Made In Basalt

Aftermath, Pt. II

Nikki tugged his lower lip as he reached the end of the file he'd been reading for the past twenty minutes. Flipping back to the first page, he examined the unsmiling face of the South American politician he'd been tasked with assassinating. He recognised him from news articles and TV spots, a middle-aged moderate who had been in power for far too long, had made far too much money from graft and embezzlement, and the people had had enough. Of course, the CIA's interest in his death had nothing to do with the wellbeing of the unfortunate residents of the country this man was running; it did, however, have everything to do with the target's political rival, a man who was just revolutionary enough to have the people's support, while remaining happily nestled in the pockets of certain US businessmen with economic interests in his neck of Latin America.

The library at Basalt wasn't a place he spent much time in, but Nikki liked to read his assignments here if he could; it was quiet in a way that allowed him to think without feeling uneasy at the prolonged silence, and there was no risk of anyone reading over his shoulder. As he placed his palms on his spine and cracked the vertebrae in his back, he pondered how he would go about implementing this task; almost certainly, he'd have to outsource it to some local rebel group. People tended to get prickly when the US got involved in their politics, and for good reason.

************

"Jeffrey...?"

"Hi, Bruno," Jeffrey replied smoothly, breezing into the firing range office like a sudden gust of wind, heading straight towards the gun display.

"What are you..." the man faltered as Jeffrey reached for the Berretta 9mm closest to him and weighed it in his hand. That gun was fully loaded, Bruno had just changed the magazines himself, and the kid had just figured that out by calculating the weight of the weapon in his palm. With a flick of his index, Jeffrey disengaged the manual safety lever. Angling his wrist so the gun pointed upwards, he placed his palm over the slide at the top of the gun and racked it back, then forward, movements deft and practised.

Chik-CHICK

The gun clicked to life. The first round was securely in the chamber.

************

Nikki's locker clicked loudly as he locked it shut, having just placed his file inside. Sliding his hands into his pockets, still deep in thought about his upcoming assignment, he made his way outside, weighing the pros and cons of posing as an ex-army official turned rogue firearm dealer. He stepped out into the courtyard, and was assaulted by an explosion of echoing barks, urgent and excited, and he jogged towards the noise, wondering what the hell was going on.

He started sprinting when he heard a gunshot.

As the back entry into B Block became visible, Nikki spotted Treader, barking at the doorway. Next to him, a security guard staggered, his gun on the floor.

"What happened?" Nikki called out, drawing his gun as he came closer.

The guard raised his head. "He shot me!" he exclaimed, sounding more shocked than in pain. He raised his arm, and Nikki's stomach turned. The bloody remains of the man's shaking hand were still dripping, the tissue split, a hint of white shining through.

"Didn't the dog...?" Nikki looked down at Treader, who looked back at Nikki, tail wagging, tongue flapping out, grinning and panting. The dog had been trained to not enter the building, but he didn't haves hackles up, wasn't growling, didn't seem like he'd detected threat at all, and Nikki hesitated, frowning.

Treader turned back to the doorway and barked again, following it with a long, yearning howl, scratching the wall with one paw, like -

Like a pet calling for his owner.