Chương 10: A really bad day for assassinations

Henry was crouching in the shadows, positioned at the side of the building, perfectly covered by some shrubs. His eyes were glued to a particular window, watching silhouettes move across the light. The window was one of the last in the building with lights still on, but that would soon change. The next thirty minutes were spent in complete silence and stillness. Anyone looking toward his vantage point, even directly at the man, would not see any movement.

A motionless figure dressed in black was hard to spot at night. He would only move once it was time to pounce. When he was just starting, this was the time when his conscience would question his actions, reminding him that his targets didn't deserve what would happen to them. But those days were long gone. The questions were silenced by money—a lot of money. And he started to enjoy the reward and forget about the consequences. The last light in the building went out, as if inviting the man into the darkness.

He moved toward the back entrance. As planned, the service door remained open tonight. Every action spoke of training and preparation—silent, purposeful, with no wasted movements. Years of experience spoke through the silhouette slowly making its way from the shadows, until…

"What are we watching?" said a weird, distorted voice right behind Henry. He could feel his blood run cold as he almost screamed and jumped into a combat roll forward, pulling out a pistol and a knife from his belt, ready for action. He turned, pointing the weapons at… A chilling sensation gripped his heart, and he did not know why exactly. There was nothing particularly threatening about the man standing before him. He had a sturdy build, about six feet tall, dressed in a black robe adorned with decorations.

The only thing that stood out was a particularly creepy mask resembling wooden branches layered over his face. To add to the weirdness, he did not appear to be armed. But the problem lay elsewhere. Henry could not see the eyes in the darkness, but he knew the man was looking at him, and that thought was followed by fear and disgust rising instinctively. The fear that had been gone for so many years had returned, making itself known, tightening the muscles in his abdomen.

"Who are you?" he asked, still pointing the gun at the intruder. His thoughts were racing as he assessed the threat level.

'Approached me without making a sound. Either I've gotten sloppy, or he's just that good. Eliminate and abandon the mission, or try to incapacitate silently.' He weighed his options, not taking his eyes off the new target for a second.

"I'm a worried passerby. You were peeping into the apartments in the middle of the night. I thought you were a pervert, and I got worried. Of course, as a good citizen, I came to check," came back a cheerful reply.

"Wearing a mask," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm getting ready for Halloween. Never too early for good party preparation, you know," the man answered like he was having a conversation in a store rather than one with a gun pointed at him.

"Fuck you, you think I won't shoot?" He switched the safety off.

"I can put a bullet in you and be in another town by the time any police make it here, so stop screwing around and answer the question." He raised the gun a bit, mostly to remind the man about it.

"Who are you, and who sent you?" Henry growled threateningly, but the person in the mask just chuckled.

"Are you going to shoot me? But how would you do that without an index finger?" the man asked as if genuinely concerned. With that, Henry could see movement at the edge of his vision, followed by something like a distortion in the air. The next thing he felt was a sharp pain in his right hand. Years of sharpened instincts told the hand to squeeze the trigger, but nothing happened. The appendage did not respond.

Without thinking, the assassin threw the knife held in his left hand at the silhouette's face, clearly surprising him. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it A creepy smile made its way to Henry's face as the man raised his hands on instinct to protect himself from the knife. It was a mistake—a rookie mistake. Henry jumped forward into a tackle, pulling another small blade from his belt. The fight was over, and he knew that.

The masked man raised both hands, leaving his front open. He managed to block the blade with his arms, but it was now easy to tackle him.

'Looks like the stranger was not that good—at least not in hand-to-hand combat,' the assassin thought. At the last second, Henry angled the stab for the abdomen rather than the heart. He would need answers later. With a triumphant smile, he reached the opponent… only to fly straight through him. The silhouette dissipated like disturbed smoke, and he landed hard on his stomach on the cold ground. A tingling sensation crept up the back of his head.

'Move!' his instincts screamed, but his opponent was faster. He felt one hand control his wrist and another tighten around his throat.

'Brazilian jiu-jitsu,' Henry swore in his head—the opponent knew what he was doing. Any attempt to understand what had just happened vanished. Now was the time to fight for his life. Trying to get free, Henry felt the attacker's legs lock into a triangle around his midsection. The hand at his throat disappeared, but before he could celebrate, a sharp pinch struck the side of his neck, and the world went black. The last thing he saw was the man's mask, wearing a creepy smile.

To his horror, the branches moved alongside the skin like a layer of exposed muscle. Henry woke up with a headache… As far as awakenings went, that was one of the worst. He saw leather bindings strapping him to a sturdy chair. Next, he looked around at what appeared to be a basement, and finally, his eyes stopped on the man in the creepy mask, who looked at him calmly.

"Help!" Henry screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Not gonna work," came a calm voice.

"Heeeelp!" He tried again, but when the man made no move to stop him, he ceased the attempt.

"Who are you? Do you know who my employer is?"

"First, you check if anyone can hear you, then you jump straight to threats involving your employer. Wow—they really trained you well, huh?" The man chuckled.

"Not even a 'hey, how are you,' or 'how's the family?' You almost stabbed me, you know."

"Do you think you can get away with this? Even if your job was perfect, my employer can't let themselves be disrespected. Sooner or later, you will slip up, and they will realize you were the worm that got in their way. And once that happens, you will die slowly alongside—""My family," the man finished, clearly not impressed.

"That's nice. And to answer your other questions, yes, I know who your employers are. The big bad evil Inc., I get that. And while I appreciate the threat, I'm afraid it won't do you much good."

"You think the company will disappear because of a saved whistleblower?" The assassin laughed, trying to lean forward as if in amusement, while actually pulling on the bindings with his body weight.

"Good one, but don't bother. Those bindings are used in exorcisms, and they can stop a demonized human, let alone a normal one. And that's not what I meant. Now then—let's stop talking about nasty things and get to the part where I threaten you with a painful death for some information, shall we?" The stranger said happily and approached Henry, holding a tray. He could not see what was on it. The assassin's mind worked at full speed, searching for a solution.

But the more he analyzed the situation, the more certain he became that he was royally screwed. He hoped the man would start by hitting him, screaming about where his father or mother was. Then he might find an opening—if not in the bindings, then in the psyche. He could always try the old "you shouldn't do that, your father wouldn't want this, he sacrificed himself for a better world" routine—but this was the worst-case scenario. The man holding him was calm and collected.

He did not react to his employer's name and had a clear modus operandi. He was well-trained. But the worst part was the humor. It wasn't used to hide nervousness or steady shaking hands. No, the man genuinely found the situation funny. And that did not bode well. He knew people like that. They worked as interrogators for some of his bosses, and he hated them—every single one. His worst fears were confirmed when he saw what was on the tray as the man sat before him.

There was something resembling an ice pick with a strange handle, a syringe with a very long needle, and two unlabeled vials of liquid.

"Fuck you," Henry swore, abandoning any attempt at subtlety as he struggled against the bindings with all his strength—to no effect.

"Okay, okay, stop struggling, and let's talk," the man said, placing the tray on a stool beside him and shaking the bottles like a doctor preparing medicine. After that, with a metallic clunk, he set the bottles down and asked a question that sent chills down Henry's spine.

"Now… have you ever heard of a lobotomy?"