A man had his back to a wall. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. All of his security guards were either unconscious or dead, and he was sure that he was the next target. “W-Why didn’t you kill all of my guards? I don’t understand; that is your job, isn't it?” He was staring fearfully at the man in front of him whom was armed only with a pistol. Dried blood speckled the intruder’s dark-blond, shaggy hair and his pale, emotionless face. Icy blue eyes stared back at the fearful man and, with a humorless chuckle, he spoke.
“That certainly would’ve been easier, but those weren’t my instructions.” He wore a slight grin on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The mercenary lifted one arm and pointed the gun at the other man’s head. A slim finger squeezed the trigger and a gunshot sounded in the manor.
The victim was trembling, his back pressed against the wall as if he could somehow merge into it and escape from the bullet’s bite, his eyes squeezed tightly. He waited for the bullet to come, to bring him agony and to end his life, but it never did. He cracked open one eye, seeing the gun pointed at, not his head, but slightly above it. Both eyes full opened now, he looked up and saw a small bullet hole near the top of his head on the wall behind him. “B-But why…?”
The intruder turned away, replying sarcastically, “Your ex-wife sends her sincerest regards.” He left the room and made his escape, leaving the rich man still standing, shocked and numb.
Senator George E. Howell sat in his large office. He was very stressed out and at his wits. He only knew of one option left, but it would mostly only cause him more stress. But what other choice did he have when he knew he couldn’t trust most—-if not all—-of his staff? He sighed wearily, his hands clasped together, thinking. I must do something about this. If I don’t I’ll be discovered and imprisoned; in Federal jail no doubt. But to trust this matter to a mercenary, out of all people, is maddening. But he’s my only option and if he is as reliable as I am led to believe…
“Howard, come here!” George yelled for his assistant, having come to his decision.
A younger man, appearing to be in his early thirties with thick black hair, entered the room calmly. “Yes Mr. Howell, sir?”
“Howard, I need you to get that mercenary we were discussing about earlier and bring him here. I have a job for him.”
Howard nodded politely, “Right away sir.” He turned around quickly and started to hurry out the door, but not before George commanded, “Howard, make sure you’re not followed.”
[Time Skip-3 Hours]
George was still sitting at his desk, working, when Howard returned. The Senator had heard the door opening, but he didn’t look up from his work. “Ah, so you have returned. I trust you have brought him like I told you to do.”
“Yes sir. He’s out there; should I send him in?”
George looked up at the question, raising an eyebrow. “Why of course. I would not have sent for him if I did not want to see him.”
“Okay, right away sir.” Howard grabbed the door handle and was about to open it, but he paused. “Sir…I implore you to rethink this. He is a mercenary, after all. We cannot trust him.”
George sighed, “But it is my only option Howard. Now send him in.”
Howard hesitated again, wishing to say something, but opened the door anyways.
George shook his head and looked back down at his work. Sometimes he wondered if he should start trusting Howard’s judgment.
It wasn’t the sound of a door opening and closing that prompted him to look up only a few moments later, but the sound of a voice. “So, why does the Senator of Illinois want to meet a mercenary like me?”
When George looked up, he saw younger man, most likely in his early twenties, with his arms crossed over a black shirt and his back against the wall, one foot flat against it’s surface. “Seamus O’Doherty, I was hoping you’d show.”
The mercenary uncrossed his arms and removed himself from the wall, walking across the large office towards the Senator. “So, you know my name.”
“Why, I know much more than that.” George smiled with a pretense of pleasantry, opening a drawer and taking out a signaler sheet of paper. He read the inky words out loud slowly and in a matter-of-fact sort of tone, “Name: Seamus O’Doherty. Age: 23. Occupation: Mercenary. Living situation: Moves from place to place when necessary.” He stopped and looked up, still smiling. “Shall I go on?”
Seamus concluded that he didn’t like the man in front of him. He seemed very arrogant and egotistic; the type of person he hated the most. “So, I see you did some research.”
“Naturally, I can’t just call upon a murderer without some knowledge of who they are.” George put the paper away, mentally reminding himself to burn it later when he got the chance.
Seamus’ blue eyes narrowed. “You know, it’s funny that you call me a “murderer” when you’re the one calling for me.” It wasn’t so much of the fact that he was called a murderer that bothered him, but the implied connotation that he was the only one responsible in committing such a sin whereas he felt his contractor was as equally guilty. He waited for the older man to respond with much impatience, but when he was met with silence, he continued. “Speaking of which,” Seamus’ hands came down upon the Senator’s desk hard, his body leaning on them for support. “I assume you have a job for me. What do you want me to do; scare someone, burn something down, kill?”
“I need not two people killed.” George dropped his pretense, having come to the “unpleasant” part of the conversation, and reached into his suit pocket, taking out a picture and putting it on the desk facing away from him. The picture depicted two young men, one with short brown straight-hair nearly hidden under an orange hat and the other with short brown curly-hair signing what looked like a Minecraft sword. George pointed to the man in the orange hat, “Jordan Mathewson. Age: 21.” He moved his finger and tapped the part of the picture depicting the other man. “Steven. Age: 19. Both of them are famous for playing video games for a living; an odd job, to say the least.”
Seamus, whom had becoming uninterested in the conversation and had found himself drifting away until he was looking out a big window behind the Senator’s desk, turned his head to look at the man when he heard the last sentence. So they’re gamers…Interesting. “Why do you want them killed? They seem completely harmless.”
“That is the thing; they were completely harmless, even insignificant, but they have stumbled across some information that I do not want known. So that is why I’m hiring you to make them ‘disappear’.” George’s grey eyes followed the mercenary as he walked around the office. “So, are you willing to take the job?”
“Depends on how much money you’ll pay me.” Seamus had, once again, stopped by a large window. His blue eyes looked down at the streets below, on the people that were walking, oblivious to the conversation going on between their Senator and a mercenary.
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.” Seamus looked at George for a moment, contemplating the offer. It was a much smaller amount of cash that he would typically accept for a job, but the fact that the targets most likely had no security at all would lower the price greatly…
“Ten grand, eh,” he thought about it for a second longer. “Is there any…Stealth involved in this?”
“Of course; in order for it to not look suspicious there needs to be some sort of pretense. You can make it look like an accident, or they could go missing, maybe even frame them for something. Whatever it is you think is best, but it needs to be stealthy.” Senator George and Seamus stared each other in the eyes for a few seconds before Seamus broke away.
“That’ll cost you another five thousand per kill, then,” he stated, his arms crossed.
“Deal,” George nodded in compliance. Twenty thousand dollars was a much smaller amount of money he would have needed to pay an assassin.
Seamus nodded as well, sealing the “contract”, and started walking out the door. “The job should be done in a matter of weeks.” Then, he left, leaving the Senator to his thoughts.