2.ASSASINA Chapter by Paris FranceShe is an assasin. This is all she knows…
Her delicate body plunges through the night. The dark luster of parallel skyscraper windows mirrors her falling form. Turbulence whips through her black hair and cuts at her eyes. She shuts them, still maintaining her expressionless mask. The city is below her. Amid the web work of air lanes, thousands of shimmering lights are visible--minuscule at this altitude. The moment she hits air traffic her thermo-optic camouflage activates, rendering her invisible to the human eye. Her arms are plastered to her sides, her legs as well--like a black bullet penetrating the writhing flesh of Shinjuku. Sleek vehicles zoom past her as she dives headlong into the congested network of traffic. They race from all directions, threatening to strike her invisible frame. Bizarre passing engine noises and shrill, squealing, horns strain her ears. But she gives not notice--so focused is she on her locked target. It is directly below her. The sliver vehicle identifies the license number previously downloaded to her. Time to act. With extreme precision she hit’s the cab top. She spreads across the roof gripping the sides for stability. Relentless, the jagged wind tares at her ivory face, but she betrays no concern. She is controlled by an overwhelming drive to execute orders. Her bloodstained irises, glint in the headlights. Tight lips utter no prayer. She simply blends with the city rush around her--an unseen assassin. She switches on her infrared vision and detects four bodies in the cab. There is a driver and three passengers. But she knew that. Gently she slips off the cab top, so that her feet rest on the slight trunk. She still holds to the cab roof. Then, reaching down to a strap on her leg, she draws a black hilt. A pressure point along the hilt’s length causes a limp blade to unroll. The disconnected pieces are strung together by thin metal cord. A quick wrist flick, and strong katana blade solidifies with a nasty snap. Without hesitation she jabs the stinging blade into the cab‘s roof. It runs cleanly through, much to the alarm of the persons in the vehicle. Their body language betrays panic. The driver swerves radically out of lane- -- into oncoming traffic. She tightens her grip on the stuck Katana, pulling herself up. Now, on the cab top, she stands, narrowly avoiding an eclipse with two other cars. The silver vehicle speeds out of control. She is vulnerable. She bends backwards, her slender torso flattening as an above engine skims across her front. The katana is her anchor. She keeps a tight grip; her existence depends on it. Next, the reckless air car surges into a wide tunnel. It is vacant--- lit by a nerve-shattering white florescence. Every sound is amplified in an overwhelming rush. Perfect. She moves quickly. Securing a strong footing, she braces herself. Arm muscles clench as she strikes her right hand into the roof. It clears. She grabs the edge and wrenches back a strip of cab top. Sparks fly, metal grates and groans as she pries it apart. Such a feat would be impossible for a mere human. Her hypertonic Gynoid frame is constructed of the strongest alloy in existence. She may not appear so, but her muscles can withstand literal tons of pressure. She is unstoppable. This girl is a perfect weapon. Shouts of terror erupt from the men inside, now visible. Her optical sight locks on one face in particular. Target acquired She drops down into the spacious cab, the katana still stuck in the roof. Instantly, she reverts to combat mode. Two large men, on either side of the target brandish firearms, disguised as silver briefcases. Paranoia mares their sweaty features. They open fire. She is too fast. Bullets spray the air. They aim to hit the invisible assassin. But the driver is shot first--an accidental casualty. The car bolts to the left, turning of it own accord. She hits the floor swiveling on her palms as she trips both men with a strong sweep of her legs. They go down. She launches up. A quick palm thrust to the jaw smashes the first man’s head to the side window. Her hand staying his gun. Vital signs: unconscious. At the same time, a powerful right kick to the second man’s weapon, pins it to the door-- breaking his hand. She gives a swift foot jut to his chin and snags his gun. His head is bashed against the roof. Vital signs: unconscious with minor abrasions. They never stood a chance. Immediately, she turns on her target. Her vision is red. Every cybertronic particle in her body screams: Destroy! Terrified, the man cowers before her. His wide eyes are watering, his mouth agape. He scrambles back as far as he can into the dark leather seat, trembling. She is still holding the weapon. She aims for his skull. Bang. Vital sighs: terminated…
© 2010 Paris FranceAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorParis FranceIn Your Dreams,, WAAboutKind, sweet, and cute--that’s who people say I am, but do they really know me…? Perhaps not, and that’s why I must tell you. I am a complicated little person, who likes some thin.. more..Writing
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