Till the Job is Done

A Story by Jordan S

A Jordan S original, a short story. May use this later on or build on it. Before you ask let me give you this hint, cloneing's a b***h huh.

The man walked past the guards each enormous easily six and a half feet tall each. Both wearing a red suit black shirt red tie and red pants and a blank face only assisted with the ‘menacing gun for hire’ look. They must have been twins same height, same bulky build, same pale white skin, same red hair and Irish faces, same .18 caliber glock with .45ACP silencer hidden in left jacket pocket only visible from the outside as a small bulge. They must have been twins; they were to similar not to be. As he passed through the double red doors he was greeted by a seemly endless electronic beat the same over and over assaulting his ears like a woodpecker to a tree while a few dozen light flashed to the beat all different colors. The flashes showed the people, a sea of glowing bracelets mesh clothing and mostly naked people going along as if hypnotized by the rhythm grinding, spinning and flaying themselves widely. The man passed through the crowd he was suddenly stopped by a woman. Her outfit leaving little to the imagination and none to common decency.

“Common big boy get out of that suit and party” she teased but when he didn’t answer she reached out to grab his shoulders with her glow stick stained hand when a gloved one shoot out and grasp her by the wrist and the man simply shook his head slowly.

“Prick” she said smugly before walking to rejoin a group. The man knew he didn’t belong here among these people, his jet black hair slicked back like one at a fancy party, black suit, black dress pants, white shirt, and a red tie. He weaved his way through the people like a ghost no one even looking twice at him even as he passed through the door labeled employs only. The room on the other side was like a castle; the rooms covered in stone armed men lay every few feet pressed agents the wall each heavily armed with a shotgun in resting in there arms. The room was decorated with red everything red paintings patterns on the walls in long dead language and tapestry everywhere all red for this indeed was the color of there emblem; a sword who’s silver was tarnished by the red velvet from the blood leaked by the human heart pierced by the saber. The man passed through the eighteen armed men and made his way to the man sitting on the thrown contently drinking a glass of whine, red whine. He was dressed as the others all red outfit same but he lounged on the chair very cocky and proud of himself.

          “So you came in through the club then?” The man smiled deviously. “There is so many subliminal laced into that crap you cant even think strait.” The man in the suit smiled and pulled a pair of plugs from his ears.

          “What was that?” Said the man in the suit his deep voice having a hint of mockery in it. The man in the thrown scowled.

         “Why are you here?” asked the man as he sipped from his glass.

“If you reach is as far as your gang boasts you know full why I am here. The guards are growing wary of your resent acts.”

“The guards sent you? That is news to me. There to afraid to come and talk to me themselves! Thinking they will be shot on sight!” The man on the thrown took a deep breath to recover his composure. “Well they would be right. Any guard I see in my territory will die.” The man in the black suit suddenly felt something cold, hard, and round pressed to the back of his head. “Unfortunately for you, you worked for them. People are either with us or agents us, what are you?”

“Me?” said the man in the black suit smiling. “I am the man you don’t want to f**k with. You’re going to regret this.” The was a bang in the room, then a thud, than the sound of a fabric dragging agents stone leaving only the smell of blood behind it. Two men dragged the black suited corpse behind them the same two that were guarding the door when he came in. Thoroughly bored within the first few shovel fills the decided to talk.

“You ever think bought the old times?” one asked his English plagued by a heavy Irish accent.

“You mean before the mediator struck caring that virus? The one that killed all those people.” Replied the other the same accent heavy in his voice.

“What other one would I be talking bought? That thing leveled most building and blacked out the world for a year, a whole year! Even if that was 90 years ago you can still see the damage.”

“Few thousand dead when it landed in time square. That wasn’t the worst part though the thing let out some weird gas, hundreds must of breathed it in and for weeks nothing happened. Then out of now were everyone who breathed it in started changing, mutating, and going blood hungry. Panic, everyone attacked was infected and joined in on the killing. Soon all of the two Americas were infected lucky they didn’t like water at first. Then some adapted and spread it all over.”

“Yea I know this is one of the few cities left in the world. Both the Defenders and the Sabers are fighting for control.”

“You mean the guards and the mobs?”

“Who else would I be talking bought?”

They dumped the body into the grave and prepared to bury it when the body began to smoke and the both leaned in to see what was happening when suddenly the body burst into smoke and disappeared. The two looked dumbstruck at each other when a deep voice behind them said, “Night boys.” The pair fell into the hole and were quickly buried.

As the man passed through red double doors a sense of repetition came over him. The mass of dancers haven’t changed nor the lights nor the music. The only difference is when he passed by the dancers stopped and gave him a wide birth, a living circle surrounding him. The music stopped, the flashing light stopped flashing, all eyes when to him; including the eyes of a man with a red glass of whine and a familiar scowl on his face.

“I killed you! How are you here?” There was a sudden flash of the lights and all the dancers suddenly stood at attention as if brainwashed “Well however you survived last time you won’t be so luck again. Kill him.” Quickly the crowd around him began to sprit out attackers. A knife flew at him held by a now bloodthirsty teen. He stabbed at the man wildly, but the knife met empty air and the man in the black suit let the snot pass and grabbed the teen’s arm and pushed the elbow up snapping the bones in it in two. The teen was sent past him and lay moaning in pain clutching his arm. One by one they came each with some sort of weapon from blades of all kinds to any blunt object they could get there hands on. Each came one at a time and each were mere pests to him and disabled easily.

“Sending teenagers to do your work, your getting desperate.” Mocked the man in the black suit. Not a moment later all eyes as well as all guns were on him. The man dived behind a table and flipped it as the bullets began to fly. Shielded behind the metal table he drew his weapon. A dart gun, a handle met a pair of nozzles one on each side of his forearm. They were connected by hose to a large container that wrapped along his elbow, full of darts. The man squeezed the handle and a pair of darts shot out digging themselves into a guard and the man in the suit pressed a button on the handle, then small amounts of plastic explosives in the darts were set off tearing the man’s insides to shreds. One by one the men fell till only the boss remained, the man in the suit approached him weapon pointed at his heart.

“Who are you?” the boss asked calmly obviously not fearing death. He took a sip of his whine knowing it would be the last sip he would ever have.

“They call me the Ghost.” Two shots, two small explosions, and one glass of spilled whine.

© 2011 Jordan S

Author's Note

I am not the greatest speller so please ignore all spelling errors, also the formating came out wrong so please ignore that as well. Please send all questions to [email protected]
Senserly,
Jordan S