And my first kill...Wasn't anything special. Just a lethal injection to the neck, he looked so complacent with his demise, especially because what he did was so vile. That's what its like being a COIL-Cutter, your targets usually don't fight back. By then, they're ready to die.
Anyways, by the time you heard "die" I had already gotten up to my room and started sorting out my things before I went back down to the party. My Employers had given me that fake identity, Marco Rector, and arranged for this fake persona to find a way into this huge...thing.
Speaking of things...A few tools I keep in my briefcase:
-A 22-calibur silenced semi-automatic handgun
-Assembly parts to a long-distance sniper rifle (silenced, of course)
-A few adrenaline pills for whenever I'm in a pinch
-Personal toiletries
-A portable laptop with details of my jobs written on them
-A phone that syncs to my laptop
-A microscopic earpiece that is embedded into both an earring and a filling in my back tooth
-And finally, my identifications
That's pretty much the only stereotype that I can verify. Except there's no cyanide capsule that you take to kill yourself...If you're a pro, and not a spy, chances are you probably won't need those. What was in my bag was what you'd expect, when your job is to off someone you pack accordingly.
The target, let's just say, is a bad man. He's throwing this huge party--I don't know if its a celebration of what he'd done, an attempt to hide from being Cut, or because he likes to be at these types of things and wants to experience this crap one more time before he goes out.
I made my way down to the huge dining room. Just the sight of it made me sick. The thing looked like a damn ballroom you'd see in a stupid fairy-tale, loaded with some of the most disgusting yet wealthy people in the world. Senators, Congressmen, Artisans, your general businessmen, and to top it off a few Courtesans.
I'd say the only person I cared for there was the band and Count Jericho Brand, I sat as his table at another job I did in Paris a few years ago, but back then I had a different haircut, different looks, and a different name, so there's no way he'd recognize me.
"Would you like something to eat, sir?" a young lady said as she grabbed me by the arm. Reluctantly I gave her some money and told her, "Find me an open booth upstairs, by the balcony." She took the bribe and lead me somewhere. "Right this way, sir."
Gosh, her tone was so tacky. With every step I took I couldn't help but click my ears and search for the sound of my feet hitting the steps to drown myself in that monotone metronome for the slightest moment.
So many people, and I bet you by the time the party's over I'll have at least 4 people try to talk to me, probably one fight, and encounter two people who can't hold down their liquor. Happens all the time.
And with it being 9:15 right now, and the party ending at 11:00...That's exactly what I got.
