It would be a little cliche to say I had an affinity for the night. Only natural for someone in my line of work to want to blend in - and what better time when the world itself was awash in darkness? One uneventful drive over and I was near the location. Now crouched two dozen feet deep in an unlit alleyway, the shadows just made the sight before me stick out like a sore thumb by comparison.

The casino itself. A bright spark of garish lights and tipsy gamblers pissing away their credits on games of chance or deception. Thankfully, I wasn’t near the front of the business and could avoid winning myself a migraine. Earbuds were already in so my shotgun didn’t give me tinnitus. An obscured door near the back of the complex looked barred up and disused, but the shady-looking pair who I had recently observed open it to exchange a bag of something told me differently.

That just left the red hot poker of a question - when do I make my move? Over the years, it had become something of an innate skill. A feeling that it was time for the show to begin, a melody you just aligned yourself with so the song didn’t sound like hot garbage. Occasionally you’d get it wrong. Too early or too late and you’d miss an opportunity, or get yourself in more trouble than intended.

In saying that, tonight I expected nothing but trouble. It wasn’t often I had a contract that was solely to eradicate everyone in a certain area. People usually had other ways of getting such a thing done without so much mess. The intention here was to make it look like gang on gang violence. Some just-desserts for the massacre they had committed themselves.

While we all danced in the shadows, the light of day scoured away at least some of the sordid puzzle come morning. Not that I intended to still be here come dawn.

Bodies would be buried, and the building closed and swabbed for evidence. Maybe the cops were paid off too, and would turn a blind eye to a group of criminals being wiped from the city. Beyond the scope of my position. Despite the lack of care I took in covering my tracks, I was still an unknown. Part of my tech came with the ability to jam security cameras and leave cellphones without signal.

I wasn’t entirely sure if that was something purpose built, or a side-effect of the other things keeping me alive. The exact horror-show of how much of me had changed was something I didn’t dwell on. My hand clenched into a fist.

It was time.

Air buzzed out through my re-breather as I stood and made my way out of the alley. Across the cluttered courtyard, I was barely illuminated by the crescent moon. Shotgun almost humming with the imminent violence. Ten-mag with incendiary shells loaded, one ready and raring to go as soon as I mentally clicked the trigger. I pulled the dark green hood of my overcoat up over my head.

Stim pack registered the spike of adrenaline and gave me the pre-show package. A little dose of painkillers and strength boosting nanites so I didn’t fluff the entrance and fold immediately. I didn’t usually work thematic puns into my inner monologue, but something about my new neighbor had me a little off-kilter.

Thoughts for after my contract was complete.

I introduced the locked door to the muzzle end of my shotgun and rang the bell with a trigger pull. Amber sparks blazed across the surface, briefly illuminating the surrounding area. With the hefty swing of my boot, I invited myself in.

Drab lighting and a darkened corridor, brighter illumination filtering from an open doorway to the right. Already, as the ruined door bounced on its hinges, there were the sounds of chairs scraping against tile and panic voices calling to grab for their weapons. Dulled by my ear protection, the telltale signs of conflict still pattered around the inside of my skull impatiently.

With a thought, the pump on my arm slid back and forth. Well oiled and maintained, a smooth ride that ejected the spent orange cartridge to clatter amongst the filth behind me. But my focus was purely on the filth ahead of me.

Part of their downfall was their emotional response.

As my figure eclipsed the doorway, panic and confusion covered their faces. I was something against the normal. Had broken the usual flow of the expected. It just went to show how green this gang must be. Probably only enacted their own ambushes or fought where they had control and advantage. A smart way of staying alive, until you came up against someone like me.

In the center of the room, a rounded table with a gathering of four chairs. Cards and chips on the table. Half-empty bottles of alcohol. A fluorescent white light above that annoyed my senses. Four men in suits with loosened ties and collars. It was like a snapshot where I could see things in slow motion. The sweat on their shirts, the loose cigarette in the mouth of the closest letting off wisps of smoke, and the gradual realization that I was a threat to them.

Boosted by whatever bullshit they put in my stims, it was already over for them. The quickest to draw a pistol was my prime target as soon as I stepped into their den of prior peace. A click and the blast shredded his arm to the bone, his weapon dropping to the floor as his cheap suit lit up from the incendiary shrapnel.

A pump and the next cartridge was chambered by the time my arm rose up toward the one smoking. Painted the back wall with his brains as my shots scorched lines of deep gray throughout the room. The next one had no gun, but had drawn a knife. While I ejected the spent shell and turned to him, he had leaped out at me.

Pretty smart, if taken in a vacuum. While my system flooded with whatever bullshit chemicals made this all feel like it was being played out at half-speed, it was an opportune attack by him to strike me while my muzzle was hovering closer to the other side of the room.

My left hand went up, and the knife plunged through my palm and out the back. No real elation on his face as the part of him that could think quicker than he could act realized he had just made himself a sitting duck. The shotgun pressed against his thigh was the other prompt giving him second thoughts. First blast, and he dropped to his knee, releasing the grip on his blade.

Shotgun up to his clavicle. Second blast. Last man in the room was a miserable mess of sweat and expletives. Small cuts and burns from the shrapnel that had been bouncing throughout their little outpost. Instead of drawing a weapon, he had pulled out a phone to call for backup.

A radio might have been more successful, but those who stood proud atop high technology often fell before thinking of building safeguards.

I erased him with little thought, stepping over to put another blast in the first gangster I had maimed. Using an overhang on my gun, I leveraged the knife out of the wound in my hand. Didn’t destroy tendon or bone, so should be fine. With a thought, I ejected the mag into my hand and clipped it back onto my belt. Brought the drum forward instead.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Racked the first cartridge and stepped away from the room. Seven shots for four goons was acceptable - the door having taken one of my allotment. I paused briefly to shut the back door and move a convenient metal bar in the way. Didn’t want any distractions or collateral damage. Turning back to the darkened hallway, I passed the room now smoldering and sprayed with blood. Further in, the rhythmic pulse of heavy bass vibrated even through my earplugs.

Loud music meant they didn’t hear my warm up. More effective than any silencer, they seemed to have some manner of party in full swing. How fortuitous. Approaching the end of the hall where a neater door was set, I could smell the musk of such frivolity. Sweat, alcohol, smoke machines, and other, worse things. Although my nose wasn’t augmented, the stims heightened what sense I had to a degree, and experience got you used to picking up on certain things.

I worked out my shoulders ready, hearing the music rise in a crescendo. Their cheers and whoops within waiting for it. An opportunity too good even for such a sourpuss as myself to pass up.

Just as the bass dropped, my boot struck the door, shattering the weak lock from the wood, spraying splinters into the room beyond. Flashing neon lights waved about darkened walls and spread across every surface in an odd, almost alluring pattern - in time with the thrumming music pitched forth by a handful of speakers at one end.

Several rounded booths dotted around the room, circular with deep red couches and reflective black tables each. Fourteen men in various stages of inebriety. Glass bottles and shot glasses, cigarettes and cigars… possibly some illegal narcotics, too. Some gormless looking DJ up the front who didn’t even notice me enter. Many of them did. Their sheen shirts dazzling in the ever-changing lights. Mouths opened and closed in surprised yells or warnings, but I heard none of it.

Most of them were unarmed or the thought of violence had been far beyond their active thoughts for the evening. While it was in character for me to double down on being such a party-pooper, the fact that they weren’t all packing and prepared was doing some heavy lifting for the wet blanket about to drop back down.

In a way, I found it rather rude. Maybe it was my privilege talking, but if you wanted to be ruthless killers, it seemed ill-conceived to get wasted and be without your weapons. Especially after making plenty of enemies among the corpses of those you betrayed. They couldn’t be that shortsighted, surely?

Nevertheless, my work didn’t really involve my judgement or considerations on such matters. More opponents than I had anticipated, so I’d have to be conservative with my ammunition. Especially as there was another room to the left. White door, well kept and shut. Probably where the boss was about to make his final stand.

A click of the trigger followed my entrance, the muzzle flash adding to the light show. Their yells and scrambling weren’t on the beat of the constant music, but it was all rather numb and beneath me now. Part of my brain ignored it all, sifting through all the distractions to just see figures and threats. Second shell into someone trying to draw a pistol, and I kept on walking toward the nearest group.

Boss had often requested I find something useful to do with my left hand in combat. Told me that he hadn’t put the synapse tech in so that I could load and fire my weapon through thought just so that I could just flip off my enemies as I blew them away.

Had only done that once... everybody had bad days. Much like these gangsters at present.

My gun lashed forward, and I struck the closest by his shoulder, fracturing his collarbone and sending him clattering backwards. I followed up by swinging it in a wide arc, to which the next in line ducked. Fine, as that let me fire into someone at the back with a firearm drawn. So eager were they to overpower me that the ones with knives and clubs were in the way of those few with guns. Sloppy work.

I kicked out at the avoidant man, catching him in the stomach with my heavy boot as he rose back up. A step toward him as he reeled, and I brought my metal elbow down on the back of his head. He dropped to the floor, dazed, as the shell ejected from the shotgun. A shot rang out over the music and a warm feeling surged through my left shoulder. I twisted to see a pair over by the white door, one with a small gun, the other with a revolver.

Perhaps I should request Boss turn my left arm into a gun as well. Although… that would make certain things more difficult. Most things, really. Perhaps a shield? I fired into the gut of the one who shot me. A cruelty, but I never said I was a nice guy. Fresh stims washed through me to stifle the pain away and jump-start the healing process. Back to someone trying to stab me. I blocked the slash with my weapon, sparks dancing along the smooth metal of my arm.

Truly within the melee now, I spun away from him, grabbing at his silk shirt to bring him in for a headbutt. A dense thud that clearly hurt his drunken head more than mine. I continued rotating with him still in my hand, my shotgun finishing off the dazed man on the floor. My human shield blocked the shot from the handgun by the door. His body twitching as his shirt soaked through with blood. Reloaded and then I finished both assailants off, a blast at the one at range before grabbing and twisting the neck of my protector.

Received a blow to the back of my head, but by now I was full to the gills with adrenaline. Felt the warm blood in my hair. Turned and thrust my weapon straight into his face, breaking his nose before I clicked the trigger anyway.

Their morale was broken. Two went to run toward the open door. Too slow. A few quick steps toward them and I caught them out, slamming the first into the brick wall and winding him. Second took a shot to the leg and flopped over to the floor, now slick with lashings of blood. Another loud pop and the DJ had taken aim. Grazed the side of my head. Not a bad attempt.

I strode towards him as I did a one-two on a couple of the maimed figures. The room had cleared relatively fast, and the brazen tune-spinner didn’t have quite the confidence that the first squeeze granted him. He fumbled, unable to work the mechanisms of a weapon he wasn’t used to. Too late. I grabbed him by the hooded top and pulled his head down to crack onto his table, interrupting the music. A second, and then a third impact before I released him and ended his life with my gun.

Now the silence was deafening. A hiss of disconnected audio filled the space, even as the disco lights tried to convince itself that everything was okay by continuing its job. In some ways, it was like me. I stepped past the rivers of crimson amongst the darkness of the shadowed flooring, ensuring that all were at peace. A juxtaposition given our current location, but… they were.

Trusty boot ejected the troublesome white door that was preventing my contract completion, and I stepped into a smaller room illuminated by soft blue and green lights. A hefty wooden desk at the other end occupied by a very worried-looking man in a white suit, accompanied by a second bulkier figure with a gun. The trigger of which pulled as soon as I entered, another flash of warm pain across my chest, and then a second through my leg, before I returned the favor and blew a chunk out of his ribcage.

I stepped over awkwardly now, as my shot leg started to seize up. Didn’t feel much in it and didn’t care to look at it right now.

The supposed kingpin stepped out from behind his desk with hands up, showing me he was no threat. Greased back hair and a snide coldness in his eyes that he couldn’t hide even when his life was in danger.

“Stop - don’t kill me… and I’ll double what they’re paying you.”

Another couple of steps toward him.

“Triple! Please!”

Didn’t care much for begging, nor money. These kinds of people didn’t understand that this was my livelihood. If I allowed people to bribe or pay me off, then I’d stop getting jobs. I had an amount of professional pride somewhere within me that wasn’t currently peppered with lead.

Kicked out his leg and he dropped to his knees. Eyes full of shock, he looked up at me to plead further, but I prevented any more slimy words from exiting his mouth by inserting the end of my gun into it. A shell ejected the side of the weapon as I mentally pumped a fresh shot into the chamber.

Before sealing the deal, I furrowed my brow. Something was… my head tilted to the side, looking back at the door I had kicked in. There was a blast and clatter of metal, dulled by distance. Then a second one, much closer.

A couple seconds of silence, and then a woman dressed in bright red and silver stepped in through the opening.

She furrowed her brow, confusion across her face. “Dubs?”