The Agency is nearly wiped out. Our rivals – The Franchise – have killed the all of us par two: me and my contact, Diana. She gives me the last job they have, to kill a CIA Agent in an office block, along with his female associate. I’m warned however that agents from The Franchise are more than likely inside with a view to taking me out. I should kill any I find.
The office block isn’t as simple an affair as the minimalist exterior would have you believe. It actually houses two night-clubs; one in the basement and one on the top floor – named heaven and hell respectively. Each club goes to great ends to fit it’s theme, including the strict dress code for patrons – white suits for heaven, black tuxes for hell. Getting in might be a problem.
I go into reception. It’s quiet with just a single guard manning the desk. I tell him that security are holding a briefcase for me and ask him to retrieve it. Begrudgingly he gets up to go into the back room and look. I check the lobby again. No one here. The guard goes through an empty staff room and into a small store room, I follow him all the way and as soon as he stops, I sedate him. I can just leave him on the floor, no one will look here.
Now dressed as guard staff I can head into the car-park which houses the lift access to the clubs. It’s full of limos and private security – masked to fit in with the heaven/hell theme. They won’t let me pass and I don’t want to kill them – a new disguise, it seems, is a requirement. Looking around the carpark I find two things: one, a guest dressed for the Hell club, endlessly vomiting against a wall. The other, a white suit and mask inexplicably lying on the floor that would get me into Heaven. Re-dressed I head to the lifts.
The doorman on the lift entrance holds his hand out. “I need to search you”. In my jacket is a custom made, silenced .45 semi-automatic Silverballer pistol with laser sight; alongside a scoped, silenced custom MP5 also with a laser sight. There are also two lethal doses of poison, garotte wire, lockpicks and two small bombs with a remote detonator. Me being searched is not an option. I back off, making some sort of excuse as I do. I could stash my weapons somewhere, but considering that there are people here who want to kill me, going in unarmed looks to be as good as an option as getting searched.
Just to the side of the lifts is a guarded, locked door for maintenance access; my way in. The car park is too busy to take out the guard so instead I hide behind a limo and throw a coin into a corner; it gets the guards attention as I slip behind him, pick the lock, and head through un-noticed. From here I can clamber into a lift and take it up to Heaven – dressed as a guest and apparently guaranteed to be weapon free. Almost perfect.
The party is a wash of glimmering white. Men walk around in their suits and women as scantly clad angels. Intel tells me the CIA agent is up here and the law of averages tells me that one of my would be killers are too. I go into the main room where an angel is singing – or at least trying to – and head to the bar. The Barman tells me the singer has been consistently awful and is taking breaks every 5 minutes. My interest piqued I stick around until she comes off stage, at which point she heads straight for me. “Why don’t you follow me” she says, stroking my tie. With her dressed like that, who am I to refuse? Though I do recall the last time this happened the woman tried to kill me.
The door closes, leaving us utterly alone in a large office in the staff area. I don’t even get a kiss before the Temptress Angel pulls a throwing knife and starts flipping frantically around the room. Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for her, I wasn’t searched coming in here. I draw my MP5 and let a burst loose. She drops to the floor instantly and as I start to check the room I get an alert. The CIA agent is heading for the lifts.
I plunge through the doors towards the elevator – this is my prime opportunity for taking him out. The lift doors ping just as I get there and we enter together; he’s dressed all in gold with a huge demon mask covering his face. I can’t just shoot him as the lift descends – the body will be seen and my cover blown. Instead I climb through the lift hatch – The Agent either doesn’t notice or care – and ready the simplest of an assassins tools; garotte wire. His legs twitch as I draw him up by his throat then lay him on the roof before stealing his immaculate outfit, along with mask.
I now have a go-anywhere pass; guards wouldn’t bother me wherever I went and as the elevator hit the ground floor I went straight down into Hell. A short ride down, the Hell club is all reds, blacks and primal sin. Women dressed in leather corsets, lap dancers, tortuous fetishes sprinkled in plain view, and a huge dance floor packed with eager clientèle. What’s more, on the opposite side of the room lining the wall is a huge tank of water containing nothing less than full grown sharks and a woman stood precariously above it putting on a show with a wand and fireworks. From an image I was provided with, it seems she is The Associate – my second target.
I make my way around to her – questioning whether I’m actually going to push her into a pool of sharks – when a barman dressed as a caricature devil stops me. He’s another Asassin, and a cocky one at that. He wants a competition – a duel to the death in fact, and leads me to a room in the back. He explains there are some guns I can use on the table then runs away behind some cover. The guns are a clumsy sub machine gun and pistol – standard street equipment. Nothing compared to my trusty mp5 that for the second time tonight comes as a surprise to a killer. He’s dug in behind cover and getting a bead on him is tricky. We exchange fire for a few seconds, he even manages to land a hit but I stay standing. Then, deciding enough is enough, I take my time, zoom in, and let off a few bursts. Silence. He’s dead. I check my wounds and head out.
Back in the bar The Associate is there. Mistaking me for the CIA agent completely she starts to talk a little about business then how there is no reason we couldn’t “mix business with pleasure”. Again, who am I to refuse? We head around the back, past tubs of meat ready for the sharks, and into a red padded room with a single chair at the back. She purrs that I should take my mask off. Instead I pull my Silverballer. She gasps, tries to run, then falls and blood seeps out from her body.
All of my targets are dead, including the killers sent for me. I head back to reception to find my suit, then into the car park for my exit. I’m told in the debrief there was a witness – god knows who. And because of my mp5 activity taking on the Assassins my accuracy was much lower than my usual one-shot-one-kill results. In the end I’m marked as professional and the police are still none the wiser as to who I am. The Franchise have plenty more agents than just the ones they sent tonight however, so it’s not like I’m without worry, but for now – mission complete.