The Machine

The Machine

The Parkers Hotel- Milan, Italy

In all of my years on the job, never would I have thought I'd have to hide in the crapper to wait for my next assignment to arrive. At least I had a bottle of red wine to help me pass the time. Taking a swig of the drink, I stared deeply into the abyss of the unlit room, the only sound being the water droplets splashing on the sink from the leaky faucet. After taking another swig of the wine, I rested my head on the wall and closed my eyes.

"This used to be fulfilling" I thought to myself, before I heard the sound of a door opening and the hardy laughter of a man followed by a series of heavy coughing. 

I was briefed by mission control that my next assignment was Richard Marx, an international jewel collector, known for sending out thieves to steal the precious items for a profit. Recently he had hired a thief codenamed Serge to steal a rather large portion of diamonds from a locked safe over in Paris to deal. Operatives of ours had traced Marx's tracks, ultimately finding out he'd be meeting with Serge at the Parkers Hotel in Milan. Obviously, Serge had not read up on his employer, and was to be promptly killed by Marx. Could I have stopped his death from happening? Yes, but that was not my mission. Also, it eliminated another jewel thief from my organizations list of things to worry about. Marx thought he was so original being a jewel thief without actually being the thief. He was just a businessman and a very smart one at that seeing how recently fifteen different robberies and fifteen different bodies were sighted in the past eight months.

"Damn that was hilarious! I almost burst out in laughter seeing the kid croak on the liquor!" Marx laughed, with yet another series of coughs following. 

"It was hilarious sir. Now before we celebrate, I need to take a leak" said another voice. After hearing that, I chuckled silently. 

"How convenient, now I may be able to go to bed early" 

Silently placing the bottle down near my feet, I took a deep breath as I heard the footsteps grow closer and closer to the bathroom door. If it were fifteen years ago, my heart would rapidly pound in my chest and sweat would have been pouring down my face like raindrops. Instead, I was calm, abut I felt my age, even a bit older. My body ached terribly.

Briskly walking into the bathroom, I heard the man use his hands to feel around for the light switch on the wall. I held my breath quietly. When he eventually found the switch, yellow light illuminated the room, and the man's startled face saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Before he had time to react, I covered my hand over his mouth and wrapped my arm around his neck. He struggled mightily against my grip, viciously clawing at my arms to break my hold. But his hands were slippery from his heightened panic, and could not get a good grip at my suit jacket. I squeezed as hard as I could, practically feeling his lungs collapsing and losing oxygen flow with each passing second. As the fight went on, his struggles grew weaker and his heartbeat slowed, before falling limp in my arms. Another life taken by my bare hands

Removing my hand from his now breathless mouth, I wrapped my arms around his stomach and gently sat his lifeless body on the floor. I knew that I didn't have a lot of time. Sooner or later they were going to find out that something wasn't right. Hastily, I reached my hand in my jacket pocket and pulled out my old PP7 pistol. I also pulled out the silencer barrel, attaching it to the gun the quiet the impending gunshots to come. Glancing up from my gun, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were dead. When had my eyes grown so dead? 

"God, I look old" I thought to myself as I stared at my beat eyes and worn out face. But I had no time to worry about that.

"Let's get this over with"

Knowing I had to be careful, I slowly gripped the bathroom doorknob and opened it a crack, wanting to at least get a peak at what I was dealing with. Through the crack I saw Marx. The heavy old b*****d was lounging on the hotel bed, a cigar in one head and a Heineken in the other. There were several breadcrumbs stuck in his grizzly beard and his round glasses were fogged by the smoke filling the room. Standing at the bedside was one of his bodyguards, with his gun secured in his holster, chugging down a drink. I had only heard the footsteps of three people enter the room so I knew that the man I had killed must have been the one of two bodyguards. 

Did you fall in the toilet or something?!" laughed Marx, with yet another series of coughs following it.

"Showtime" I thought, before readying my gun. Taking one last look in the mirror, I turned towards the door and pushed it open. Immediately I lifted my gun and took aim at Marx's bodyguard, who dropped the drink in his hand to reach for his gun. Unfortunately for him, I was much quicker. Pulling the trigger, my gun fired silently, and just like that, the man's blood splattered on the wall like a Jackson Pollock painting, falling quickly to the floor. It wasn't like I intentionally wanted to shoot his head. The shot had just become so automatic as the years went on. I turned my aim to Marx, who was frozen in fear, spilling his drink all over the white sheets below him. 

"Oh Mr. Marx, don't you know smoking isn't healthy for you?" I said before shooting the hand holding the cigar.

"OW F**K! MY HA-" He yelled before I jumped towards the bed to cover his mouth. I placed the gun to his head and stared directly into his eyes. 

"Now Mr. Marx, let's just make this simple. You obtained a decent amount of stolen property tonight and I am the one bringing it back to its rightful owner. Now either you tell me where they are or the next place you'll be found is in a dumpster down the alley" With the look in his eyes, I knew he understood. Using his eyes, he stopped staring at me and focused on a different part of the room. Following his gaze, I immediately saw a briefcase resting on the nightstand next to the bed. I turned my gaze back to him and smiled, removing my hand from his mouth and backed away from the burly man. Marx was gripping his bloody hand, tears streaming down his face as I walked over to the nightstand. Placing my gun down on the table, I spotted the key on top of the first case. Using the key, I unlocked the briefcase and was almost blinded by the gleaming reflection of the many diamonds found inside. 

"Well, well, well" I said, turning my head to stare at Marx "Looks like I found the ticket to your demise" He just stared at me, coughing violently as he tried to gather a retort. Shutting the briefcase, I picked it up along with my gun and made my way towards the depressing Marx. 

"Now, let's get you to you new ho-" I started, right before I heard the loud pop of a gun go off. Suddenly, Marx collapsed and fell off the bead heavily, his blood now soaked on my jacket. Judging by how Marx fell, I knew that the shot must have come from the window beside the bed. Instinctively, I leaped behind the bed next to Marx's body with my gun close to me. 

"One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten" I counted to myself before turning around to face the window. I aimed my gun at the window across from me, ready to pull the trigger. But what I saw was not what I expected. 

She was clad fully in black like a shadow, but her piercing green eyes glistened brightly from the moonlight as she stared at me. The breeze was light that night, but was still strong enough to ruffle her chestnut hair. Her sniper was leaned against the windowsill, still aimed at where poor dead Marx was originally sitting on the bed. She took a moment to stare at me as if I was an art piece with a hidden meaning. Her held tilted curiously as she stared, a perfect opportunity for me to at least get one good shot off at her. But I was frozen in place. 

She gave me a wink and smiled, before quick turning her attention back to her gun, looking through the scope attachment, aiming for me

"F**k, she's cocky" I thought, before I ducked behind the bed as another shot whizzed past me. Knowing that I had a chance to escape since she had to reload, I darted through the room door and headed down the fire escape, away from the young woman.

* * *

Mission Control. London

"The diamonds Thomas" said Mr. Redfield bluntly as I entered his office. Usually I'd have a quip to retort with and we'd go through the motions of our pettiness before he'd give me my next assignment. But lately I was in no mood for jokes. Where did my sense of humor go?

Waling up to his desk, I practically threw the briefcase in front of him. He stared at the briefcase, both curiously and disgustingly.

"I'm assuming the blood on here is the blood of our dear friend Mr. Marx?" 

"Affirmative sir" I replied shortly. Looking up from the bloody briefcase, he took a long moment to look me in the eyes. 

"What, no quip today making light of the situation? Have you finally run out of material Thomas?" he asked with a small smile, one that I did not return back. I didn't have an answer for him. For once I was speechless, something I thought he'd finally be grateful for. Instead he gave me a puzzled look.

"Are you ok Thomas?" he asked "You haven't seemed yourself recently."

"Fine sir, just tired" I was always tired lately. His look changed a bit, going from puzzled to a bit concerned, the wrinkles in his old face making a frown.

"Look, Mr. Darvill, you've given your life to this organization for over a decade now. Everyone understands the effects of this lifestyle and how it can f**k with you at times. Do you think that maybe you need a break?"

"What, and upset Queen and country? You must be mad" I replied, but there wasn't any humor in my voice. Fifteen years ago, a break would be laughed at, since I wanted to consume so much experience in the field. Now, the thought of spending an extended period of time alone was scary. I needed to keep busy. I didn't need to be left alone with my thoughts. Redfield stared at me sadly. He never looked at me like that. Heaving a heavy sigh, he pushed the briefcase away from him and pulled out a pen and paper.

"Listen, even though I know you'll probably throw this out, I am writing you a recommended therap-" he started

"I don't need no damn shrink." I cut him off. He didn't even look up at me, continuing to scribble the name on his paper.

"I didn't say you needed one. Just in case you ever need to talk" Finishing his writing, he held out the paper to give to me. I quickly took it, and immediately crumpled it up in my hand. Like an American basketball star, I shot the now wrinkled paper into his trash can with perfect accuracy. Again, Redfield sighed.

"Good day Redfield" I said before taking a stride to exit the room, wanting to avoid more awkward talk with Redfield.

"I just have one question Thomas" Redfield's voice called out. Stopping in my tracks, I stared at the open doorway, my only escape, and my feet were glued.

"Sir?" I said

"You never did tell me how Marx died. The mission was to retrieve the diamonds and apprehend him. But he died. What happened?" 

"A woman" I said before continuing my trek out of Redfield's office to head back to my flat.

* * *

I arrived at my flat and immediately headed for the bed. It had felt like years since I had gotten a good days rest, and I wasn't going to waste any time. It had also felt like ages since I had eaten anything, but I wasn't in the mood for any type of food. Sleep was all I wanted.

Entering my room, I immediately collapsed on the bed, stuffing my face against the soft pillow below me. But sadly, sleep eluded me.

"Who was that woman? Why did she kill Marx? Why did she try to kill me? Who was she working for?" were the many questions that buzzed through my head. 

I could have asked the tech department to swoop into the scene of the crime and run a ballistics test on the bullets the woman fired but it would have caused too much of a scene and would have created more drama for the agency. 

"But she tried to kill me. She was sent to kill me" I had definitely made enemies over the years, but she was a new face. A young face this time around. Not some old geezer five years away from retirement and not some thirty year old who thought they were the next James Bond.

My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. Fishing it out of my pocket, I read the text that cane from a number I did not recognize.

"Till the next time old man"

She was good. She was cocky. She was...familiar.

* * *

Cairo,Egypt- 13 Years Before

"S**t!" I said as I chased Timothy Oliver down the busy Cairo streets, pushing past many startled civilians, my reliable PP7 gripped tightly in my hand. He was faster than I had anticipated, but after all of my previously failed encounters of catching him, I finally had him where I wanted him. I had seen all of his tricks. I knew all of his maneuvers and tendencies of getting away. 

Timothy was a veteran agent for a rouge unit that orchestrated their own missions to fit their own ideals. Timothy was actually once a member or my organization. Redfield wanted this guy bad. 

Eventually, he ran down a long alleyway, which led to the back wall of a building ahead, a dead end. Frantically, he looked around, trying to find any avenue to escape, but he was left with no options. He had to finally meet his maker.

Slowing down my run, I briskly stopped a few yards in front of him, my gun pointed directly at his head. 

"It's over Tim. Looks like the kid outsmarted the veteran." HE looked at me, with his cold eyes. They were so dark, and showed a very...tired expression. Timothy was a handsome man throughout the entire time I had been tracking him. But on that day, he was tired.

He looked at me, giving me a small grin.

"You know Arthur, I would never let a smart a*s you take me in." Immediately, my smile dropped. 

Without hesitation, he reached for his gun, but my reaction was faster, shooting firing my wepon, making direct contact with his head. Timothy was dead. Timothy was my first kill.

The emotions hit me in the gut like a freight train, and I stumbled a but to the ground. Immediately, I called Redfield.

"Well, congratulations on your first kill Arthur. You'll come to learn that the difference between life and death is who pulls the trigger faster. Get used to this happening kid. Timothy won't be the only person you kill. Believe me."

* * *

Over the next few months, whatever mission I was on, the woman would appear. When I was in Istanbul chasing down a terrorist, she was there with her sniper. When I was in China to eliminate a ruthless drug kingpin, she was there with her sniper. When I was in America to seize a known illegal weapons dealer, she was there with her sniper. Each time she spotted me, she got closer and closer to killing me, each plan of hers more thought out than the last. It had been a miracle that I had gotten out of each situation with my life intact. She was like the bear trying to catch his meal near the stream. Of course, I was the fish. I was not afraid of death, you couldn't be when your in this line of work. Recently though,m it seems that I would welcome death. If it weren't for my internal instincts and training I would have accepted death way earlier. But the rush she was giving pulsed through my veins like an electric shock. For once in a long time, I actually had a challenge. For once in a long while, one of my enemies had a legitimate shot of killing me. For once in a long time, I felt life in me again. What was a better way to have my life ended than by someone of equal skill? But the fact that I saw so much of her in me both intrigued me...and frightened me. And the fact that she wasn't afraid of me scared me as well...

***

James Pub, London

"Pour me a drink of your oldest and finest wine and leave the bottle will ya?" I asked the bartender, who silently nodded and headed to the variety of drinks behind him. He quickly came back with a bottle of Chteau Margau and poured it into a tall glass. Gripping the glass in my hand, I took a huge gulp down and observed the bar around me. 

The room was filled with the smell of burning tobacco and spilled alcohol. It was pretty run down and deserted, with the red paint on the walls starting to chip, and the booth seats were ripped beyond compare. In the corner of the bar played a jazz band that was slightly off key and a bit off tempo, clearly showing that they were not fully experienced at playing jazz. It was a hole in the wall, a fitting place for a man like me.

Finishing the drink with another big gulp, I gripped the bottle in my hand to pour another glass, right before I felt something pride against my back. A gun to be a bit more specific. 

"Oh how considerate of you to pour me a glass" came a female voice. Immediately, I smiled. 

"Of course, why wouldn't I pour a glass for my number one fan?" I replied, pouring the liquid in the glass.

"The booth in the darkened corner at the end of the bar; mind escorting my drink and myself to it?" she asked. Since I had no other choice, I grabbed the liquor and stepped of the bar stool. She pressed the gun harder into my back and pushed me along to the secluded booth. I was pushed roughly, almost spilling the wine. She sat in the seat across from me, the gun she was holding hid well under her coat.

I took a moment to stare at her, seeing the fact that this was the closest she's been to me in all of our previous encounters

She was young, barely over twenty-three seeing how smooth her features were. Her eyes were still fierce, but this time showed a hint of uncertainty, something I had not seen out of them before. She definitely dressed much classier than anyone the bar had ever seen before, wearing a strapless black dress that blended well with the red color scheme. 

"So here we are, finally face to face" She started, a small smile forming,

"I guess so, but I must say this is a very anticlimactic spot for our final encounter. We've played this cat and mouse game through some of the most beautiful spots in the world, and it finally ends in a crappy old pub?" I said. She laughed.

"Well it's a perfect spot for an old man like you, run down and defeated"

"You think I'm old?"

She seemed taken aback by the question, but gave a slight chuckle.

"Of course you are, I could see your wrinkles from miles away" Now it was my turn to chuckle

"You see, when you work in a system like mine, it ages you faster than you could blink. I remember after my first year on the job, I found my first grey hair"

Her small smile slow faded as she ran a free hand through her hair.

"How did you find me?" I asked. She smacked her lips and gave me another small smile.

"Maybe I'm just good at sniffing out old dogs"

"Why did you kill Marx?"

"Just a casualty of war I guess. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time. How else could I get your attention?" she said innocently. I gave her a small smirk.

"Who are you? Obviously you're an agent, but from what agency. Judging by your accent, you are most certainly British like myself, but unless Redfield secretly wanted to kill me after I beat him on Poker night, you must work for an underground organization."

"Who I am and who I work for doesn't matter" she stated "All that matters is that Thomas Darvill is no longer alive by the end of the night. By tonight, you must pay for your sins" She sounded so confident. So sure of what she was going to do.

"So kill me" 

Startled, her eyes widened and her smile evaporated, I smiled.

"Wh-what?" she asked

"Kill me. That's what you were sent to do. You've got the gun in your hand. All you have to do is pull the trigger and then you can down this drink in celebration"

She was confused, and totally thrown off her game plan.

"The clocks' been ticking on my life for years now and it's about time the hour hand struck midnight." She squinted her eyes through the dim lighting and stared deep into my eyes. I could hear her fingers lightly tapping the table.

"Why are you so ok with your impending death?" Heaving a sigh, I leaned across the table. Immediately, her grip on the gun tightened, but I stopped moving 

"Because what do I really have to live for anymore? I did my service to Queen and Country for over a decade now. I did my job bloody well. Trust me, as the years go by, you'll get like this to"

"Who in the bloody hell do you think you are. I will never end up pathetic like you!" she replied harshly, though her voice was not as confident as before.

"I'm the man you've needed to talk to."

"Your ego is sucking your brain dry."

"And your own vacuousness is clouding the obvious." I grabbed the glass on the table and took a small sip. Her face started to grow a bit paler.

"Let me give you some personal words here" I started. "You think you know what you are getting into this life. After seeing you in action, you are obviously very confident in your skills and damn good at tracking people down. That's what intrigued me. But what also intrigued me was your commitment to tracking and killing me. I haven't seen commitment like that in years from an agent. But you know what? So was I at your age. You see, I just thought about the gold at the end of the rainbow, serving my country and following the morals that I believed in, which obviously you are doing as well but with a different set of morals. But I didn't stop to think about the repercussions this life would have on me. I used to count the number of men I had killed over the years. I used to feel something after I had taken their lives. Nowadays, when a man's life is stolen from me, I feel nothing."

Her hands started to shake more than the hanging lights in the bar whenever the train passed by.

"With each assignment, my heart had grown smaller and smaller. All of the morals I had followed over the years have slow faded away. Now, I am not a man anymore, I'm just a machine, programmed to kill without mercy and without thought. The skills I had once used as a tool are now a curse."

"But then wh-why do yo-you keep doing this?" she asked, honesty spilling out of her shaky voice.

I gave a long sigh, and said 

"Because this is what I was trained to do. I have no other life. The only way to get me out of this life is my death, which you are presenting to me on a silver platter."

"You-you're ju-just trying to distr-distract me from ki-killing you" she stuttered.

"If I was distracting you, why would I not have reached for my gun in my jacket?" 

She stared at me for quite a bit after that, her hands seemingly growing shakier as time passed. She was trying to muster up a retort, something to put her mission back on track, but the words failed to escape her mouth. The only noise filling the room was the uneven jazz performance and the sound of her heartbeat. Instead, using her free hand, she reached out and gently cupped my cheek. A tear leaked out silently from one of her eyes.

"The life has aged you" was all she could say

"And this life will kill you if you continue" I replied. She dropped her hand from my face, the gun in her hand rattling from her disable shaking. Tears started to flow a bit more freely down her face. I gave her a small smile and closed my eyes. I was ready for it. I was ready for death. But then I heard the clank of her gun dropping on the table in between us. Opening my eyes, I saw her run her shaky hand through her hair and press her other hand tightly on the table.

"I just failed my first mission" she said softly, followed by an honest laugh. I couldn't help laughing as well.

"I must say you were a marvelous opponent. And I must thank you" 

"For sparing your life?" she asked

"For bringing life back to me" I replied. She gave me a small smile before grabbing the glass on the table and raising it.

"To life" she said but as soon as she said that my stomach dropped. She closed her eyes to down the drink, which gave me the perfect opportunity to reach inside my pocket...

"I...I'm sorry" I said

"I have to do this...I have to do this."

Opening her eyes, she put the glass down, not even noticing where my hand was.

"I don't want to do it...I can't do it."

"For what?"

"For being me..." 

"I have to do it." 

A quiet shot rang out and struck her in the heart. The terrible jazz muffled the sound of the silencer. Her death wasn't long, but she fought for just enough time to stare at me in the eyes with her tear stained eyes, her frightened eyes.

"I'm a machine, programmed to kill without mercy and without thought" 

She slowly closed her eyes and her upper half of her body fell on the table. 

 And for the first time in years, an actual feeling crept up in my body and tears flowed down my face.