19: Flashbacks... Flashbacks everywhere.
Honor the Dead
by BinaryTroll
Pre-read by the opposite of somebody
Chapter 19: “Flashbacks... Flashbacks everywhere.”
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I sighed and rolled my shoulders. “Well, I'm bored.”
We'd been walking throughout the morning, and I had kept myself entertained by observing nature and the mountains around us. But one tires of gray stone and dirt rather quickly. So when we took a rest, I got bored.
“Tell a story.” Shyvanna suggested, yawning.
“Like what?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
I looked over to Joel. “Any ideas?”
“Why don't you tell us your life story?” He joked.
“Well, I was born in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia.”
Shyv groaned. “Or alternatively, you could start talking gibberish. That works too.”
“You want me to tell a story. You don't want me to tell a story. Make up your mind.” I sighed. “So what kind of story do you want?”
“Well, my mother used to tell me about her past, and all the things she had done in the world outside the mountains. She's how I know of the princesses.”
I smiled slightly. “Not sure if my life is one I want to talk about. But there are probably a few bits that would make a good story.”
“Like what?”
I sighed. “Probably all the painful bits.”
Shyv grinned. “So tell me.”
“How about you Joel? You must have something interesting to say.” I said, trying to avoid having to tell my story.
Joel snorted. “You got yourself into this mess. You get yourself out of it.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
I looked over to Shyvanna, leaned back on a nearby rock and rubbed my hand over my face. “I've seen some things. A lot of things that I wish I hadn't. But I don't want to talk about them, I got sick of dwelling on this sort of shit years ago.” I sighed. “There's not much I remember that isn't a brutal killing. Or want to remember. So I'm going to ask, are you sure you want to hear this?”
Shyvanna's face was set. “I'm sure.”
“Well then, lets begin.”
And so the story begins
I sat at my computer, an absolute beast of a machine, cannibalized from military computers as well as top of the range PCs. It's also haunted. Little notepad documents pop up from time to time, filled with random incomprehensible guff that somehow manages to include 'the game' in it somewhere.
Anyway, I clicked along the tabs in my browser, trying to remember what I was supposed to be doing. After some more random clicking I pulled up my email, private and almost completely untraceable. I scrolled down the list of jobs I had done recently and spotted an unopened email.
I opened it up and read through the instructions. Half a million for an assassination? I re-read the email. Yes, half a million US dollars to stab some prick in the face.
“There's gotta be a catch.” I muttered.
That was when I noticed: 'Pay on completion'. Oh good, it was going to be one of these ones.
I quickly typed back an email, asking about any other conditions of the operation.
I got a reply back in less than 10 minutes.
'I do not care if you destroy the entire city, all I want is Cameron dead. I will meet you at a predetermined location upon the completion of your task. Do not fail.'
I sighed. These were the kind of clients I hated, all business and empty threats. It's like they believed they are so much better than you. But unfortunately they made up the bulk of my missions, so not much I can do on that.
I groaned and typed back a short reply of confirmation, asking about the predetermined location and preferred date of assassination.
The next reply came back just as quickly as the first.
'Tonight, I will meet you at the Statue of Liberty. I'm a busy man, so get to work.'
“Oh for fuck's sake. That's ages away.” I muttered. “Well, I'd better get going.”
I closed the window, logged off and turned off the screen.
“Joel?” I called, standing up and rolling my chair under my desk.
“Yeah?” He called back from the room across.
“We got a job. Assassination, from some posh sounding guy. Also a bit of a dick.”
“Fun.” He said, stepping outside, already dressed.
I raised an eyebrow. “All ready to go aren't you?”
“Actually no, I was going to sleep.”
“You sleep with a facewrap on?”
“I like to try things differently.”
I facepalmed. “Whatever. Go get your stuff. We need to be over at the university in a few minutes.”
I closed the door and slipped on my Organisation XIII coat. A work of art it was, well, is. Fireproof, water resistant, strong enough to deflect low power bullets, but light and flexible enough to run in. Six different pockets and four different sheaths, all made in such a way that it's contents wouldn't fall out when jumping, falling or rolling. To top it all off, it looks fucking badass too. Well worth the money. In fact, I'm surprised it didn't cost more.
Next I rifled through the random detritus that littered my room to find any and all my knives. Luna and Celestia 2.0, now made of a lighter titanium alloy, the smaller combat knife I had looted from the corpse of another assassin, and a pair of knuckleduster-switchblade type things, also black of course. I sheathed the combat knife under my left armpit, the sisters on my hips and stuck the two knuckleduster things in my pockets. I lifted up one of the books on my bedside table and found my Smith & Wesson .500 magnum revolver, with 15 bullets hanging around nearby. I thought, “why the fuck not?” and stuck it into my pocket too, along with an extra 10 rounds.
I stepped outside just as Joel was slinging a rifle longer than he was tall across his back.
“Dude, that thing weighs like 30 kilos. How the fuck are you going to carry it?” I asked, gesturing at the rifle. “You probably can't even walk around with it, let alone run.”
He took a step and then sighed and dropped the rifle.
“I love to say I told you so. And besides, that's an anti-tank rifle. Why the fuck would you need it anyway?”
“Cause why the hell not?”
“Because it weighs thirty fucking kilos. That's why.”
“No it doesn't.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“No, it doesn't.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“No, it doesn't.”
“Shut the hell up. Just pick up something lighter and we can get going.”
I spun around and headed for the door.
A loud crunch sounded behind me. I turned around and was greeted with the sight of Joel trying to carry an RPG-7 down the hall without knocking anything over.
“Oh for the fucks of sake.” I muttered. “Why the hell are you carrying that?”
“Because it's only about as heavy as the AWP.”
“Yeah, but unlike the AWP, IT HAS A FUCKING MASSIVE EXPLOSIVE FOR AMMO!”
Joel, as usual, was unfazed. “Your point?”
I threw my hands up into the air. “Fuck it! Go lug a massive explosive around for what is basically a stab and run. Don't let me change your mind!” If there was a table nearby I would have flipped it.
“Well Wardo, you are carting a revolver around that's as long as my forearm, so you aren't really one to talk.” Joel replied, finally managing to sling the RPG properly across his back.
“Lets go, we've wasted enough time as it is.”
I stepped outside into the cool afternoon air and took a deep breath. The scent of pollen emanated from the single moonflower I kept in a pot outside, mixing with the smells of exhaust and smoke. I looked down off the edge of the balcony and vaulted over. I landed onto the small lawn outside and turned to the parking lot.
A soft thump came from behind me as Joel landed, much more quietly than I did. I started to walk over to the parking lot, pulling my hood up as I did so.
I reached our car, unremarkable except for the tinted windows. “You want to drive?” I asked Joel.
“Nah man.” He tossed me the keys. “I don't really feel like it today.”
I caught them with my left hand and unlocked the car. “Alright.”
The drive was uneventful, boring even. Just the usual routine drive. It's never eventful really, it's always getting away that's the interesting part.
I slammed the car door and strode towards the university. There were only two cars in the parking are besides our own, I noticed. Presumably our target was working late.
Joel left the RPG in the car, probably a good choice. We made our way over to the MakerBot 3D printing area. I opened the door to the inside and noticed the only only person in the area, a young man around my age. He look strangely familiar, and not just from the photo. He looked familiar in that too, but something about the way he stood reminded me of someone.
“Cameron?” I asked the figure.
“Yes?” He answered, not looking up from his work.
The voice sounded familiar too. I pulled out the magnum and aimed it at his head. “I'm here to kill you.” I said, curious as to how he would react.
He looked up, straight down the muzzle. “Oh good, could you come back later? I'm a bit busy.”
“Cameron?” I threw back my hood. “What the hell are you doing in America?”
“Hello Joel. Hello Wards.”
I frowned. “You do realize I have a gun pointed at your head right? And I can blow your brains out anytime, say, when you use a nickname I hate.”
“Yes, go grab yourself a coffee. The machine's over there” He replied calmly, pointing over my shoulder.
I lowered the gun. “What the actual fuck...”
“Well, why not?” Joel said. “I could use a coffee.”
I pocketed the revolver and rubbed a hand over my face. I suddenly felt tired. “Yeah, same.”
Joel and I slowly sipped coffee as Cam typed away, occasionally looking down at the copious amounts of paper that littered his desk.
After Joel finished his coffee, he stood up and walked over to Cam's desk.
“So, watcha doing Cam?” He asked.
“I currently doing a bit of research into 3D printers, and making lethal weaponry with them, specifically guns.” He replied, sitting back in his chair and stretching.
I raised an eyebrow. “You do weapons research?”
“Yeah. I made a gas-powered ballistic knife for a research project, and it actually works. You know, when it doesn't blow your hand off.” He gave a bit of a laugh. “And I looked into Mag cannons for a bit. In the end I just ended up fucking around with magnets for a few days, but it was fun.”
“Mind showing us the knife?” I asked.
“Sure, why not?” He said, standing up. “I'm done with this for now anyway.”
Cam took the lead and Joel walked with him, talking about small things. I hung back a little, thinking.
We reached a row of lockers and Cam pulled out a key. He opened locker 452, pulled out a sleek knife handle and tossed it to me.
“Here you go, one ballistic knife, as ordered.”
I looked down at the handle and felt the grip. “Nice grip, but no blade?”
“Can't keep weapons on campus.”
“Yeah, I assumed.” I tossed it up in the air and caught it again. It felt rather good. I tossed it to Joel.
He caught it and tested the grip as I had, and then took a few experimental swings.
“Say Cam, how would you like a job?” We asked in unison.
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It's also haunted.
I JUST LOST THE GAME
you bitch
3018340
eeyup. But my comp seriously does do random shit like that, it's just not a beast. I wish it was.
3021366
So much for going the whole summer without losing the game. I had three days left man...
3024466
Always glad to ruin someone's day.
the AWP weighs 6 or 7 kilos not 30 and it's not an antitank rifle
5380978
Did I not make it clear it wasn't an AWP?
Most AWPs are not that long either. I guess you could have gotten confused by the reference to it when talking about the RPG a bit later.
I thought it was pretty clear from that line that he was using the AWP as a baseline, not comparing it to the anti-tank rifle from a few seconds ago, because he could barely carry that.
Hope that cleared it up anyway.