“Has the water been fixed, Miss Jean?” The boy asked, smiling the same practiced smile he displayed every single time he wasn’t working – a skill he was proud of after years of honing. At times, he wasn’t even sure if he was still pretending; that’s how good he’d gotten with it.
Miss Jean was the elderly matron of the apartment building he chose to live in. It was a small, but well-kept place in the city of Manila’s uptown area, where the air was cleaner and the nearby streets did not smell of piss and shit. It was safer too – not that the boy worried overly much about gangsters and robbers. The best part, he mused, was that it was the last place anyone would look for him, considering there was a police station just a block away.
"Ah, Gabriel, you're back!" Miss Jean's voice was warm and welcoming as she spoke from her rocking chair, her hands skillfully knitting another small sweater, likely intended for another grandchild. Her smile, despite her age, was complete, showcasing a set of teeth she had managed to preserve over eight decades. "Yes, the plumber came by earlier and fixed it. Turns out there was a leak."
“That’s good to hear.” Gabriel said. It really was. He still had a small pile of dishes he hadn’t been able to wash, because there hadn’t been any water for the last two days, which really wasn’t much of a problem. The hot showers, however, he definitely missed. At the very least, electricity was present. And buying big gallons of distilled water for bathing and drinking was made easy by the presence of a convenience store just down the road.
"How was your trip?" Miss Jean inquired, briefly setting down her knitting needles as she cast a glance at him with kind, gentle eyes. Or, at least, Gabriel assumed they were kind; he still wasn't certain about that. Humans were odd and emotional. Perhaps, if he had attended school like a normal teenager, he might have been more aware. But Gabriel couldn't find it in himself to care too much about such things. School was boring and easy, his classmates too banal to be of interest; so, he walked out one day and never returned. What a waste of money that had been.
"It went well," Gabriel replied, his tone casual as he passed by the fire extinguisher, glancing at the blade he had discreetly hidden nearby within the glass case. Miss Jean was, quite literally, the only person he ever spoke to about his contracts. He'd share a few details, enough to create the impression that he was a successful artist painting portraits of the rich and powerful. In a way, he did create art, just with blood and not paint or ink. "My client got exactly what he wanted, and I received the payment as agreed."
"That's amazing," Miss Jean replied, her eyes lighting up with pride. "One of my grandchildren, Sierra, is turning out to be a talented little artist."
She held up her smartphone, displaying a picture of a child, around six or eight years old, diligently drawing what appeared to be a cartoon character unfamiliar to Gabriel. Nevertheless, he could appreciate the skill displayed; the artwork was well-executed, especially considering the child's age. Art, however, was one of the few things he struggled with. Creating images on paper was easy enough, but conveying actual emotion, which was the goal of art, eluded him.
Gabriel smiled appreciatively. "That's nice."
“Well, I’ll be going up now.” Gabriel finished just as Miss Jean picked up her needles and continued knitting. “See you around, Miss Jean.”
“And you too, Gabriel,” The elderly matron replied. “Take a break one of these days, yeah?”
Gabriel smiled and nodded appreciatively as he turned, beginning his ascent up the stairs. His apartment, essentially a penthouse, occupied the topmost floor. Initially, it had been Miss Jean's private space before she opted to live separately from her business. While there was an elevator, Gabriel preferred the stairs; the physical activity helped maintain his stamina and overall fitness, crucial elements in his line of work. Plus, fifteen floors weren't particularly daunting to him. “By the way!”
He stopped as Miss Jean called after him. Gabriel turned and glanced down. “Yes?”
"Some men came by earlier, dear. They were asking about you," Miss Jean stated with an air of concern. Gabriel's expression turned wary as he listened. Every mental alarm he had began blaring. No one - absolutely no one - should have known where he lived. He had no friends, no allies. His life was shrouded in secrecy, a fundamental part of his work as a contract killer. The unexpected visit had Gabriel on high alert. Blake Ishimura’s words echoed in his head; there were others. The sorcerer – a concept he still couldn’t fully wrap his head around – had warned him of others, many others, who were looking for him.
“How many were they?” He asked.
“Five of them, dear; they were here just a few hours ago.” Miss Jean answered, smiling. “But, there might’ve been more. I can’t be sure.”
“I see,” Gabriel said. This location was already compromised. Huh, a bit bold of them to attempt anything so close to a police station, but a large-enough bribe was always a good way to get the law to look the other way. Or get the cops on his head. And his enemies were rich and plenty. He couldn’t stay here anymore. Troublesome. “Thank you for telling me.”
Gabriel rushed up. This would likely be the last time he’d ever see Miss Jean. What a waste. He was going to miss her cooking. But this day was bound to come eventually. He was good at what he did and his ability aided him even more so, but those that lingered in the dark will – sooner or later – find themselves dragged out into the light. His enemies found him. Or, at the very least, suspected him. Why else would anyone look for him here, after all?
Gabriel reached his floor within thirty seconds, his breaths labored from the sprint, but his heartbeat remained steady. He quickly approached his apartment door, expertly entered his password, and pulled out the four keys for the locks he had installed. The door swung open, and he carefully stepped inside. The beads he had placed on the mat, filled with minute amounts of mustard gas, remained intact. The trip wires on the windows, each one attached to a claymore mine that faced directly outside, had not been triggered either. No one had entered his apartment. That was a relief. It meant he still had some time to prepare. The fact that his enemies had been monitoring his entrance meant they likely knew he was here and would’ve already sounded their own alerts. If they really knew who he was, however, they wouldn't have sent just five men after him.
Gabriel's mind raced, considering his options. The most obvious choice would be to make a run for it. This apartment was nothing more than a temporary refuge; he used it to sleep and unwind when he wasn’t working. Consequently, most of his weaponry was stored elsewhere; what he kept in this apartment were the low-powered stuff. He had a crate containing five 9mm pistols and approximately fifty magazines, each accompanied by about a hundred spare bullets. Another crate held an assortment of knives, blades, and garrotes, while a final crate contained about twenty grenades.
Additionally, he possessed a significant stockpile of Astrolite-based explosives, primed and ready to detonate with a single press of a button; it was all under his dining table. It was ample enough to obliterate the penthouse floor without causing extensive damage to the entire building. The explosion would also set off the hundreds of pounds of C4 he had strategically embedded in the walls. Gabriel was familiar with Miss Jean’s bank account; sending her a few million dollars should more than compensate for any collateral damage if the situation escalated to that point.
The rest of his arsenal was at a remote safehouse all the way in Cebu City.
"Alright," Gabriel muttered to himself, his plan already unfolding in his mind. His escape route, meticulously devised long before he ever rented the penthouse floor, involved climbing up to the rooftop through the hatch that had once served as an emergency fire exit. From there, he would leap onto the balcony of a room in a building situated right across the street. This adjacent structure was much larger than Miss Jean’s property and extended from one block to another. Once he had put a significant distance between himself and his pursuers, it would be a simple matter of changing his appearance with a new wig and some different clothes. The nearby mall would provide ample cover within its bustling crowds, allowing him to vanish without a trace.
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Nodding to himself, Gabriel gently closed the door behind him and stepped over the welcome mat, being careful not to shatter the beads that held the mustard gas. In the center of the penthouse floor stood a pillar, upon which he had affixed a remote control. Gabriel reached out, his fingers clicking the sole button on its surface. With a soft buzzing sound, the natural light streaming through the windows dimmed as sliding metal panels fell into place, effectively covering the glass from which one might view both the interior and the exterior. The room was plunged into sudden darkness, but the lights flickered on automatically, programmed to detect the absence of light. Now hidden from the prying eyes of the outside world, Gabriel made his way toward the refrigerator. He opened it, retrieved a carton of chocolate milk, and took a moment to savor the cool sweetness before getting back to his preparations.
Hey, if he was going to leave this place, then he might as well enjoy the stuff that was still here. “Tsk, the frozen chicken’s going to spoil.”
He shook his head and sighed. “Oh well.”
Gabriel walked to the dining table and set down the milk carton.
How are they going to do it? Gabriel pondered. A full-frontal assault in broad daylight seemed improbable, given the risk of exposure, especially with the police station nearby. Nightfall was a more reasonable timeframe for an attack, allowing them to operate under the cover of darkness. However, Gabriel alsoacknowledged the unpredictability of the criminal underworld; there were patient criminals and there were brash ones. The former were the more dangerous of the two, but he’d made plenty of enemies among both. An attack could happen at any moment.
Despite the imminent threat, Gabriel felt prepared. If they struck now, it wouldn't significantly differ from an attack hours later. In fact, he almost wished they would come sooner – navigating through the large daylight crowds would simplify his escape. The thought of facing the threat immediately did not bother him, either; rather, it offered him a chance to end the confrontation swiftly, before making his escape.
On the other hand, it’d be nice if they attacked later, because that would make things so much easier for him, regardless; after all, there were plenty of shadows lingering about in the dark of the night. And Assassins worked best in the darkness.
Considering his options, Gabriel contemplated a daring alternative: striking first, catching his adversaries off guard. They wouldn't anticipate his preemptive move. Though he lacked precise knowledge of their location, Miss Jean's warning provided an unexpected advantage: time to prepare. Gabriel's mind churned with tactical possibilities, envisioning the numerous strategies they might employ against him – strategies he’d employ if their places were reversed. At the very least, he had alreadyrigged his surroundings with traps, specifically because he knew this moment would come – sooner or later.
He’d just been hoping that it would come much later.
Yet, a major drawback marred this strategy. The unknowns loomed large: he had no intel on their whereabouts, identities, numbers, or weaponry. In stark contrast, they likely possessed detailed information about him, except maybe about the traps he’d placed for them. This glaring imbalance forced himto proceed cautiously, assuming his enemies had already identified him and were prepared for any counterattacks. The uncertainty made this strategy less than viable – less than optimal.
Troublesome, but he’d been through worse situations with far fewer tools at his disposal and still came out of it relatively alive.
As much as he preferred the second option, waiting for them to come to him was the safer and more efficient of the two.
Breathing in, Gabriel sat down and sat still and stared at the clock. It was a form of meditation, he figured, one
His ears perked up at the very faint, but otherwise very sudden commotion that came up from one of the lower floors – low enough that he couldn’t tell which one it was. There were voices – none of them he recognized. But he did kind of recognize the language; they spoke to each other in what was definitely an Eastern European tongue, just not one he knew – Balkan, perhaps?
The footsteps told him there were, at the very least, fifteen men headed right up the stairs. He’d detected no violent commotion, but Gabriel also couldn’t rule out the possibility that they’d killed Miss Jean to either silence or just for the heck of it. He certainly wouldn’t hear the gunshot of a silenced 9mm from all the way up here. So, it was safe to assume that the kind old woman was now dead.
There was a flicker of something inside him – an emotion he wasn’t quite certain of. It messed with his rationality; Gabriel didn’t like it. So, he pushed away that emotion. He had no need for it. Anger, he realized; what he was feeling was likely some form of anger. Pointless, but undeniable in its potency; he wanted to kill them all, against all reason. Still, the better part of him shut it down immediately; doing so would lead to his death.
Breathing in, Gabriel stood up and walked towards the crate that contained all his grenades. By his estimation, it’d take another twenty seconds before the intruders reached his floor. Why they didn’t bother with the elevator was up in the air, but it was probably caution on their part. Unwarranted. He hadn’t rigged the contraption. He reached in and grabbed four, high-explosive, Frag Grenades and removed all their pins; the explosion wouldn’t trigger until they crashed into a solid surface. And then, he walked out of his room and glanced down the stairs, his eyes catching the humanoid shadows that were making their way up.
“Here’s a present for all of you,” Gabriel said, grinning as he dropped the grenades down the stairs and turned away. The explosions and screams began right as he closed his door behind him. The ground shook and the floor danced for a moment as tiny, hairline cracks appeared on the walls.
Right, that should’ve killed or maimed at least half of them – less if they were professionals.
With the attack underway, Gabriel swiftly prepared for his escape. He concealed two 9mm pistols and four spare magazines within a jacket, hoping not to have to resort to using them, but adhering to the age-old adage that it's better to be prepared. The Astrolite bomb detonator, already nestled in his pocket, would trigger the claymore mines and C4 embedded in the walls. His safe haven had become a liability, and he no longer had any use for the apartment. It was time to go. With that in mind, Gabriel climbed up the hatch and made his way to the rooftop, where he was greeted by the roars of several exhaust ports. He turned and ran to the edge, overlooking a balcony on the other side.
A sudden shift in pressure jolted Gabriel's senses, prompting him to instinctively dive to the ground. A 50 caliber bullet whizzed through the air right where his head had been moments before, its faint whistle echoing in the vicinity. His breaths became strained, his lungs burning as he pushed himself forward. Gabriel gritted his teeth, uncertain of the sniper's location. The surrounding tall buildings, each with numerous windows, provided countless potential vantage points. The rooftop, it seemed, was not as safe as he had assumed. The realization hit hard—he hadn't anticipated the use of skilled snipers, especially ones he couldn't detect until a bullet was already in motion.
Impressive.
Gabriel bolted forward, rolling beside the numerous exhaust ports for cover, each one large enough to fully conceal several men if they crouched low. He surged and dashed and sprinted left and right, keeping himself in constant and erratic movement. The next shot echoed, but it whizzed past him, a miss. That also meant there was only one sniper. If there were two, then the other one would’ve already shot at him, especially if they were aiming from a completely opposite direction. The edge of the rooftop wasn’t far now. A few more steps and he could make a leap to the balcony of the adjacent building.
Another shot echoed, but the bullet missed. Just beneath him, Gabriel heard faint screams as the intruders shattered the beads on his welcome mat. Mustard gas dispersed into the air, burning their skin, lungs, and eyes. He briefly wondered how many of them had thought to wear gas masks or if they had underestimated the danger. Reaching the edge, Gabriel leapt without a hint of hesitation. The gap between the two buildings was five meters—a seemingly impossible jump, mitigated only by the slight drop that came with the height differential. He soared from the rooftop of a fifteen-story building, aiming for the balcony on the tenth floor of a twelve-story building.
A wave of pain ripped through hands and forearms as he grasped onto the balcony ledge, just enough so he wouldn’t fall; if he’d been any further, even by just an inch, then it would’ve been a straight plummet to the streets below. Grunting and groaning, Gabriel pushed himself up and vaulted, before running through the glass door ahead of him. Fortunately, the room was empty. He then stood up and grabbed the detonator within his jacket and pressed the trigger. The world shook. A blinding flash of white light burned and imitated the sun, melting both stone and glass. He only managed three steps before the shockwave slammed right into him, sending him hurling through the front door, breaking through several inches of wood.