Black as Night

“Nicholas Q. Black.”

A light flashed, visible barely in the corner of my eye. The display in front of me read ‘Repeat.’

“Nicholas Q. Black.”

The light switched from blue to green. A small hiss of hydraulics could be heard behind the wall, and the door next to me slid open. A light above grew orange. I slid into the door as it began closing nearly as soon as it was open. I turned and faced the door from the other side as it closed. The door was steel, heavily reinforced. I looked at my reflection. My reflection stood at the height 5’ 5” and 155 pounds. Mostly muscle. My suit was straight black, with a crimson red polo below, and thin black tie. At the age of 42, I showed few signs of aging. My hair was still jet black, with no grey anywhere in sight. The suit was cut perfectly, and I felt no restrictions in my movement. It also hid the gun incredibly well. I turned and continued down the corridor, each step of my shoes sent a flurry of echoes in either direction of the long path. I stopped and turned to the seemingly blank wall. “Nicholas Q. Black. Reporting for debrief.”

The wall opened for me, and I stepped through. It closed behind me. The lights in the back of the room were dim. I could faintly see the silhouette of a man. A deep voice boomed from him.

“Nick.”

I leaned against the door, “Sir.”

“Good job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Nick, you’ve completed every task so far with ruthless speed. We’re out of alerts for the moment that aren’t being addressed. Please, feel free to retire to your quarters.”

“Yes sir. Debrief complete.”

At the second phrase, the door hissed opened. I began falling, and adjusted my weight to slide just behind the door’s path as it closed. Footsteps were close, just behind me. I turned. My left hand disappeared in my jacket, as turn came to a halt. My left hand re-appeared, Sig Sauer in hand. The figure behind me wore a straight red suit. The left arm connected soundly into the side of the man’s head. He stumbled, and I followed up with a right hook with my other hand. The man fell.

I took a step back, and idly flicked the safety on my 8mm off. I used my standard line, bored. “I’m feeling very twitchy, and I hear this trigger is really sensitive. Now I’d hate to have to clean up brain from the floor over a misunderstanding, so don’t make any particularly twitchy movements.”

He groaned, “Where’s the main office?”

“Wrong. I’m asking the questions. Who are you?”

He spat curses at me, strings of four letter words. They grew in amount and volume. I heard the hammer click into the back of the bullet casing. His mouthing stopped post-haste. The noise of his speaking echoed, almost drowning out the second pair of steps inches behind me. I dove forward, snatched the corpse and pulled up. I heard him curse and draw his gun, bullets hammered into the corpse with sickening thuds. They were small caliber, as I had suspected, and didn’t penetrate. I threw the corpse at the mystery attacker and turned. I took a millisecond to calibrate my senses and let off three shots. The first ran wide, nicking the man’s ear. The second hit home, on his abdomen. The third knocked him over, and he fell with an awkward thud gasping for air. His lungs were filling with blood, and he coughed blood in his last breaths.

I quickly surveyed my surroundings, checking for any additional intruders. I saw a third, he was attached to the ceiling because of suction cups on his feet. He was hanging upside down, a very deadly looking revolver in his hand. Judging from the barrel, I guessed a high caliber. The first shot rang out, and fell just wide of me. The whistle of the bullet buzzed sharply, ringing in my right ear. I raised my Sig and fired off the last two shots of this clip. He raised himself up, and both of my shots hammered into the wall where his head was moments before. The latches on the suction shoes snapped off and he fired off a pair of shots as he fell. I turned sideways and balanced on my heel, falling backward. The bullets smashed into the steel wall. I had already loosed my empty clip and was sliding another in place when he collected a knife from a sheath on his back. The blade shimmered and it cut the air in a fatal arc. It met the barrel of my Sig Sauer. The two metals rang, but the knife’s arc was too strong. My gun was sent spiraling across the smooth floor. I ducked the blade and rolled backward. The knife continued its slashes, each missing me my luck and practiced evasion. I bobbed and weaved, each slash getting closer than the last. I exhaled went to catch his wrist. This left an open spot, and he lunged for my face. The knife bit into flesh, and my left arm, now shielding my face burned with pain and bled. I twisted with my right and got his hand from the blade. I withdrew the blade from my arm, and rolled my shoulders as the third attacker retreated back with a small leap. He began reloading his magnum while I recovered my Sig. I slid the new clip in place and controlled my breathing, doing my best to ignore the screaming pain in my arm. He finished reloading and looked at me. “You are… Black?”

“Nicholas Black.”

“I am Ion.”

The name was familiar. He was Arabian hitman. He was notorious around the Agency for his ruthless tactics. He always attacked in squads of three. Many of our local agents lost their lives trying to take this guy down. He had a reputation of being the job-ending assignment. The Agency knew he was the human incarnate of Death, and sent only the Agents who were in need of a career finale. Not one agent ever returned. The reports were always similar. Weeks of tracking, three days of preparation. Then the report, “Target acquired and prepared. Moving to eliminate.” That is the last anyone ever hears of the Agent. MIA. Time and time again. I stood face to face with the impossible assignment. He was dark skinned, but most was covered with mounds of dark jumpsuit or bandage. His eyes were covered by odd yellow orbs. We stood in stillness, waiting for the other to move. He lunged first; I retreated and fired off all five of the shots in my clip. One went wide, ricocheting off of the wall. Three thudded into his chest, and two went for the face. One slammed into his helmet and was deflected aimlessly away. The other was lodged in the yellow orb over his eye. They were all blocked. This guy was pretty much bullet proof. None-the-less, I loosed the clip and replaced it with another spare. The left arm moved more sluggishly than usual. I dove forward and low as he raised his magnum.

Two shots rang out. I landed and rolled, free of bullet holes. My small gun barked thrice, bullets going for the open areas around the crotch and the shoulder joints. Each met with padded Kevlar. The lowered his gun to my head and I loosed the remaining two at his gun. One missed and thudded into his wrist. It jerked awkwardly as the second knocked the gun out of his grasp. The wounded wrist bled, leading me to believe there was no armor there.

I knew I was out of ammo, having counted my shots, but turned to my opponent. He flinched and ducked. I used my left to lash out with the knife. I anticipated his dodge, and met his neck with the knife. It barely broke through his armor, but it still broke through. Blood seeped from the gash. His breathing grew heavy. If he continued, he’d die from blood loss. He began to retreat, but I reclaimed a grip on the knife with my good hand and added force. He gasped, and the knife bit further into his flesh. Blood thickened as it washed over the knife and out of the armored suit. I retreated a pace back and recovered my gun. He was crouched over, breathing strained. I returned the gun to my jacket after replacing the empty clip. I recovered the Glock from Ion’s fallen comrade and turned to him. He was watching me carefully. I emptied the remainder of the clip on his eye. Six shots. The yellow dome took each shot with a web of cracks, but never let one through. I dropped the gun and spoke, “Nicholas Q. Black. Reporting for Debrief.”

The door opened and I stepped inside.

“What is it, Nick?”

“Ion outside. Wounded. I lack the proper equipment to finish the job. Sound an alert.”

“You can’t be serious, Nick.”

I held up my wounded arm, and sidestepped the door so he’d get a view of the two corpses. “I don’t joke, sir.”

“NICK! WATCH O-“

The blade slid between a rib, and I fell. A rifle report cracked out, and Ion fell behind me. I could feel myself losing consciousness when the silhouetted man stepped forth. “Sorry son, but you know how the Agency works.” He slid a needle into my arm and let the unknown liquid flow into my bloodstream.

“D-dad W-why…?” I blacked out.

When I came to, I was disoriented. The nurse leaned over me and asked, “Sir, are you alright?”

“Uh… I think so. Where am I?”

“You’re in the Hope Mills Hospital.”

“Okay… And, uh… What’s my name?”