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 Chapter Three: The Mercenary

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Posts : 142
Join date : 2010-06-13
Location : Following something shiny

PostSubject: Chapter Three: The Mercenary    Fri Jul 02, 2010 8:29 pm

As was his habit when reviewing data files on his target he would view them first without sound. He found doing so removed distractions that could cause him to miss some vital nuance. His ritual was to pour a glass of Scotch, a prized possession on Rubi-ka, and settle into his favorite overstuffed chair. Only then would he begin to meticulously review the data files on the 3D hologram. Settling into his chair he took a sip of his treasured Scotch and as the liquid burned its way down his throat he quickly reviewed what he knew of the target and the client. What he knew of the target was little. Female. Nanomage. Physician. Clan. What he knew of the client was a bit more. The client had acquired his position of power with a Clan organization under less than scrupulous circumstances. He had surrounded himself with mindless minions, who mostly out of fear, obeyed his every command. Basically, he fit the description of the majority of others that had hired The Mercenary to do their unpleasant work. Taking another sip of his treasured Scotch he leaned over and activated the hologram.


His glass almost tumbled from his hand when her life-like image shown before him. Instead he found himself jumping to his feet to hit the pause command. He stood before her image dumbfounded. Then slowly he began to walk around her holographic image to absorb her from every angle. When he came back to his chair he collapse into it and downed the rest of his Scotch.


“I’ll be a son of a heckler.” He exhaled in a vapor of Scotch fumes.


He shook his head as if to clear it and got up to refill his glass. Slowly sipping his Scotch he approached the image and stood before it.


“After all this time. I finally find you.”


His mind reeled with the memory of their first encounter. He was young, foolish, and arrogant. He’d been doing mercenary work for just a short time when he was ambushed. They had left him severely injured, and close to dying, but not so close as to allow him the benefit of the insurance terminal. No, they’d left him praying for death. They broke his legs, arms, and even his fingers. His face was a bloody pulp. They took all his supplies, weapons, and left him for the scavengers to feast upon. He had no idea how long he laid there wishing to die. If he could have killed himself he would have. His memory was patchy of the events that followed, but he never forgot the face of the woman that saved his life. First he thought she was a hallucination. Her intense amber eyes with the reptilian slits that looked at him with such compassion. The vibrant blue of the notum induced butterfly tattoo that covered the upper part of her face. The calming effect of her voice and the soothing touch of her hands. Days later when he finally awoke still groggy from the sedatives, he found himself in a remote Neutral village. He was informed by the village physician that a Clan physician had stabilized him out in the war zone and not knowing his faction felt this hospital was the safest place for him. Before he could inquire further, a backpack filled with basic necessities was thrust at him and he was teleported into the grid.


He refocused upon the image before him.


“Isn’t this an interesting turn of events.” He mused as he downed the rest of his Scotch.

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