An Assassin's Goal
- Reads 29
- Votes 4
- Parts 3
Complete Thu, Sep 28, 20175m
An assassin was perched on the roof of the Flatiron, over looking the city of NYC. A sharp shot was heard among the rush of people. On the ground there lay a dead man. A man wanted for his crimes. Among all the chaos, the assassin got away. But why was he here, and why was this man dead?
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hitman
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Johnny Brasco was shot and killed on the side of the road in the evening in New York City. His death triggers a lot of connections, such as one from his line of work - the dangerous kind. The killer is now on the loose, but for how long? That is up to the English mob to decide. With Jacob Withson at the top, an operation is created to bring down his ruthless rival, and the killer themselves, is suspected to be amongst them. Will he risk his life and the lives of his people to avenge his late friend? Or will he become the next victim? [[word count: 40,000-46,000 words]] Cover designed by Anthony Creek *** He heard banging and screams, but he still proceeded to try the knob anyway. Which was already a dumb move. The victim wouldn't have struggled if the door wasn't locked in the first place. A voice yelled, "Help!" It came from behind the door. Marcus turned around to see if anyone had followed him upstairs, but then he saw no one except a painting on the wall. "Leonardo!" the voice yelled again. "Stop playing games with me. Get me the fuck out of here! Right fucking now!" "Gianna?" Marcus yelled back. "Is that you?" There was no response for a moment. He was assuming that the woman was assessing the situation. "Gianna?" Marcus yelled again. "Hey, it's me! I'm getting you outta here!" "Marcus! How did you get in here?" "Don't worry about it!" He punched the door knob like a clueless idiot, testing if it would break that easily. But he guessed not. All he got in the process was a half-broken knuckle. "Stay away from the door!" he yelled at the woman. "What?!" she replied. Marcus decided to take a few steps away from the door, positioned his shoulders at the right angle, and inhaled a small amount of air for his chest to relax. He allowed his mind to grab the momentum. Afterwards he called it a start and rushed toward the door, like an angry bull upon seeing a red flag.
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