Silent Master

Snake Eyes killed the Bear
and
Killer2 kills Snake Eyes

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i am writing this to inform you of my wetness!

i have been taken out after a moment of weakness as i
boarded the bus to work. i had let my guard slip.
after sleeping in my surveillance vehicle for the last
6 nights out side my targets house(and not seeing her
once!! i doubt she exists!) i was wary and looking for
love and sympathy i spent the night in my own bed in
the arms of my loved one. after waking late due to the
evening activities, that ran late in to the night, i
decided not to travel to work via my trusted
surveillance vehicle as we needed a day apart and a
little alone time. i checked upon coming out of the
house and found the street to be clear i then
proceeded to the bus stop round the corner and waited
for my bus. as the bus pulled up and i was about to
board out of the corner of my eye i spotted someone
running for the bus and dismissed it as just someone
running for a bus. how wrong i was with one foot about
to hit the safety of the public transport system i
felt the cold wet feeling that i has hoped to avoid
for at least another week. i could not believe it!! my
number was up!! i felt like my world was crashing down
on me as the wet ness sunk in and as the smile on my
assassin grew bigger. but my disappointment was to
turn to glee in a very short space of time.
after talking on the side of the road for a while
about the game and lengths we had been to get our
targets and after showing him round my stakeout
vehicle he offered me ride to work as i was now
running late and needed to open my store. on the ride
down we discussed taking a photo of the kill and had a
few ideas to to a make it look good as this was my
assassins 2nd kill. we decided on a chalk out like in
the street as i had white tape at my work. after a
hasty opening of my business and sorting out tape we
stood on the corner putting down a chalk out line. i
left them for just a minute as i went in to get the
work phone and upon my return i found the number of
people had doubled as i got closer the smile on my
assassins face had turned into a look that i knew so
well, he to was wet! his assassins had been following
him all morning up untill the time he had got me and
buy chance his assassins had spotted him on out side
my work. so the chalk out line that was was once a joy
for assassin was now to a place for in which he was to
Lay. justice had been done!
after many photos and hands shakes and stories of
stakeouts the second assassins left to send reports of
the kill and receive new targets. then my now dead
assassin and i parted ways with a shake of hands both
feeling gutted that we would not live to wet another
day. but as i turned a slight smile came over my face
knowing that today Kama smiled on me. even though im
out i feel justice has been done!

this is the bear, signing out

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Snake eyes aka Dusty Bottoms aka Ben martinez scored another hit today killing Bear Martin but was then taken down in a disgracefully un artful way buy team 2 or unit 2 or something!!!!! Should u ever wish to reincarnate me for any reason i would be your willing servant also and would love any pay back opportunity, I have an incredilby flexible schedule at the moment so could be ready for action almost instantly at anytime, though i am greatly shamed!! Also new contact number should you need it as phone at the bottom of the canal after the friday night oops. 07813306115. bear Martin is dead the story below tells it all !!! feel free to print it if u see fit and use any pics u like though may i ask that i retain the honor of having the snakes head even in death perhaps. his name was Ben Martinez.... His name was Ben martinez ..... his name was Robert Paulson oops i mean....HIS NAME WAS BEN MARTINEZ. It has been an honor. Please print from below.

There are various levels of assassin. Some are good some are very good and some are so awesome that they get to be revered by all in the company of shadow warriors and sit closest to the greatest squirters of us all, the mustache and supreme commanders!!! But most aren't!!

I had always known that i was destined to be an assassin for our great leaders. Since i was a young boy i had always been fascinated by the beauty of the water pistol, the often neon luminescence of them, the texture of the pistol grip, the gorgeous bubbling noise of air squeezing out of the tank as its filled, as if to avoid the same watery death as the prey that will soon be victim of a severe dousing. But of course the air returns as the water is expelled until once more the gun is re-filled for action. Here we see that the great circle of life and death is just as present within the pistol as without!! You see there is a whole philosophy to the true art of the water gun just as in any true martial art, and just as the naturalness with which i find the gun resting in my palm is a testament to my natural ability; the naturalness with which i find the gun resting in my mind is testament to the hours of meditation and work put in to its mastering.

It is on this note that I will tell you of the events of this morning or should i spell it mourning! At the early hour of 6am my alarm went of in snake HQ. This morning would be the morning my next targets dispatch. As such my driver had been called the night before and had been given sanctuary for the night in my compound for the early start. Any great assassin is in actual fact an artist and as such i had many options for different covers for that day. Should i be the friendly jogger, the hardworking postman, or maybe the red tops choice... the fake shake. I pondered but decided that despite this foes mighty strength, my superior wit and trade craft would be enough, so jeans and T-shirt it was.

Private Lee random went to fetch the car and was instructed to mount some counter surveillance. Within minutes he was outside my door with the snake mobile and we set off, him driving in his characteristic evasive style to shake of any wannabe assassins. We hit Acton with lightening speed made a few evasive maneuvers as standard and got into our position to stake out the house. Stake outs where now second nature to us, we had it down to a fine art and had proven that if our target was there he was as good as wet. I left the snake mobile to position myself innocently round the corner and was in radio contact with the car. I stood around that shadowy corner for at least 20 mins before i got the call that our target was sighted. We had been slightly worried as he was clearly late for work and had considered calling in for him, after all a watery killer is not necessarily a bad person. But as he immerged from his street i walked innocently along the street in the same direction. He clearly was no idiot as he had changed his appearance from the shabby hobo look in his photo to that of a trim man bout town, but he had let the early hours of the morning get the better of him as he failed to even check his six as he turned out of his road. I crossed to run parallel with him, just to be extra sure, and also to laugh at the ease with which i could move around him. he stopped at the bus stop i crossed at the crossing went into a shop and changed tops and waited for his bus to come along. As soon as it did i ran out chasing the bus looking over my shoulder, fakely worried that it might beat me to the stop!! legs pounding like jack hammers, chest thrusting back and forth like the tides of the great oceans. A slight look of panic that work might tell me off for being late. Ladies and gentlemen the oscar was mine. He reached into his pocket for change as he stepped forward out of the shelter!.................. By the time he noticed my gun it was 2 inches from his wet stomach!!!!

That is art ladies and gentlemen!! Perfectly.. planned.. precision killing! FACT !! with the exception of our esteemed leaders there are only three men in the world capable of kills of such beauty and precision, and I'm one of them, and will probably kill the other two sooner or later anyway! But the Bear is a good man and generous in defeat. He showed us his super cool camper he had been living in until last night! the fool. I too was generous in victory and offered him a lift up the Uxbridge road to work where we then took the trophy photo for all you fellow assassins to see!
It was whilst preparing for the photo shoot as i knelt down to map out our victims body on the ground, i heard a desperate thumping of feet behind me! normally i would have reacted instantly but so far from home, so much driving!, so much time on the street already!. Then i heard the swishing noise. a jet of water soared passed my right side hitting the wall then tracking via my drivers shoulder to my back. Surely this was a joke!! Then in a nervous shaking voice the words "Got you" giggled out of my foes mouth. At which point his two less flighty teammates showed at his sides. The foul stench of smugness filled the air, if it had been a drinking game they would have paid heavy reparations for it. I slowly stood to face them and as they gazed at their mighty foe their awe was clear. What stood before them was a perfectly crafted squirting machine, the only one to have been granted a new name by the Mustache Commander himself! Snake eyes!!!!! They had been chasing me for over a week, squirted my flatmate's, been scared off by old men, watched me stare them in the face before driving away on many occasions laughing at their tactics, had completely missed by back entrance and use of bike, and been unable to beat my unusually high standard of counter surveillance. That very day due to my drivers human error they had escaped his notice outside my house, but as they followed us in their suburban family car they had been lost like farts in the wind by his high standard of evasive driving, and I imagine got lost again trying to get back to mine as in the time the took to get back up the road we had managed to kill, make friends, drive and create art. As they finally found their way down exactly the same road the had driven up in the first place (in an extreme state of demoralization) they happened upon us in the throws of trying to give a little something back to the avid readers of the site. Indeed they themselves had been big fans of my work. And so they took the opportunity of the one shot in over a week. But one shot no matter how poorly aimed, how badly executed, how artless is all you need.

Does this make them better assassins then me?!?! Snake Eyes?!!! No every Dog has its day.
Does this make them good Assassins, Artists, Or in any way note worthy?!! No if they put feathers up their asses they wouldn't be chickens, and neither are they true assassins just because they hold water guns! They are lucky, and hopefully have learned form their experience of chasing someone who actually was where he should be but just too good for them, a team of them, for over a week. But i am still dead and arrogance should never have gotten the better of me for there are people as willing detroy great art at any cost as them in order to make a name for themself. And so i say to u all remember the words of our great Leaders

"You are an Assassin, do your job with a bit of class and style"

For if you are a great artist, whether you live or not you will be remembered, our leaders are always watching and know a class act when they see it!

Snake Eyes signing off beeeeeepppppppppppppppppppppp.......................................................

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Kill Story
A RISING STAR THAT BURNED TOO BRIGHT

5:03am – Somewhere, in a respectable, middle class part of town a cell phone rings silently. Miniature LEDs phase into action. A pulse of electricity. On the cell's display a name appears: "Big M".

5:33am – A silver car cruises to a stop at the end of a blind alley. The driver is a terrifying caricature of a man, his hulking form barely squeezing into the seat. Thick index finger tapping at the dashboard, the driver gazes out through the tinted windows, surveys the streets. "I wouldn't want to live in this shithole" he thinks.

Outside, a pair of crackheads shamble past. Hungry for a fix and bleary eyed, they don't see the haven of bourgeois cars parked in a private mews. Hearts beating to a different drum, incapable of thought, craving, they hear only a chemical buzz.

5:45am – In the reeking storm drain below the street gutter a feral rodent pricks up its ears. About one metre directly above its grime encrusted fur it hears the footsteps of a ghost. Unable to even hiss with fright, it dives into the open end of an overflow pipe and hides.

A silver car door opens quietly. The car sinks a little lower on its wheels as someone sits down and without any apparent motivation the rear door clicks shut behind the mysterious passenger.

"I wish you wouldn't fucking do that to me!" blurts out the street-punk in the passenger seat "I nearly blew you away."
"Please," whispers the Ghost, as he eyes the high-calibre pistol in the scrawny teenager's hand, "don't make me laugh!"
"Oh," says the behemoth in the driver's seat, "you're here – I uhh.. got you a coffee, but I wasn't sure how you take it." He reaches round, a styrofoam cup like a thimble in his hand.
"I don't," replies the newcomer "drugs… are for the weak of mind."
The punk-kid rolls his eyes. "Whatever man. What ever."

5:59am – A few minutes pass in total silence. The sun, rising, pushes its way through the smog. The assassins watch. Inside the car the atmosphere of fragile truce is finally broken by a question:

"So, the target then. Who is it this time?" asks the Ghost.
"Number twenty four," snaps the renegade as he lowers his eyes from the telescopic sight securely cable tied to the headrest, "…down the mews. He's pulled a few tricks, made a bit of a ruckus. Thinks he owns the street. They want him removed."

"They…?"

"Shadow Government. Nobody really knows who they are. The only guarantees are that they pay handsomely and their cheques never bounce," replies the surprisingly articulate driver, eyes gleaming from behind incongruously small wire rimmed spectacles.

6:28am – A cyclist, a fitness obsessive unaware of the crosshairs aligned with her cranium, rides off on her morning route to the office. She takes a peek into the silver minicab as she passes. Inside she glimpses only the driver asleep, head against the window, and thinks nothing of it.

Big M, as he is known, half opens an eye, watching the white lycra clad arse of the cyclist bob up and down as she disappears down the quiet road. It's been more than a few years since he was last in this line of work and he wonders to himself how he's managed to get involved again, after all it's not as if he's actually in 'the game'. "Coast clear" he mutters.

The ghost sits up, "what did the recce suggest?" He queries, examining a surveillance photo taken during the previous week.
"Not much," comes the street-punk's answer, "He thinks he's the best thing since arcades. Thinks he's better than us, better than the fucking Shadow Government. And calling him a slippery fuck's the understatement of the year."
"Please," murmurs the first assassin, "we'll teach him a lesson. Don't you worry, we'll show him his place in the world."

7:57am – At 12x magnification, through the tinted rear window the assassins first catch sight of their target. Half obscured by an over-nourished potted plant, the dark haired man emerges. He quickly checks the mews for any suspicious characters. Finding nothing out of the ordinary he throws himself into a black car parked outside number 26. The driver's already inside.

"Shit! He's not taking his own car" exclaims the punk-kid "it's a black golf license number… uhh"
"Fuck the license! 'Big M' start your engine. We're on the move!" orders Ghost.

"It'll be too obvious if I start it now, I'll start it after he's left." insists the huge man.

Their target's car speeds past them. Two massive fingers twist the key in the ignition. A spark. A rumble and then… the engine stalls.

"Fuck!" screams the street-punk. Seconds drag like hours. The key is turned again. The car starts. The big man manoeuvres the wheel like a toy in a toddler's hands and the saloon flies round a corner.

"There he is, Go, go, go," hisses Ghost coolly, "he must've spotted us."

Up ahead, the lights change and the black car races off, aggressively cutting through traffic and giving way to no one.

And thus an intense and high speed car-chase begins across the streets of the city. A car chase that would eventually spell the demise of Agent Dusty Bottoms.

9:00am - One whole hour later, the chase has reached the sticks, the very edge of the city. Sumplands. The kind of place where gangs of knife wielding schoolkids terrorise whole neighbourhoods and off-licenses pass you the liquor from within secure steel cages. The target and his driver, mostly through luck and an unfortunate incident with a refuse truck are no where to be found. Despondent the three assassins turn back and start to head for home.

But then a stroke of fortune. Pure luck, and a good bit of observation.

"Who the fuck's that?" the punk-kid shouts, "There look, a black Golf, two guys outside"
"Is that them? What's the license pl…" The driver starts to say, but before he can finish his sentence the renegade is already sprinting halfway down the road.

Sapphire-coloured pistol in hand. Rapid. He closes to point blank range. Fires.
Seconds later the Ghost confirms the kill. The target, eliminated, slumps against the wall in a pool of liquid. The gun in his hand, not a sign of self defence, but a planted token of respect for the passing of a worthy adversary.

There will be no news paper headlines for this murder. And no official enquiry will ever be launched. The Killer2 strike again.
Others who walk in the shadows would be wise to learn from the rising star that burned too bright.

Your Humble servant,
A. Blue
Killer2