and the lid popped open to reveal the weapon she had been given. The jet-black metal of a McMillan CS5 sniper rifle shimmered in the dim light. Without a moment of hesitation, she started putting the pieces together just like she had practiced time and time again.

As she put the last pin in place and secured it, she inserted the magazine and pulled the bolt back, loading a bullet into the chamber. Leaning into her gun, the woman receives a clear view of her target. Filthy Rich, one of Canterlot’s newly richest men, was hosting a private dinner party celebrating his entrance into billionairehood. The large halls of his lush home were filled to the brim with his rich friends and investors in his multiple companies; one of which directly collided with her employers’.

The shot couldn’t be taken now; not with all these witnesses. She would have to wait until he was either alone or in a less crowded room. And so she waits, ever professional and vigilant to Rich’s every move throughout the building. Every time he went to refill his deeply red wine, she would watch. Taking note of his patterns, she moved to a better vantage point, allowing her to view all of his actions. She watched and waited, hoping for the right time to strike.

When nothing out of the ordinary had happened after what felt like hours, she moved her rifle’s view around the grand room. A string quartet had taken place upon the stage, drawing many of the guests to one area. From what the woman could see through her scope, nothing out of the ordinary for a string quartet. The furnished wood of the instruments shone in the bright light of the room, displaying their fine craftsmanship.

One of the players, upon further investigation, seemed more nervous than the others. The rest of the group seemed very calm and at peace, but this young woman looked damn near frantic. Her composure was cool and relaxed, but the look in her eyes revealed naught but worry and fear. The woman perched with the rifle peered even closer, trying to determine the source of the young woman’s panic. Alas, the woman deemed it as nothing more than mere stage fright.

The woman looked back to her target. Filthy had grown tired of the main hall, grabbing his most trusted investors and friends to the back halls. Not wanting to lose sight of her target, the young woman tracked her target through his house. After he reached a point in the halls where the wide skylights would not let her see her target, the woman went for her second course of action: disguise and blend in.

Retreating quickly to a concealed entrance, the woman opens her bag, searching for the items she needed: A fancy dress, a silenced pistol, and her favorite lockpick. Silently cracking open the door, she glides down the halls, silent as a gust of wind. Filthy was still walking his friends to the back room; to discuss ‘financial possibilities’, no doubt. He had even brought the string quartet with him, their instruments packed into neat black cases that gave the woman a large portion of blind spots to hide behind.

Filthy's jovial tones reached her ears as the woman stalked slowly around his tight knit group, taking in the situation. Entering a smaller room filled with lavish furniture, Filthy and his friends made themselves comfortable, pouring themselves glasses of the finest aged spirits their wallets could muster. The musicians took place in a corner, setting up their instruments and playing whatever song the rich men would yell. The nervous cellist took place in front of the group, her notes filling the room. The woman waited, as tedious complaints about offshore accounts, wives, and budget cuts echoed through the mansions’ large halls outside the room. It had been hours before the group began to disperse and migrate back to the main hall, some stumbling along the way.

Filthy, however, stayed behind, as if to relish in his own accomplishments for a brief second. Standing in his hall, he downed the rest of his aged bourbon, grinning in his drunken stupor as he stumbled into a sofa, barking to the nervous cellist about Bach’s cello suite no. 1. The cellist quickly fills the room with the soothing notes as Filthy empties the last of his bottle into his glass, chuckling the whole time. The woman found this to be a perfect opportunity, entering the room with no worry of being caught. Crouching behind the sofa furthest from Filthy, she checked her suppressed pistol, ensuring every detail was correct.

Taking a few deep breaths, the woman slowly peered above the sofa, careful not to let her hair give her away in the rooms’ bright lights.
As the cellists’ song came to a close, Filthy applauded. Drunkenly, he asked her to play it again as he hummed the first notes out of tune, throwing his gaze around the room.
Ducking again, the woman thought about her mission. If the woman didn’t strike now, her golden opportunity would be wasted. Focusing on her target, she hadn't noticed the music had stopped playing. Disturbed by the sudden silence, see peered just enough to see that the cellist had left her instrument.

That had one less string than it should.

Standing up in an adrenaline-fueled rush, the woman saw Filthy weakly struggling against the cellist's string wrapped around his fragile neck. Gargles barely escaped his mouth as the cellist pulls harder, streams of blood starting to emerge from his jugular veins. Filthy's body soon expended all it's energy, slumping onto the hardwood floors of the lounge. A silenced pistol shot violates Filthy's skull as the cellist finishes her work.

Removing her gloves, the cellist returns to her instrument, restringing it and placing it back into its’ case. Deep crimson blood pools around Filthy's head, staining the floor

The woman debated for a brief moment, thoughts flashing through her head. If this was a random killing, she could hypothetically take the credit for the kill and receive the rest of the reward. Granted, she’d have to remove the true killer, which might be difficult. But if this was another agency at work, murdering a rival agent could muck up the relations between the agencies for quite a while.

Throwing caution to the wind, the woman cleared the corner, sweeping around quickly.

Her sights rested on the back of the musician-turned-assassin’s head, only to find that her enemy had already had a gun aimed to her

"I see we've reached an impasse." The woman said under her breath.

"No, I think I've won."

The woman slowly advanced towards the cellist, keeping her gun at the ready

"Now, if you excuse me, I'll be reporting this to my client and earning my reward." Said the cellist, arrogance staining her words

"Would you be able to report it if you were dead?" The woman retorted

”No, but I could report an accidental kill to my client as well.”

The woman eyed the cellist with anger.

The sound of shattering snapped both assassins' attention to the lounge door; a woman dressed in fine clothes stood mortified, a bottle of fine spirits broken and spilled at her feet. She opened her mouth to scream, call for help, anything that would explain the terror of finding Filthy's dead body surrounded by blood, with two women pointing guns at each other. The woman swung her gun and fired three shots in the intruders' direction.

Seconds passed, and another body fell to the ground.

"That was too close. We can't be arguing now."

"Let's argue after we clean this up. If one came back for our target, there will be more."

The cellist nodded, understanding the direness of the situation. Rushing to her cello case, the cellist retrieved two long, black bags. The woman took one in her hand, rushing to the intruders' corpse, stuffing it inside in a rush to erase evidence. Blood and alcohol were wiped up, glass was collected and thrown away. The crime had vanished into bags, ready to be disposed of.

The cellist and woman grabbed their corpses, stealthily going through the wide halls of the mansion to the closest roof access door. The woman turns to the cellist as they ascend the stairs.

"What's your escape plan, darling?"

"I had originally planned to leave the body for the police to find. Carrying a body was not included in my plan."

"Then why did you bring bodybags?"

"They were for my next mission."

"Well, I have a helicopter at my command. I'll call it in, we can dispose of these later."

The cellist looked at the woman with suspicion.

"What compels you to believe that I'm going with you?"

"Because I'm holding the corpse that we were both assigned to create. I'm sure you'll want to cooperate."

The cellist holds her breath, as if going through all other options before deciding on which one.

"Fine."

"Excellent choice."

”Who do you work for?”

The woman snapped her eyes back onto the cellist, regarding her with cool contempt.

“Frankly, darling, you've mucked this up well enough to make me consider filling another one of your body bags. There will be no more speaking to me or acting without my direction.”

The cellist’s violet eyes meet the woman’s deep blue eyes, filled with controlled hate,

“Do you understand me?”

”Yes.”

“The mission is almost done, darling. We only have to work together for a little while longer.”

Extracting a phone from her pack, the woman punched in a phone number and pressed call.

"It's done; Filthy is dead. I need that helicopter."

"Good work. What's your location?"

"Filthy's mansion. West wing roof."

"Any baggage?"

"Two corpses and a..."

"Two?"

"There were complications."

"That's a serious offense. You can't jeopardize missions of this caliber."

"I asked for a helicopter, not career advice. Is the helicopter inbound?"

"7 minutes."

"Is there anything else you’d like to add? Would you like to give a pilot’s insight to an assassin’s life?"

"Wait for the helicopter and don't add to the body count."

"Au revoir, darling."

Her phone went silent, ensuring the helicopter was on its way. The woman turned to the cellist, who was gazing out to the city's skyline.

"When's our ride coming?"

"Seven minutes."

The cellist still looked shaken, violet eyes wide as dinner plates.

The woman felt a sharp twinge of guilt.

“It was unprofessional of me to snap like that.”

The cellist remained quiet, coolly regarding the rooftops, but her demeanor relaxed.

“I’m Rarity.”

”Octavia.”

The two exchanged cautious smiles, as the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Heavy footsteps came from their left

A guard with an MP5K rounded the corner, spotting the two assassins awkwardly introducing themselves with body bags at their feet, pistols in their hands. His instincts reacted before his head, aiming his compact gun at the two women, unleashing the fury of lead. His first assault missed completely, alarming the armed women. The two drew their weapons and opened fire.

Both of their shots missed center mass, one of the rounds grazing his upper arm and ripping the fabric of his suit. He dove to the left, disappearing behind a ventilation unit, grasping his wounded arm.

“Damn it! Missed the bastard."

”There are two heavily armed intruders on the West wing roof, I need back up, now!” The man yelled

Rarity and Octavia lunged to different covers, each vying to eliminate the guard. Hot lead was flung from both sides, a war threatening to take root. Rarity leaned from her cover, aiming her last few rounds. She yelped, her clothes losing their original dye in favor of the scarlet of her blood. Her gun hit the ground, the now free hand moving to her abdomen to stop the bloodflow.

"Octavia! A little help!" She yelled between heavy gasps for air.

The cellist looked frantically between Rarity's wound and the man that had caused it.

"What could I possibly do at a time like this?"

"Something!"

Quickly, Octavia moved to Rarity's side, fending off the man with a few shotsMore blood seeps from Rarity's wound.

"Alright, men! There are two intruders, I already shot one in the stomach, should be an easy task to eliminate them." The gruff voice of the guard rang across the roof.

The two assassins slumped against the AC unit, helpless. The situation could not be more dire.

As the heavy footsteps of the guards approached, a slight whupping sound reached their ears. Octavia looked up to the sky to find the source as the sound grew louder. The helicopter had arrived, landing on the roof at such a speed that it almost crashed. The guards opened fire on the newest target, bullets slamming into the thick steel

"Alright Rarity! Get your ass moving, and bring those corpses with you! I'm taking off as soon as you're on!"

"Elegant with your words as always, pilot."

Octavia draped an arm of the injured assassin over her shoulder, picking up the bodybags in her spare hand

Placing both of her packages into the helicopter, she began to climb in.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who the fuck are you?"

"A dear companion. Now get moving before I bleed out in this helicopter."

The pilot turned to the controls in the cockpit, grumbling to himself.

"Fine. But I'm not doing carry-ons next mission."

"Understood."

The pilot starts to throttle the engines, the blades on top of the helicopter slowly going faster. Bullets still plinked off the thick steel, not hindering the flight in any way. Rarity let out a ragged sigh as the helicopter took to the skies. Octavia sat back in her seat, the mission having gone terribly wrong by her standards.

"This could have been so much easier if you had let me finish the mission myself.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have a choice in the matter. You interfered with my mission, I had to step in.”

The two assassins glared at each other.

It was going to be a long ride back to the base.

Comments

[The Story Man]

Title is shite, story is filled with dat assassins.

All in all 7.8/10 Too much pokermans memes.

[DeviousNights]

Overall good story, good grammer. Keeps you on the edge of your seat, all in all good quality here. Maybe work on pacing but still one of the tops ive read.

[Dancewithknives]

Why does rarity have horns?

[Occams Chainsaw]

5329864
That was really the only quality 'spy' drawing of Rarity I could find. If you find something better, I'll be glad to change the picture.