One Last Bullet

Prologue

POV: Saber

I sigh as I set my foot on the ledge of the building. Such a beautiful view. I scratch at my face garb, decorated with an insane ear-to-ear, fanged smile. Sighing again, I collect my thoughts and my gear. As I clip the silencer to the business end of my Intervention, I once again review:

Target: Karl Fostwesser, 34, German parents, presidential candidate. When: Today, during a presidential election speech. Why: The murder of the other Republican candidates and the planned murder of the remaining Democratic candidate.

The sound of my scope locking in brings an end to my excursion. I check to see if I have a round in the chamber, and I knew that my pistol is fully loaded. My bowie is strapped to my lower spine, and I have fifteen throwing knives left. I gotta buy more. No, I need to concentrate. I place the stand of my gun on the ledge, and angle it down.

Peering through the scope, I see a crowd of people surrounding a podium seated on a riser. Karl is standing at the podium, with five armed bodyguards on each side. Crap. I didn't plan on this. I lick my finger and fling it into the air. One of my rings fly off. Panicking, I aim, and hear the ring hit the ground.

As did one of the guards. He points to the building I am on. I inhale and hold my breath to steady my aim. Goodbye, Karl! He had just said his closing words: ¨People of the new America, UNITE!¨ I pull the trigger. The recoil feels awesome. But the silencer doesn't function

The blast goes off like a cherry bomb. I see the backdrop become bloody as he falls. My world is suddenly filled with bullets. I duck behind the ledge, gun pulled to my chest. One stupid mistake and the entire WORLD goes to hell, I muse as the bullets rain down on my rooftop.

I pull my walkie-talkie off my belt. I tune in, and say: ¨This is Razor Sharp. I have completed the objective, but I'm kinda in a tight spot. My silencer broke, and I'm taking some pretty heavy fire. Some kind of automatic. I need help. Send backup in ten minutes. Over and out,¨ . Rolling over and crouching, I am able to make it to the rooftop door. I was opening it when a stray round hits my shoulder. Stifling my cry, I wrench the door open.

I'm DEFINITELY not using the elevator (fucking deathtraps, and they're damn slow as well), so I run down the stairs two at the time. I meet problems on the thirty-first floor. About eighteen FBI agents. I yell and fire. One of them tumbles down the stairs, clutching his throat. He knocks another down with him. I think I hear a dull crunch, but I have to quickly draw my pistol to counteract the newborn rain of fire. They keep dropping, until only one is left. My pistol is out of ammo, so I swing up my Intervention and pull the trigger. Nothing happens.

The agent laughs. It's hoarse, and kind of demonic. I flash a smile, and pull the butt of the gun up swiftly, so it cracks against the side of his skull. He falls over, twitching slightly on the ground. I step carefully, not wanting to tread on the fallen officers. I found the one who was knocked down the steps. His legs are twisted at odd angles, and his teeth are grinding. I wasn't going to kill him. I take out a card with my insignia (Two swords crossed under a 'S'), and put it delicately in his breast pocket. I salute, and run down the stairs.

I run out the back door, and hop into the waiting truck. ¨Good work Saber,¨ the driver says, handing me the case with five-hundred Benjamins I was promised. We are headed back to the warehouse, where I was going to be fixed up, resupplied, and sent on my way.