Colt Cain (completed)

Strike Two

Everything had hit the news. Everyone was now on high alert for the fugitive known as Kataigìda with a signature outfit description, forcing Colt to change his overall strategy. Anyone resembling his build and outfit found within a mile of the hospital were to be taken in for questioning. Jack croaked, he knew. In attempt to slow him down or put a stop to him through law enforcement, the remaining three must've given everything they had. While he took a few days to rethink his approach, he had a few things arranged. He asked around and got his hands on some new tech and equipment; a standard M4 Carbine Assault Rifle fitted with a small grenade launcher below the barrel where a grip would usually be and a laser sight to ensure accuracy, a pair of Walther P99 pistols with Colt's initials engraved onto the handle in the same manner as his own original, a military grade tactical knife - four millimetres thick and almost ten inches of authentic steel for the blade. And last but not least a silver self driving car, designed to take the orders and directions it's given through a screen on the dashboard on the inside or through a specific device called a 'thigh-pad' that would strap around the user's thigh and use touchscreen to follow through commands. What he wasn't given for free took a heavy chunk from his bank account, but he felt it was necessary, a lot of his money went to sit in his account for no use anyhow. The new equipment gave him a fresher outlook on the situation and allowed him to come up with a better plan. As he would relax with Jess, Jack would slowly regain his strength and Mark and Adam would plan their next moves against their enemy. The car he'd ordered would arrive within the next few days, meaning Colt had to do without it for his next hit, or maybe two. From watching the news, he knew where Jack would be, guards and officers at the door would make it obvious which room to look. All he needed now was a way to get in and out. Before beginning his second attempt on Jack's life, the ruthless killer made sure to hide any weapons away from his house. Though he kept one or two handguns and knives embedded around the house in unique and creative locations, all secret compartments and placements - for example a secret room in the back of his walk-in wardrobe that opened into a small armoury. He should have done it earlier, around the time Jess arrived in avoidance of her finding any, he knew she had a curious mind and knew how to search for things that people didn't want her to find. It was a neat talent she had, picked up from old films and games, but simply her unique way of thinking - possibly ADD.

With all signs of a secret criminal life covered up, Colt left a note of his alibi for Jess and set off to the hospital. The walk exhausted him, an annoying side affect of his wound over a year ago. Each chest pain increased his motivation by ten, rather than discourage him. He was feeling more merciless than ever before. Upon reaching the hospital, he was forced to take a break for one or two puffs of his inhaler and to catch his breathe. The fact that a gentle walk over a long distance would cause him to potentially die of a year old wound made him feel weak. Like an athlete at old age, he used to thrive and still could if his body would allow him to. It put some of his rage to rest that the reason he was at a hospital was to end the ones responsible for crippling him. Additionally, his target was a sitting duck with neon lights wrapped around him in a black room. He explored with caution until he found his target, guarded by officers and mercenaries alike. He had to remove his helmet and jacket to avoid being identified. He messed his hair into a side parting and gaily approached the guards as if by chance he was passing. He glanced in at his target from outside, then stopped and attempted to enter. Four men stood guard but it felt like twelve tried to shove Colt away. He struggled and put on an innocent toned, American accent to cover himself. "Hey, hey, that's the guy from the news! What's with the shoving, man?"
  "I'm sorry, sir, no one is allowed to enter." An officer stated, his hand formally keeping Colt at a distant.
  A Merc took the forcefully approach and shoved Colt away. "Fuck off, cargo pants." He spoke in a gruff and hostile voice. The unknown killer was not expecting such a hard pushed and coughed wheezingly before seeming to admit defeat and back away around the corner. He growled at the disrespect and redressed himself to move onto the next part of his plan. Jack was in his hands, his damaged body can't run from Colt's cripple body. He was dead as soon as he was laid eyes on.

Colt waited a while. During a half an hour time away from Jack's room, he'd acquired a nurse's uniform. They knew his face, so the mask was his only way to fully disguise himself. To avoid suspicion, he took out a small case and popped in green contact lenses to disguise his rare grey eyes. He stole a clipboard and pen from the front desk and returned to his target to bypass the guards. At first, the two different kinds of guards collided with their reactions, then attempted to search the random nurse. The same Merc gave Colt a long, cold glare before finally letting him through. The 'nurse' greeted his patient formally then washed his hands, discreetly taking out his contact lenses. As he gently shut the blinds, his neutral face dropped into a nightmarish glare set on the hospitalised man like a rabid dog. Jack instantly felt uneasy. Colt came beside his bed, playing with the monitor and support systems. Jack watched. Colt gave him a quick glance and the beeping of the heart monitor raved for a few moments, making Colt smirk very slightly under his mask. Colt then reached to a scalpel, dug it into Jack's right hip, covered his mouth and twisted it until it wouldn't go any deeper. He snapped the blade inside his body then rushed to hide the evidence as the heart monitor beeping alerted the guards. When they barged in, the 'nurse' collided with them at the door with the hospital bed. He ordered them to move and raced Jack to an empty surgery room. The disrespectful mercenary demanded he enter to watch over, in which Colt gladly allowed him to. Jack groaned to his guard, who never made it to him. His buff body fell to Colt with a suppressed pistol and taking off his mask and and outfit. Very quickly, he was back in assassin uniform and came close to Jack, the gun to his neck. "Adam?"
  "No, it's Jack." His target snapped with a creepy smile.
  "This is funny, Jackson?" Colt grabbed a second surgical blade and put it through Jack's ear, "I increased your morphine so you wouldn't feel the pain of the first blade. Shall I decrease it?"
  "Do what you want. Not like I'll get up to fight." He laughed heartily which slowly turned to cries of pain as his captur decreased his morphine intake.
  "Adam. Where is he?"
  "Who am I, his boyfriend? I don't care where he is!"
  "Your brother is murdered, you nearly followed, they came here."
  "What's it to you anyway?"
  "Must I explain it to all of you idiots, or do I have to spoon feed it to you?!" Colt raised his voice regretfully, checked the door, then returned to their conversation, this time, the motorbike helmet to complete his attire. "Adam. Where?"
  "Oh, fuck, you are alive. Ah, fuck. Fuck!" As Jack's petrified realisation got Colt got impatient, he decided to embed another surgical blade into his groin.
  "Where?"
  "I don't know, his house?! Mark's?! I don't know!"
  "Then where will he be?"
  "What?"
  "Are we gonna reenact Pulp Fiction, or are you gonna tell me where he'll be?"
  "They're waiting for you to finally die! We sent out a hit, you're fucking dead, big man. And once you're dead, they'll be off to London to sell your shitty car and other stuff we've gotten from your worthless cut!"
  "Then killing you will make them panic, flee, and I'll know where they'll be."
  "They're not stupid, they'll know what you're up to."
  "You have to be pretty stupid to double-cross me."
  "You're a psychopath."
  "You're no longer useful to me. Die now." Colt executed his prisoner as he tried to resist. No one would resist Colt Cain, Kataigída. His name picked and spread by those who knew the ones that knew the ones to challenge him, Kataigída translates to thunderstorm or storm in Greek. It brilliantly describes in one word how the mysterious man works - he strikes like lightning and brings the force of thunder along with him on work. To oppose him is to bring upon lightning to strike, to anger him is to begin a thunderous curse, to hurt him is to launch forth a ungodly, raging storm. Colt was the Kataigìda.