Binthor
29-12-2004, 08:18
OOC: This would probably be for Earth II people since Earth II is pretty much all I participate in, but I guess anyone could do something.
A man in a dark suit slowly walked up a gravel road. He was a non-descript black man, with an average height and weight, but he was not a so called average person, at least not in the usual sense. He appeared like any other person, but he had one of the greatest, yet most brutal minds in the world. He was a mercenary of the shadows, working for the highest bidder and always completing his assignments while never being caught. He sometimes worked for the governments of corrupt nations, and he sometimes work for large criminal or terrorist operations. His skills ranged from mountain climbing to scuba diving to, his favorite skill, killing. He was a cold-blooded killer. He had no regrets for killing anyone. He was the type of man who would kill his own family, and in fact, he had. He continued walking up the road, in the dead of night, with total blackness engulfing all. It was a new moon out, as he had planned. The crunch of the gravel under his glossy dress shoes was the only sound in the night. He slowly walked up to a large wrought-iron gate in the road. He would have usually just climbed over it, but he knew that the seemingly normal gate had high security to it and he would set off alarms in some control room nearby if he even touched it. He slowly walked sideways, past the gate, into a grove of trees. Here the gate continued into a 12-foot high fence with the same security as the gate. He looked up to the trees and saw, as he already knew, that the limbs that would normally stretch over the gate were cut off. He smiled at this. These Binthorian guards were smart, and they would stop an average or even above-average assassin, but they would not stop him. He kept walking and thought carefully, while still watching his surroundings. His sources had told him that guards were not placed outside of the walls, but he had learned on other occasions that you shouldn't always trust the word of your sources. He came to a stop. 73 feet. He slowly stooped over and began to work at the earth. He finally came to it; a large wire a few inches in diameter, surrounded by a few other wires. He slowly shifted the wires around until he found one that was yellow with black bands. He hacked at it with his knife instead of cutting straight through it, and then replaced the earth into the hole. He stood back up again and quickly scaled the fence. The power to the fence, he knew, would be back in less than two minutes. He dropped down and walked through the thin foilage towards the lights of the villa, about 200 meters ahead. As soon as he came to the edge of the trees, he stopped and crouched down. He looked at his watch. He waited a few seconds, and then a figure walked out of the shadows of the side of the villa wall and walked in the direction of the road. The man in the suit walked out of the trees and silently fell in a few steps behind the figure, while wrapping a thin wire around his hands. He stepped up behind the figure and pulled the wire around the man's neck. Then he pulled. Hard. The figure struggled and tried to scream, but the knot in the middle of the wire crushed his throat and only a gurgle came out. The figure was dead within a few seconds. The man picked up the dead guard and, putting him over his shoulders, walked back into the woods. There he dropped the man and covered him with leaves, while taking his radio. The man then stepped back out of the woods and continued towards the villa entrance. About halfway there, he came to his target. A small wooden side door, used for deliveries and guards. He walked to the door and inserted his lockpick, a new model that was very effective and quick. He opened the door and walked into the courtyard between the villa wall and the manor itself. He walked forward slowly. There were no guards in sight, except for the two on the front porch of the house. Both were armed with M4 Carbines, but this did not matter, as the men were not meant to know he was there. He continued to the cellar door at the side of the manor. He again inserted his lockpick, and silently descended the stairs into the room filled with large kegs of liquor and racks full of bottles of wine. He walked to the door at the opposite side of the room and slowly eased it open. He was now in the manor's kitchen, and he heard humming. He slowly walked up the steps into the kitchen and eased and optic wire over the the wooden railing. There was a single chef in the kitchen, a young and beautiful woman. Her back was turned to the stairs and she was on the other side of the room. He creeped up the stairs and slid the wire around her neck, killing her silently. He carried her body into the cellar and hid it in a side room. He then moved back to the kitchen and walked into the next room, a small parlor with stairs to the next floor. He would need to go up there later, but his first target was on the first floor. He walked toThe next door, and continued traversing the many rooms, avoiding the ones that were patrolled regularly. He finally came to his target room. He walked slowly into the dark room and moved to the queen-sized bed. In the bed were two people; the personal advisor of the president and the personal advisors wife. The man smiled. He relished this part of the job. He slowly slid out his six-inch dagger and grabbed the mouth of the man with his gloved hand. He then slid the razor sharp dagger into his neck and then across his throat. The man made no sound as he died. He then proceded to do the same job to his wife, and then his first target was completed. He then moved back towards the parlor. He walked up the stairs and moved into the room at the top. A guard stood in the room, facing the stairs. Before the guard could even react, the man had pulled out a silenced .357 caliber Desert Eagle and put a bullet in his forehead. The man walked past the body calmly, putting his pistol back into his jacket. He moved through two more rooms and finally to a hallway. He moved down the hallway and bent his optic wire around the corner. Two guards were standing at a door entrance halfway down the hallway. The man pulled out his Desert Eagle and turned the corner. He fired two shots. Both slammed into the side of the guards' heads, one after the other. They both fell to the floor, dead. He walked to the door they were guarding and calmly pushed it open, pistol at the ready. He fired one shot. The bullet slammed right between the eyes of a maid. A girl, who he knew to be 14, woke up on the bed and raised her head. She started to scream when she saw the maid. But the man was already on top of her and gagged her. He tied her wrists, none too gently, and led her out of the room quickly, but not after he dropped a prepared letter on her empty bed. She tried to struggle, but she calmed when the man put the gun to her head. The man had one more objective; to escape. He retraced his steps, and came to the cellar again. He moved to a side room he had not entered before, and saw the back-up generator. He flipped off the switch for the fence. Now all power was gone for it. He moved out again and climbed with the girl back over the fence, amazingly with ease. He traversed his way back through the woods, this time moving quickly. He finally came to the main highway, where he had left his black SUV not very far into the trees. He threw the girl in the back and jumped into the front. He then drove toward the nearby city and the private airport in it. Lucius Dombrowski had killed again.
A man in a dark suit slowly walked up a gravel road. He was a non-descript black man, with an average height and weight, but he was not a so called average person, at least not in the usual sense. He appeared like any other person, but he had one of the greatest, yet most brutal minds in the world. He was a mercenary of the shadows, working for the highest bidder and always completing his assignments while never being caught. He sometimes worked for the governments of corrupt nations, and he sometimes work for large criminal or terrorist operations. His skills ranged from mountain climbing to scuba diving to, his favorite skill, killing. He was a cold-blooded killer. He had no regrets for killing anyone. He was the type of man who would kill his own family, and in fact, he had. He continued walking up the road, in the dead of night, with total blackness engulfing all. It was a new moon out, as he had planned. The crunch of the gravel under his glossy dress shoes was the only sound in the night. He slowly walked up to a large wrought-iron gate in the road. He would have usually just climbed over it, but he knew that the seemingly normal gate had high security to it and he would set off alarms in some control room nearby if he even touched it. He slowly walked sideways, past the gate, into a grove of trees. Here the gate continued into a 12-foot high fence with the same security as the gate. He looked up to the trees and saw, as he already knew, that the limbs that would normally stretch over the gate were cut off. He smiled at this. These Binthorian guards were smart, and they would stop an average or even above-average assassin, but they would not stop him. He kept walking and thought carefully, while still watching his surroundings. His sources had told him that guards were not placed outside of the walls, but he had learned on other occasions that you shouldn't always trust the word of your sources. He came to a stop. 73 feet. He slowly stooped over and began to work at the earth. He finally came to it; a large wire a few inches in diameter, surrounded by a few other wires. He slowly shifted the wires around until he found one that was yellow with black bands. He hacked at it with his knife instead of cutting straight through it, and then replaced the earth into the hole. He stood back up again and quickly scaled the fence. The power to the fence, he knew, would be back in less than two minutes. He dropped down and walked through the thin foilage towards the lights of the villa, about 200 meters ahead. As soon as he came to the edge of the trees, he stopped and crouched down. He looked at his watch. He waited a few seconds, and then a figure walked out of the shadows of the side of the villa wall and walked in the direction of the road. The man in the suit walked out of the trees and silently fell in a few steps behind the figure, while wrapping a thin wire around his hands. He stepped up behind the figure and pulled the wire around the man's neck. Then he pulled. Hard. The figure struggled and tried to scream, but the knot in the middle of the wire crushed his throat and only a gurgle came out. The figure was dead within a few seconds. The man picked up the dead guard and, putting him over his shoulders, walked back into the woods. There he dropped the man and covered him with leaves, while taking his radio. The man then stepped back out of the woods and continued towards the villa entrance. About halfway there, he came to his target. A small wooden side door, used for deliveries and guards. He walked to the door and inserted his lockpick, a new model that was very effective and quick. He opened the door and walked into the courtyard between the villa wall and the manor itself. He walked forward slowly. There were no guards in sight, except for the two on the front porch of the house. Both were armed with M4 Carbines, but this did not matter, as the men were not meant to know he was there. He continued to the cellar door at the side of the manor. He again inserted his lockpick, and silently descended the stairs into the room filled with large kegs of liquor and racks full of bottles of wine. He walked to the door at the opposite side of the room and slowly eased it open. He was now in the manor's kitchen, and he heard humming. He slowly walked up the steps into the kitchen and eased and optic wire over the the wooden railing. There was a single chef in the kitchen, a young and beautiful woman. Her back was turned to the stairs and she was on the other side of the room. He creeped up the stairs and slid the wire around her neck, killing her silently. He carried her body into the cellar and hid it in a side room. He then moved back to the kitchen and walked into the next room, a small parlor with stairs to the next floor. He would need to go up there later, but his first target was on the first floor. He walked toThe next door, and continued traversing the many rooms, avoiding the ones that were patrolled regularly. He finally came to his target room. He walked slowly into the dark room and moved to the queen-sized bed. In the bed were two people; the personal advisor of the president and the personal advisors wife. The man smiled. He relished this part of the job. He slowly slid out his six-inch dagger and grabbed the mouth of the man with his gloved hand. He then slid the razor sharp dagger into his neck and then across his throat. The man made no sound as he died. He then proceded to do the same job to his wife, and then his first target was completed. He then moved back towards the parlor. He walked up the stairs and moved into the room at the top. A guard stood in the room, facing the stairs. Before the guard could even react, the man had pulled out a silenced .357 caliber Desert Eagle and put a bullet in his forehead. The man walked past the body calmly, putting his pistol back into his jacket. He moved through two more rooms and finally to a hallway. He moved down the hallway and bent his optic wire around the corner. Two guards were standing at a door entrance halfway down the hallway. The man pulled out his Desert Eagle and turned the corner. He fired two shots. Both slammed into the side of the guards' heads, one after the other. They both fell to the floor, dead. He walked to the door they were guarding and calmly pushed it open, pistol at the ready. He fired one shot. The bullet slammed right between the eyes of a maid. A girl, who he knew to be 14, woke up on the bed and raised her head. She started to scream when she saw the maid. But the man was already on top of her and gagged her. He tied her wrists, none too gently, and led her out of the room quickly, but not after he dropped a prepared letter on her empty bed. She tried to struggle, but she calmed when the man put the gun to her head. The man had one more objective; to escape. He retraced his steps, and came to the cellar again. He moved to a side room he had not entered before, and saw the back-up generator. He flipped off the switch for the fence. Now all power was gone for it. He moved out again and climbed with the girl back over the fence, amazingly with ease. He traversed his way back through the woods, this time moving quickly. He finally came to the main highway, where he had left his black SUV not very far into the trees. He threw the girl in the back and jumped into the front. He then drove toward the nearby city and the private airport in it. Lucius Dombrowski had killed again.