What if an assassin had been sent to shoot the Black Kaiser after his screw up in India ? Based on Polar movie with Mads Mikkelsen, with reminiscence of Tristan (King Arthur 2004)
Shadow rather enjoyed the view. All around her, leaves danced in the mid-autumn wind, detaching one by hand to land upon the floor in a messy pile of gold and red. Their movement created a rustling that hid her presence easily, her whole body woven around the trunk like a salamander. Her warm chocolate eyes could barely discern the man she was observing in between branches; it was enough to keep him in sight.
For three weeks she had searched, roaming the country from house to house only to find tenants and squatters... twenty-three days of misery where her mind rolled and rolled, day and night, about the situation. Paid to kill, yet unable to decide whether she would be able to do it.
For twenty-three days, she had barely left two messages to the blonde lady – Vivian, the Damoclès employee. She was a shadow, unaffiliated to any organization until now. The one they called when they needed a swift death that wouldn't create ripples. Her name suited her well; she was but a shadow in people's lives, just a trail of darkness in companies' history as she never appeared, by name, anywhere. Untracked, untrailed, unattached, invisible to the world. In the world of hitmen, she was barely a notion. One that had the fiercest tremble in their boots... well, expect for the Black Kaiser.
And to see, today, Damoclès ordering his own employee's death only comforted her in her choice. No one could be trusted. Being a solo had its perks, but also its setbacks. Creating a network, for example, with weapon providers, accountants and administration people had taken a while. On the other hand, no one knew who she was, or where her feet took her. Shadow didn't really exist.
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'Twack'
Another log landed on the pile, neatly cloven in two. Winter was coming, and she didn't doubt its harshness in such a place. The wooden cabin sat at the roots of the mountains, and already the wind sent shivers through her frame. But Duncan Vizla seemed unaware as sweat dripped across his bare shoulders. Muscles glistened as he worked, log after log piling up beside the cabin. Precise and neat, he never missed a blow. The axe fell upon the log with incredible regularity, and she couldn't tear her eyes from his form.
He was a little more massive than the man in her dreams, still, she could clearly recognize his form. Tall, lithe and efficient, every fiber on display when the axe pulled at his arms and shoulder. A man used to make his body work, his moves filled with purpose. His dark brown hair, mid-lenght, danced about his face at each stroke. A strand often came to stick across his cheek, emphasizing the sharp bone so characteristic of his origins. Tristan had sported two sets of tattoes, claws, a tribal mark from his distant homeland. East. Just like Vizla. The thick moustache, nearly lost in the unkempt stubble that covered his well-defined chin, gave him a peculiar air.
He was different, but not overly so. And his essence... The aura of control and danger that exuded from his frame. Definitely the same one as the knight of old that sometimes danced in her dreams.
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His gun rested on a table mere yards away, in full view. Even at home, the Black Kaiser never tempted fate. It probably was the furthest his weapon could ever be from him. And even then, it wasn't enough. For Shadow could have taken him down many a time. In the city, for example, or here, at his home. She wasn't one for sniping much, preferring to come a little closer and see the people she was killing rather than hide away like a coward. Still, in those woods, there were plenty of places where one could hide and land a bullet in his head.
Right now. Gun in hand, Shadow still hesitated. She felt stupid as well, stalking him high perched in a tree when she could end his life right now and honour her contract. If she didn't... Damoclès would have her hide, and all her former employers would refuse to hire her again. At best. At worst, she'd be the next one on the list. Everything she had built over the year, careful steps and scheming, persona building and training, could crumble the moment she refused to put that bullet in his head. Adjusting her position upon her branch, the young woman exhaled slowly and aimed. Her hands were trembling, her stomach clenching, her chest constricting in despair. Just a tiny pressure to pull the trigger, and she would be free to resume her life again...
Her empty, loveless life filled with casual sex, blood and ugliness.
The rustle of leaves made her head snap aside, weapon automatically following her line of sight. Holding her breath, Shadow squinted to distinguish the enemy that sent alarm bells in her system. Adrenalin ran freely into her veins, her heart hammering, muscles coiled in anticipation. Until the leaves rustled again, giving way to a tiny rusty squirrel. Shadow would have laughed if a strange pressure had not spread through her lungs. Something had changed. It wasn't the tiny breeze, not the faint noises of the forest... it was...
Shadow realized, too late, that the steady rhythm of the axe was missing.
