Killer Instinct

Chapter II

II.

Fifteen Years Later – The Year 3012

Power corrupts.

I'd heard that statement my entire life. It was my father's mantra. It was why I always wore a thick band of reinforced platinum around my left wrist.

It's why I was on top of a seventy story building, a BN3 Foley in my hands, with red dot, thermal, and atmospheric sights.

Sleeping Beauty, is the target in sight? A voice whispered in my mind. A voice I knew better than anyone else's.

Doug Spielman, my father, mentor and boss.

He was a Level 7 Mental, who specialized in Telepathy. Which was why we could communicate freely between us.

Not yet. I replied through our mental connection. He's running a little late.

Keep sharp, Sleeping Beauty.

I grimaced at my code-name.

I'll admit that I had pale blonde hair and blue eyes, but I did not resemble the Disney character despite my father and brother's insistence.

Copy that. I said, ending our mental connection.

I stayed sharp, watching from my vantage point over a half a mile away, where a high profile target would await me.

Apollo Henry, a young wealthy playboy who also had a penchant for wielding his powerful Mental powers in order to fight the MIA, the Mental Intelligence Agency. He was the leader of what my father simply called the Resistance. A group of wealthy and powerful people who found Mentals before we could, and recruited them for their own purposes.

They defied the government by defying F.O. 26991, and were responsible for several sabotaged missions. They were all dangerous, well trained, and masters at evading detection.

But after months of following cold trails, and missing persons reports I finally had a name. And it was Apollo Henry.

He was currently in New York, enjoying a night of steady booze and drugs.

Some leader, I scoffed under my breath. Leaders didn't make themselves vulnerable to attack, or impair their senses to the point where they couldn't even sense one. He was such a high-profile target, that it wasn't difficult at all to establish his partying habits. The tabloids said it all. This was going to be a ridiculously easy mark.

A platinum encased bullet to the head, and once contact was made, we would have full access to his brain. And any information on the Resistance.

I glanced at my watch, as the clock changed to 1:02. I saw the flaming red Ferrari being pulled up by valet, and initiated a mental link between my father.

He's on the move. This should be quick. I told him.

I'm counting on you, Lee. He'd forgotten to use my codename, which stressed the importance of this mission. We needed this information. Had to have it.

I should have eyes soon, I told him, finger on the trigger, eyes on the red-dot sights, holding my breath as Apollo Henry strolled out of the nightclub he'd been partying in. A club that I was actually quite familiar with. Club Hündin, or Club Bitch it translated in english. The German mafia who ran it had a crude sense of style, but it was one of the most popular clubs in New Manhattan.

I studied my target as he stood, rocking back on his heels, hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn't look drunk or high at all. Instead he looked very intense and very sober. And handsome. But I'd killed plenty of pretty bad boys before. He wouldn't be any different.