25hrs in a car.

Kill Stories:

Pop n Lock
KILL STORY:

Things took a dark turn on the first day. The blame rests on me. I wasn’t
prepared for how serious the game was. In truth I was almost chuckling to
myself as I stepped into the air conditioned coolness of the library. My
keen, hawk-like eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights and then it happened
– my chuckle turned into a grunt of anger and my joy turned sour. My
stomach turned. My illusions at this being a mere game shattered. I knew
my world would never be the same.

There stood the source of my fetid epiphany – my target. I almost couldn’t
believe my eyes. This “warrior” that I was sent to kill was a librarian. A
MALE librarian. I fought to keep my lunch down. My blood ran cold as I
took in his soft, supple hands and scholarly poise. This would not stand.

Suddenly it had become personal.

Judging that there would be no risk involved, I walked over and asked for
help finding a book, almost hoping that he would tell me to go fuck myself
and light up a cigar just to blow its smoke in my face. Anything, anything
to prove that he was in possession of the blood thirst that one needs to
thrive in this war. Did he? Did he fuck. This long haired girly man simply
went about helping me find a book, as if I would actually be interested in
reading something that didn’t have awesome glossy pictures of barely legal
fake tits and shaved vaginas. I wanted to douse him with a hose for his
insolence.

Even worse is that his lamb like eyes never registered a hint of suspicion.
Had evolution left a survival instinct out of this worm? Bile crawled up my
throat. He forked over the book not realizing that by doing so, he had
sealed the fate of himself and his entire team. This was a weak link if I
had ever seen one. Even now my bowels shake with the horror of it all.

I stomped out of the library infused with a rage and a singular mission.
The Librarian would be removed this very day. No effort would be wasted.
His father no doubt cried himself to sleep at night, but we mighty Warriors
need not be inflicted with his presence in our ranks for another moment.

The kill came easier than I even suspected it would. There was no gun in
his hand, no checking of corners, no hint of anything that would indicate he
felt he was in any danger. His demeanor reminded me of the deer I used to
hit with my car for fun when I vacationed in the Poconos as a teenager. He
didn’t even give me a second glance as he passed me. Perhaps he was fondly
recalling the day he got his first period, smiling at the memory of his
mother showing him how to apply the tampon. I shudder to think of it.
It’s better that I will never know. My ignorance will allow me to sleep at
night. The shot of water I blasted in his stupid face as he tried to enter
his car was too good for him. DEATH would be too good for this wench.

One day I will be old and dying and I will lament that even a single moment of my illustrious life was spent felling a spineless cow such as this. I can only hope that my next target will put up something resembling a challenge.”

Agent Six Killer

***

blazeguts kills koroshira
Based on the location of his apartment, and the fact that his building has entrances on both 149th and 150th I figured the best place to catch this guy was right before he heads into the train station for work. Arrived at location at approximately 5:45 am. I posted up at the bus stop adjacent to the Train station and read my "New Yorker". At 7:10 I see him walking from the mouth of his block, he's cautious, but focused on making it to the safe zone. I slide my New Yorker around my blue dolphin gun, and I walk to the point of intersection based on his speed. 2 steps from safety, SPLASH, right on the cheek, 2 times, like one of my lady friends. He was all like "FUCK!!", I was all like "wuuurd". Next batter...

-blazegutz
***

A full day of stalking and great intel completely wasted. To understand my frustration, I submit what should have been a solid kill story:

Agent Provocateur made should have admitted openly that he was a working actor, as he listed himself as "self employed" and submitted obviously professionally done head and body shots with his info. It took me all of three subway stops Monday morning to find him on Google and obtain the information for his upcoming shows. Wanting to focus on nothing else, I spent my entire work day completely avoiding actual work and doing the necessary research. Posing as Dan Holloway, an entertainment writer for the Metro, I had calls placed in to the Soho Playhouse (where he'd be performing in June) to see if he was rehearsing there, the cell phone of the manager there, and the names of other actors performing that night. With that information, I was able to rule out any necessary stalking of the Playhouse, seeing as he'd done the show before and therefore didn't require rehearsal. In order to facilitate a quicker wetting opportunity, I called my target under the same guise, armed with enough information about the show and his background to be more than believable (even changing my voicemail message). We talked for about 10 minutes, and danced around meeting up with his director for a sit down interview. Not wanting to sound overzealous though, I told him I would have to talk to his director first, maybe we could just keep it a phone interview... he hung up sounding slightly suspicious, but rightfully so. I had been down the street from his apt the whole time, trying to ascertain from the phone call if he was home with his kids or out. He was home, and didn't sound like he was moving.

Very dissatisfied with no clear opportunity in the evening, I went over his head, and found a way to contact his director. Chance favors the prepared mind.. because as luck would have it I've actually met him through a mutual friend. I quickly explained my situation, filled him in on the details knowing I could trust him, and elicited his help. He let me in on a golden secret.. my target is involved in a very regular rotating Tuesday night poker night. Calling him under the cover of having spoken to the writer from the Metro, he discussed with my target what I had said about meeting for an interview, but made sure to casually mention that he had the night off, and would love to get in their poker game again (he used to play himself). There are apparently no bonds in theatre, because he immediately called me back with the location and time of tonight's game. At 11 o'clock tonight on his way to Scratcher Bar, my target would have been dealt a full house of elimination. There was only one thing that could ruin this..........

My partner Matt. I got woken up to a phone call from him, filling me in on the details of his attack and our subsequent elimination at only 8am.

What a disappointment - I never got stalked by anyone, never got shot at... never even fired a stream of watery death. I feel like I had so much more to offer this game.

***

Commanders,

Finding Number Six took a while. After hours of surveillance at both home and work, I finally saw a sign of life this morning. A young lady appeared on his staircase -- she took the steps gingerly and looked around for any signs of trouble. She missed me. I was tempted to follow her for clues about my target. I'm glad I decided to stay put.

Ten minutes later, he appeared -- a cap to cover his shaved head, likely wearing contacts instead of the Rivers Cuomo-esque glasses I expected. He crossed the street looking in all directions. I could have chased him but let him strut away, hoping for a better shot. He soon let his guard down and I started my pursuit.

Two and a half short blocks, one long block, subway, safety. I had less than five minutes. I gave him a one block head start and sprinted around the corner, running down the long block parallel to his. I was hoping he would be walking toward me when I turned the corner. No such luck, he was out of sight. Damn! I screwed up, I thought. I should have taken my shot earlier. Then I spotted him again. He was walking through a park and to another subway entrance.

Here there were two ramps, he came down one and I the other. As soon as he turned and headed to the subway entrance, I fired. Straight shot to the back. I called out his name and he momentarily froze. He was so filled with adrenalin that he didn't realize he was already dead and ran past me. As he turned to face me, fumbling with the gun in his pocket, I shot him twice more. This time it was over for good. Number Six was dead in thirty-two.

***

Kill 1.
The setting was ripe for ambush. He fired left. He fired right. But he didn't look behind. RIP Chigga.

Kill 2.
No good vantage point; the element of surprise works wonders. RIP Wilford Brimley.

Danji/KED