XI : A Theme Too Far
The Amateur stumbled from the Shamal looking for a means of escaping this wretched city. His minivan had apparently started the long journey home without him and his money was still in his room. Sighing resignedly, he stuck out a thumb in the time-honoured fashion of the hitch-hiker. A car immediately stopped next to him. The Amateur dived in to find the driver separated by an opaque partition.
“You’re the only one left now 47…”, began a familiar, hated voice
“I’m not 47! I want out of t-”
“…all our agents are dead by now…” continued the voice
“Good! Assassination is not a game!”
“…we don’t know if this mission is a set-up but it’s sure to be crawling with enemy agents…”
“Are you even listening to me?!”
The Amateur shot a couple of nails through the forbidding plexiglass. Peering through the holes, he could see nothing but a tape-recorder on the driver’s seat.
“…good luck 47. It’s been quite a ride.”
The Amateur tensed in anticipation of the thing self-destructing but it turns out that only happens in a certain genre of movie. Retrieving it and flipping it open, he found this design on either side of the cassette.
He was the only one left, she had said. The Amateur approved of the thinning of the ranks of the trained and homicidal. But there would be enemy agents at the party, she said. That would never do. The Amateur would end this proliferation of the shadowy and the violent, and he would start here. Consulting a brightly-coloured “You Are Here X” map, he saw the party was just two blocks away.
The guard on reception was only too eager to go and spend a few minutes looking for a non-existant suitcase in a tiny shelf-less room, which gave The Amateur plenty of time to sneak down to the adjacent underground car-park.
The guards here were numerous but not very far-sighted, allowing The Amateur to creep around the perimeter, eventually coming to a prop van. Armed with the knowledge that any costume has a use *somewhere*, the Amateur donned it, dropping his nailgun temporarily on the basis security guards rarely respond well to guests with firearms.
There were two lifts. One went down to the hell party in the basement, the other went up to the heaven party on the top floor. The Amateur hoped that, about half-way up, there was a rockin’ limbo party but apparently not. Carefully inspecting his pure-white costume, The Amateur decided to heed the words of Yaz and surmise the only way was up.
Much more efficient than a Stairway to Heaven, anyway.
Some of those costumes look *very* uncomfortable. Not to mention…hey, wait, that guy is inappropriately attired.
Ooh, it’s one of The Amateur’s “targets”. The Amateur wishes him well on his upcoming arms deal. We’re going after bigger fish here. Bigger, murderous fish. Also, not fish, or that big.
The bartender is eager to tell The Amateur that the singer is (a)hot (she looks cold) and (b)got her job due to the previous incumbent dying suddenly. The Amateur recognises the hallmarks of the assassin trying to be stealthy straight away. He stands at the bar, figuring it is only a matter of time until she tries to get him into a secluded location for stabbing.
Lady, you are an idiot.
One down. A laptop in the same room reveals that there is one more agent around, and he is at the hell party. The Amateur has a brief look around but there doesn’t seem to be anything else of interest up here, and returns to the carpark.
WHAT. WHERE IS THE NAILGUN. The guards have nicked it! This calls for a daring inflitration of the guard compound!
Thusly retrieved, The Amateur decides like hell is he going to let poor Naily get abandoned like that again and finds a side-route around the guards with their fascist stance on concealed weaponry. Turns out there is a staircase to hell. A, uh, guarded one.
The Amateur’s fists are stinging from the number of be-masked people he’s had to punch. Hopefully the guy with the horns won’t be a nuisance in that regard. The Amateur picks up something non-attention drawing and makes his way out into the party.
Assassin #2 announces himself. The Amateur tried hard not to laugh as the inside of the mask would get too moist from the exhalation. A deep concern.
He challenges The Amateur to a duel, and leads him to an apparently sound-proofed room. A choice of weaponry is put on a table and the assassin scampers off. The Amateur knows what he needs, thanks.
And the reason The Amateur is cowering thusly is because Smuggy McShooty over there chose a semi-automatic rifle. Nevertheless, through a system of hiding and creeping, The Amateur lines up the killing shot.
Nothing to do now but enjoy the party. Wooo!
The other of his “targets” is periodically to be seen dancing upon the balcony. Go lady go!
Amazing show, this. Oh…oh shit. That’s what that rigging that machine did. The Amateur feels he should inform her boyfriend as, frankly, nobody else seems to have noticed. The guards won’t let me into his private room but luckily, that is to say freakily, there seems to be a viewing room of some description. A shot ought to get his attention.
Ah crap, guards coming. Into the closet!
You know, perhaps it’s fate. Regardless, The Amateur will not break down as he has these last few missions. He will treat them as collateral to his ultimate goal of killing the enemy agents and, God willing, ridding the world of assassins. For a bit.
Let’s just see what they do now.