DARK WATERS | An Asa Butterfield Fanfiction

Chapter 1

I could hear people coming down the hall. I'm crouched low against the wall, posed with my gun pointing up, my chin up, my chest heaving. If I tilted this gun a little more, I would be in a prime position to blow my brains out.

But that's not what I'm doing today. Instead, I'm blowing the brains out of some other pieces of shit.

I have five seconds before these guards turn the corner and see me with my lightly armed yet tasteful all-black attire.

But fuck it, I hate waiting.

I leap out from behind the wall and surprise the first motherfucker in line. One shot, to the head.  The floors above will now know that I'm in the building and be scrambling for my arrival, but what can I say? I like a challenge. But the other little shits in this hall don't even see it coming. I jump off of the wall and slam the next guard in line on top of the other one before they can even scream for help and keep moving. 

They've probably disabled the elevators, and the stairway will soon be crawling with desperate parasites eager to get a promotion. 

Then I got two floors of this shit to get through before the money shot. I pull out another gun from my belt and wait for them at the bottom of the stairwell, grinning. 

Ms. Lang, tick tock.

I'm whirling and swinging and shooting away, but all the time all I can think about is the one million dollars at the end of this too long tunnel. A lucky bastard takes advantage of my distracted state, and lands a punch on my fucking face. I can feel my cheekbone crunch under his fist and I snap. I break the glass barrier with my fist, grab the emergency ax, and decapitate this fuckboy. With one million dollars maybe then I can buy my way out of this hellhole, and not worry about getting permanent damage to my fucking face.

When I finally get to Lang's suite on the third floor, I practically slam my little gizmo to the door. Boom, blah, I kick down the door and I'm finally there. 

The entire room is packed full of people, the highest ranking in this dogpile of festering mental illnesses and parental issues. I flick up my knives effortlessly into my hands, grinning.

Time to knock these cumsluts out.

The first guy lunges at me. I grab him by his arm and use his momentum to flip him onto his back. The next shit tries to shank me from the side but I violently slash his throat and a scarlet stream of blood splatters all over my outfit. I kick his body into the guy right behind him. Some blonde whore in my periphery is trying to throw me off with a spinning roundhouse kick, so I jump off of the nearest wall with a grunt, pin this motherfucker with my thighs and slice her throat.

I see movement in the corner of my eye, and I stab fuck number four with my last knife to whirl around and see Sophia Lang escaping in a helicopter.

Bitch.

I run over the corpses and she's about to leave the roof but I jump onto the helicopter and throw my knife at the pilot and grab Lang. The helicopter crashes onto the roof I drag Lang from the burning wreckage to confirm this fucking kill. I take out my gun from my pants and Lang tries to escape, burns and all, but I shoot her in the leg and she collapses, whimpering.

I stand over her, relishing these last moments before this mission is finally done. My hair whips all around me, sweaty and bloody from my killing spree, and I feel like a fucking god/Angel of Death. I check my gun: my last bullet. Perfect. Lang, however, has stopped her whimpering and looked up at me, the last person who will ever witness her last moments on Earth.

"Who are you?" she says, looking up at me.

"Alex Grehan." Her eyes widen. Then my last bullet goes through her head, and this fuck's brains end up on the ground behind her. I step back, panting, watching the pink gunk ooze into the cracks of the concrete.

Fuck yeah.

"Grehan, you copy?" A tinny voice blares from my wrist watch. It's Thane, my supervisor or whatever on this mission. I press a little black button on the side of the clock face.

"Yeah, I copy," I say into the microphone, and blow a sweaty strand of hair from my face.

"Are you aware that one of our own spies was also killed in your senseless carnage?" he says smoothly.

"Well, it wouldn't make sense if sweet Joshie Pehd was given preferential treatment in the bloodshed," I argued, kicking aforementioned agent's head off the rooftop. Lang's eyes were still open, so I reached over and shut them for her and walked up to the edge of the roof. Thane sighed.

"Just get to the airport before the police department comes. We don't want to have to explain our affiliation with this . . . mess."

"Can do, Thanie-poo, can do," I say, and jump off of the roof.