Little something I've been writing. Crits always welcome.

Chapter One

This was the only time he felt really, truly alive, with Death grinning madly in his face. And as the bullets and debris danced about him in a frenzied whirlwind, he could've been looking into a mirror. He grinned as well.

“Verify the target!” a voice yelled out frantically in the night, struggling to be heard over the baritone of machine gun fire and explosions. The man smiled, despite the seriousness the situation demanded. They could yell all night if they wanted, nothing was better than this. Except for chocolate-covered raisins, which he maintained, God dropped on earth by accident. Something so goddammed delicous couldn't be manmade, that much he was sure of.

He crouched down and risked a quick peek from behind the wall before retreating just in time to avoid getting the top of his head shaved off, courtesy of a few hundred rounds of high velocity bullets.

“Guess that wasn't very smart,” he murmured to himself before grabbing the two-way radio on his hip and thumbing it on. “Violet. Can you hear me, Violet?”

The two-way was quiet for a moment before hissing static in response: “Unfortunately.”

“Is this fucking plan going to start anytime soon or do I gotta get shot in the ass first?” he demanded while his only safety from the continuous rain of gunfire began to disintegrate under the salvo. If he didn't hurry, his back, shoulders, and ass would be next.

Then, as though it were meant only for him, the sharp, isolated sound of metal clanging against concrete invaded his senses.

His eyes widened. Shit. He immediately pushed himself to his feet and began to run as the grenade rolled to a stop.

“There he is! Shoot him! Shoot him!”

Suddenly, chips of broken cement rushed up to meet him as bullets rained through the air, more deadly than any kind of shower the sky could produce. He rushed toward another wall on the ruined battlefield, diving toward it with as much force as he could as the blast from the thrown grenade roared behind him like some mythical beast. His luck ran out as one of the bullets slammed into his shoulder, spinning him in midair and sending him ungracefully onto the hard concrete. For a moment, he simply tried to catch his breath as he lie there.

Careless

“Shutup,” he muttered, touching his forehead and finding it smeared with warm blood.

With a grunt, he pulled himself up to one knee, letting out a deep breath while he unhitched his knife and used it to cut away the sleeve of his sweater. The air seemed to vibrate as the continuous barrage of bullets hurtled toward and past him, the sound like a swarm of angry bees.

The two-way hissed again as Violet’s voice sounded once again: “How you doin’ out there, Onyx?”

He grabbed it and slipped it between his shoulder and head, thumbing it to the setting for continuous talking. “Doin’ fine babe, and yourself?” He sucked wind through his teeth when he got a look at the hole in his shoulder. At least it doesn’t hurt, he pointed out to himself. Adrenaline was definitely doing her job tonight.

The device crackled again: “We ran into a few stray soldiers hiding in the trees back here, and they held us up for a bit. But now, everyone’s in position. You ready?”

“Hold on a sec,” Onyx grunted, removing the pair of steel forceps from a case on his belt. "While you guys were playing in trees, I was-"

He froze, head cocked. Eyes narrowed. If possible, his ears would’ve twitched like an animal’s and in a way, he was like one, sitting on his haunches, tensed. Listening.

Silence, the stranger from a few hours ago, had crept back onto the battlefield.

“Violet, what’s going on? Why is it so quiet?” he asked softly into the radio. "Tell me they all just ran because I'm so badass. Violet?"

No response. Onyx knew she was staring at his surroundings, but whether she was looking through binoculars or scope, he couldn’t guess.

The two way hissed to life. “Soldiers are beginning to sweep the area.”

“The place could use a good cleaning,” Onyx observed starting back to working on his shoulder. He didn't have much time.

A quiet laugh emerged from the two-way. “Cute. By the way, we saw you running through all those bullets back there. Really hot stu-“ A stream of static hissed over her voice before clearing away: “-like some kind of action movie.”

“You can get my autograph later,” Onyx replied, gritting his teeth as he dug into his flesh with the forceps, searching. "I'll only sign your left breast though."

“Ha, I’d rather get Cher's.”

"I'm actually a big fan," Onyx murmured. "Believe was so...inspired." There you are, he thought with wince as the forceps came into contact with the bullet.

“Look, I don’t think now is a good time to start touching yourself to Cher, Onyx. They’re getting closer.”

He couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping, even as he painstakingly drew the mangled, blood-stained slug from his shoulder. Leave it to Violet to joke around at a time like this, he thought to himself as he gazed at the bullet. And be her usual crude self while she did.

“While we’re young, sugar.”

He shook his head and dropped the slug into the case in his belt, along with the forceps. He then quickly poured a little antiseptic into the wound from a small bottle before wrapping it with the sleeve he tore. A clean cloth would‘ve been much better, but he couldn’t carry the whole damn first aid box on his belt, though many times he wish he could. He kept asking for a midget doctor to cling onto his back, but no one really took him seriously.

“Okay,” he spoke into the two-way, standing up and taking the strapped assault rifle from his back. “I‘m ready.”

“A little quicker than I expected but okay, wait for it.” The two-way went silent.

A cool wind whispered by to greet the silence before moving westward. Onyx listened, still tensed, his weapon ready to make any problems that emerged from the dark disappear as they came.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the night, and the cry of all the soldiers mingled with it. Onyx looked out from behind the wall to see the tower on fire, thick smoke billowing from it. All of the soldiers were running back toward it, shouting. If he wanted to, he could’ve killed many of the fleeing men without a problem. Shooting them in the back, without them knowing his precise location would’ve even been pretty easy, and even a little funny, but that wasn’t his job.

The two-way crackled: “Okay, You’re good to go. I’d wish you good luck, but, you know.”

Onyx laughed. “Yeah. See you.” He thumbed off the radio, clipped it back to his hip, and chanced another glance out. This time, the only thing that greeted his face was a wind that brought with it warmth from the intense heat of the fire, and the thick smell of smoke. Finding everything clear, at least by the looks of it, he stepped out from behind the wall, rifle raised. He studied the scene before him, searching for anyone or anything that could trap him, take him by surprise.

When he saw that the coast really was clear, he began to jog toward the tower, the rifle gripped firmly in his gloved hands. His eyes darted everywhere as he ran, taking in every little detail, and the rest of his senses were on high alert as well. It would definitely suck to catch a bullet to the face from some guy hiding behind a rock.

He stopped some distance away from the tower and crouched behind a hill of broken concrete, rising upwards toward the sky like the ruined hand of some long forgotten, buried giant. Near the door of the tower, a tall, brown skinned man with slicked back silver hair spoke to two soldiers, his voice clear in the night air.

“That man is probably still out there, unless he went around to rendezvous with his mates. I sent the rest of the soldiers to take care of that little problem in the woods. In the meantime, your job is to make sure no one gets into this tower, do you understand?”

The two soldiers nodded and Onyx grinned, barely able to suppress a laugh as one of them almost started to salute the man before cringing and dropping his hand. The man’s eyes narrowed and he looked toward Onyx and the trees beyond. Onyx crouched down lower, melting in with the dark, becoming one himself. A laughing shadow.

The man turned back toward the offending soldier and glared at him. “You’re green, but that never excuses stupidity. If there were a sniper up there, I’d be the first to go and you two would follow soon after. Out here, saluting doesn’t exist. Do you understand?”

The soldier nodded, practically crimson from chagrin. The man’s eyes stayed on the soldier for a moment longer before he turned on his heel and walked inside the tower, closing the rusty, metal door behind him.

“An officer, huh?” Onyx murmured to himself as the soldiers began to argue amongst themselves about the incident. “Lucky for you, you’re not my target. Now, what to do about those guards?”

He unholstered the silenced pistol from his hip and tapped it against his head in thought. While the soldiers were busy with the others, he wanted to slip quietly into the tower and acquire his objective. Unfortunately, the pistol was low on ammo, and he knew he would need it to get around quietly inside. It would be a lot easier than having everyone in there running around looking for him when they heard the rifle fire outside.

Then he smiled and shook his head at his folly as the sound of gunfire suddenly sounded north of the tower. In the prevailing quiet, he had almost forgotten about the others and the diversion. He placed the pistol back on his hip. Without further ado, the shadow, no longer laughing, rose up from the ground and aimed with the rifle, ending the soldiers’ little debate with a few points of his own.

He ran toward the door and opened it without pausing, knowing that the two weren’t going to be bothering him when they had holes in their head to worry about. He closed the door and, after thinking about it, slid the bolt into the lock position. He then stared up at the dusty, stone steps, the path dimly lit by yellow, flickering bulbs, before beginning his quiet walk. He had returned the rifle back to its strap on his shoulder, and retrieved the pistol once again.

His nose wrinkled up in disgust as he tipped up the steps, the pungent smell of sweat, blood, and other bodily fluids he didn’t want to think about, invading his nostrils. The steps ended and at a hall leading to the right, and Onyx snuck as close to the wall as he could before quickly looking out and pulling his head back, the image burned brightly into his mind.

The hall was long and narrow, with doors lining either side and ending with one large metal door. In front of this door, two soldiers conversed quietly with one another, their demeanor casual as the burst of automatic gunfire sounded distantly outside.

Onyx blew his breath out quietly and leaned his head back against the wall, thinking. If his target was beyond the guarded door, then he would have to kill the two soldiers. But, if they were smart, they’d require a password of some kind of special knock before opening up. Which meant that he should maybe keep one of them alive. Then there was the possibility that the target wasn’t beyond the guarded door at all, and that the two posted guards were there as decoys. He shook his head as he tapped the pistol against the side of his head again, a habit that Violet said would end with his brains splattered against a wall. His clever response was always "shutup".

You could use a decoy trick as well…

Onyx mulled the thought over. It could work both ways, if executed right. He nodded to himself and set to work. First, he crept back toward the middle of the steps and began unscrewing a light bulb. One after the other, down to the end of the steps until the lower half of the stairwell was bathed in inky darkness. Then, after a deep breath, he took one of the bulbs and threw it hard down onto the steps. He covered his eyes as it burst into a million tinkling pieces and slid into the darkness, letting it cover him as he listened and watched.

“What the hell was that?” he heard one of the guards ask.

“I don’t know.”

"Well go check it out then," the first guard replied, his tone exasperated.

He didn’t hear the soldier’s approach, so Onyx knew he must’ve been creeping as quietly as possible toward the stairs, wary and alert. He raised his gun as the soldier stepped into vision, in case he wasn’t as concealed as he hoped.

For a moment, silence reigned as the soldier stared down into the dark, and just as Onyx was thinking of pulling the trigger and ending the cat's curiosity, the soldier spoke up.

“One of the fucking bulbs must’ve burst,” he called back to his companion. “Shorted out a few of the circuits, I guess.”

“Better make sure,” Onyx heard the other guard suggest.

The soldier nodded and stepped down into the darkness, and into his own demise. Before he could even make a sound, he felt a hand clamp around his mouth and the certain, icy feel of the blade at his neck. He began to shake, despite the rigorous training he must’ve went through to be in this position. Might even shit his pants, Onyx thought with an inward laugh.

“Tell him to come here,” Onyx whispered into the soldier’s ear as he removed his weapons. “If you don’t…” He slid the blade down the young soldier’s belly, and near his crotch. “I’ll cut your balls off first.”

At first, Onyx thought the young soldier would barely be able to stand, what with his knees shaking, much less call out to his buddy. “C-c-c-c…” he began to stutter quietly.

“You’d better come take a look at this,” Onyx suggested softly, letting the blade glide back up to the soldier’s neck.

“Y-you’d b-better come l-l-look at this,” the poor soldier stammered, his voice low.

“Louder,” Onyx commanded, pressing the blade against his neck. “C'mon, like you really mean it.”

“Hey, you’d better come look at this,” the soldier called out, his voice still shaky but louder, at least.

The other soldier grumbled but began walking toward the stairs, his unhurried footsteps echoing throughout the hall. Onyx quickly shifted the knife to his left, and unholstered the silenced pistol for what seemed like the twentieth time.

The grizzled, slightly chubby guard appeared in the stairway and squinted into the dark. "What the fuck's the problem?"

The bullets were quiet as they passed through his eye and forehead, causing blood to flow up in a red, velvet blanket. Likewise, he stumbled silently back against the wall and slid down into hell.

"Now," Onyx whispered to the quavering, weaponless soldier, gesturing with his free hand toward the hall of doors. "Show him to me. Show me Death..."

2

The young, redhead woman sitting next to Sydney ground her teeth as he loudly cracked another sunflower seed in his mouth. He spit the shell into a small, plastic cup, flipping the pages of a magazine in his lap.

The rest of the small waiting room was relatively quiet, perhaps silenced into shock by the young man's lack of etiquette. Besides himself and the redhead, there was a muscular looking man sitting across from them and a lovely, dark-haired woman a few seats down. Each wore a business suit of some variation. Sydney smiled inwardly, well aware of how annoying he was being and quite delighted with himself. He cracked another seed.

"Do you think you can chew those things a little fucking quieter?"

"Can you make me?" Sydney replied to the person next to him, not looking up. The magazine was People, and he rarely had a chance to catch up on the happenings of the world's celebrities.

Suddenly, the magazine was snatched from his hands and thrown onto the floor. "I could just knock out a few of your teeth and let you gum the damn things."

Sydney's dark eyes rose from his empty lap to meet the angry, pale-green ones of his neighbor. He smiled.

"Edgy?"

The woman rolled her eyes and blew out a breath, turning away from him. "What the fuck do you think?"

Sydney shook his head, getting to his feet and retrieving the magazine, nodding to the other two in the room. "Sorry. Don't worry, she gets a little crazy sometimes..."

"Shutup," she muttered. "And I told you you should've worn a suit."

The bald, muscular man, nodded back at Sydney before returning his attention to a folder clutched in his large, hairy hands. The dark-haired woman did more than nod, adding a smirk and sly wink. Sydney mirrored the smile before returning to his seat.

"Hey, Romeo, Paolo's selling chocolate bars for ten," the redhead said as he sat down, noticing the exchange. She typed something in a sophiscated-looking device as she went on. "Chocolate eggs for fifteen and...wow, candy canes for five. These are steals. Sounds like he may be getting out of the confectionary business."

Sydney hoped not. Those 'confectionaries' were needed in situations to deal with the more frugal employers of the business. The cheap bastards, he thought.

"Excuse me?"

Both Sydney and his companion looked up to find the dark-haired woman smiling at them, leaned forward in her chair. Sydney leaned forward as well to speak, a grin plastered on his face, but was interrupted.

"What?" the redhead asked rudely before he could open his mouth. Sydney cursed inwardly. Damn cockblock...

"By confectionaries do you mean weapons?"

Sydney's posture straightened at that, but he said nothing, and likewise, neither did his companion.

"I know a lot of people refer to them as such, to avoid such frivolous things as 'law' and 'authority'. But you don't have to worry about that with this particular employer."

"And who the fuck is this employer exactly?" the redhead demanded.

"Language, Ashley," Sydney murmured, wiping the smile from his face, as he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Put a fuckin sock in it, Sydney," the redhead retorted, her jade eyes flashing. "Or I'll put a fist in."

The dark-haired girl smirked. "Brother and sister, I presume?"

"No," both replied in unison, before frowning at one another. Sydney shook his head.

"We're partners," he informed her before pausing, eyeing the dark-haired woman with a small smile. "Business partners, that is." The redhead rolled her eyes.

The dark-haired woman's lavender eyes seemed to be amused as she moved to a closer seat and put forth a hand. "Natasha."

"Sydney," the young man said, shaking the hand. He gestured toward the redhead. "This is Ashley. Don't mind her foul mouth, she's a real sweetheart."

"Underneath all the bitch, he means," Ashley laughed, shaking her hand as well. "Don't worry though. I'm only that way to the fuckheads." She glared pointedly at Sydney.

"She says fuckhead, thousands declare a genius before his time," Sydney shrugged, leaning back with the magazine in hand.

Natasha laughed lightly before eyeing him. "Hmm. You certainly don't seem like the fuckhead type, though cocky."

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Trust me, he's both," she advised before changing the subject. "So, you know anything about this guy? Usually our employers don't need to cover their identity."

"Maybe he's the President," Sydney suggested, smiling at the two. Ashley shook her head.

Natasha's eyes shifted to the young woman at the front desk, who typed diligently at a small computer. She lowered her voice. "From what I gathered, the employer is some billionaire who doesn't want to be tied to his more...illegal business dealings. Probably famous."

"Sounds like it could be the President," Sydney said, to no one in particular.

"So basically we'll be dealing with lackeys," Ashley surmised, leaning back and folding her arms. "Great."

"Ladies and gentlemen?"

All eyes looked to the doorway, in which stood a tall, balding man who looked to be in his forties. He was immaculate in an all black, Armani suit that seemed to sneer at Sydney's own faded black jeans and jacket. At least I still have my hair, Sydney thought with an inward chuckle.

Not inward enough? he wondered as everyone turned to look at him.

"What?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

The man adjusted a pair of silver, wired spectacles on his crooked nose before speaking. "If you'll come this way, we can get down to business." He gestured toward the room he had emerged from.

Everyone nodded and stood, and Sydney noticed a huge, green tattoo of a snake on the back of the muscular, bald guy's head, the body of the serpent running down into the white of his dress shirt and beyond. Sydney could admire the tattoo, and had even toyed with the idea of getting one himself, earlier in life. When he had mentioned it to Ashley, she simply rolled her eyes, saying, "One should be quite enough."

This one doesn't count though, he thought to himself as he did then, rubbing the cheek of his buttocks absently. As they walked, he wondered what kind of tattoo would look the best on him.

Inside the room, a large, mahogany table stood imperiously in the middle, surrounded by chairs of the same style on rich, dark carpet. A chandelier hung over the furniture, giving off fragmented light and revealing that there was nothing else there. It was a room of meetings and discussions, though more dignified than most.

"Please have a seat," the man said, sitting at the head of the table. Sydney sat down, still deep in thoughts of body art, and the others followed suit.

"Now," the man continued, adjusting his tie. "My name is Hannibal. I am a representative of a person that needs not be named."

"Why the fuck not?" Ashley cut in.

Hannibal's icy, blue eyes shifted to the redhead, and Sydney couldn't help but laugh at his partner's curtness. Tact wasn't a part of the girl's vocabulary, that much was certain. At least not anymore, Sydney thought to himself.

"My employer is a man of some reknown," Hannibal answered Ashley. "It's best that he not be tied to the happenings out here."

"So what exactly does your employer need done?" the bald man asked.

"Anything he asks you to do," Hannibal replied immediately. "What my employer wants is a special team set up at one of his main facilities that can do anything, from espionage to assassination. From demolition to hijacking. Anything that needs to be done."

"Which means that this isn't a one time job," Ashley said, standing up. "Which means that we're leaving."

"How much does it pay?" Natasha asked.

Hannibal smiled, resting his chin in his hands. "Fifty-thousand dollars every end of the month. And that doesn't include the free room and board of the luxury suite in the facility."

Quiet for a moment before Ashley sat back down. Sydney laughed to himself. Good girl. "What exactly does this job entail?" she asked, leaning back into her chair.

"As I've said before, if there is a job for my employer that needs to be done, you will do it. If he needs to you to tip the balance of a war in favor of one side, you will do it. If he asks you to steal some illegal documents from a heavily guarded vault, you will do it. If he asks you to assassinate a pregnant nun, you will do it. Anything and everything he asks, you will do it."

Silence again as everyone processed the man's words. Sydney leaned over toward Ashley, and whispered, "Black panther."

The redhead frowned, looking back to him. "Black panther? What the hell are you talking about?"

"It'd be cool to have that tattoo on my back," he whispered back. "You know, kinda big and jumping out-"

"You're talking about tattoos?" Ashley whispered, incredulous. "What about everything Hannibal's said? Have you even been listening?"

"Yeah, fifty thousand a month. I say we do it. But what do you think about the panther?"

Ashley shook her head and leaned away, looking to Hannibal. "How long do we have to think about it?"

"Three days," Hannibal replied. "In the meantime, my employer has asked that you stay at the facility which would be your future headquarters if you decide to work for him. He has a job that he would like you to do, as a test."

"And you expect us to take a free test?" Natasha asked with a small smile.

"Of course not, quite the opposite. My employer will pay fifty thousand to have the task completed, a full month's pay." Hannibal smiled. "Just a bit of incentive."

Again, there was silence. Before anyone could open their mouths however, Sydney stood up and slammed his fists on the table. "We'll do it!"

Ashley let out a disgusted sigh as she put fingers to her temple. "Shit."