Nicky gave a brief flash of the subdued light of his pencil torch to check his location. The floorplan of the house wasn't difficult to work out. The main bedroom, where the target would be sleeping, was just a few more steps away. He carefully advanced those steps.
He grasped the knob of the bedroom door, slowly turned it and gently pushed the door open.
He had no idea what happened after that. Suddenly he was face down on the floor with something like the circus fat lady sitting on his back. His limbs were grabbed and wrenched this way and that. Plastic duct tape was wound around his wrists, his arms, his ankles, his legs and his mouth.
He was picked up and carried, then dumped onto a cold tiled floor.
What had happened? What?
How could this be? How?
What had gone wrong?
No, no, this couldn't be, it couldn't. He was good, he was careful; it wasn't right, it wasn't.
He was scared; he felt tears start in his eyes. No, stop it, stop it. You're Slade, the assassin, you don't cry.
Slade was his professional name. His first choice had been 'Panther', but he knew that that name was too fanciful. It wouldn't be taken seriously. Slade had a nice gritty feel.
He pulled against his restraints, but could hardly move and it was so dark. His pencil torch, his razor and his pistol, all gone.
Oh God, oh God.
What would happen to him? What would 'they' do to him?
The tears came.
YOU ARE READING
Option Three - an unexpected transition
Short StoryA male-to-female transgender story with a villainous setting. It starts with a grim situation, but with some dark humour (and tongue-in-cheek stuff as well) then moves through progressive change until discovery . . . and happiness.
