Sinners Must Die

Sinners Must Die

A distant howl shatters the silence of the night, echoing upon the winds that swept through the huge swathes of trees residing next to the villa. So unnerving was the sound, that Johnny Stein and his other 29 counterparts, the personal bodyguard for the ‘Lord of San Francisco’ Tony Michiavelli, the mafia lord shivered uneasily. Despite having served in many wars, mainly the Balkans, Colombia and Cambodia, this particular night, of all other nights, the task of standing guard over the immense garden at the back of the villa proved to be daunting, even for the former military man.

Fingers resting uneasily over the old trusty AK-47 that slung over his shoulder, he could feel the familiar metallic tinge rubbing across his skin. Like any other mercenary, he was no stranger to the AK-47, cumbersome at times but its sheer power and range had many times saved his life during his past ventures. The coldness of the weapon was something he appreciate other than this cold, bitter night, as it reminds him of simply being alive. Though he was reassured for a while, soon, the same feeling that had plagued him earlier was back… with a vengeance…

The feel of impending doom, sinking its fangs into his spine, chilling him to the bone, wedging him in between jaws of terror. So terrifying was the feeling, that he might drop his gun and leave the place immediately, were it not for the money that is promised by Tony Michiavelli to him.

$500,000

Yes. $500,000 dollars for a month. Just this month. The so called ‘Lord of San Francisco was terrified, ever since the packages begun to arrive, bearing contents so gruesome that no ordinary man would dare to receive…

Body parts.

Body parts which happened to belong to Tony Michiavelli Jr. who was supposed to be learning the family business in Sicily, Italy. That’s what the others say. Poor Soul. He had nothing to do with this.

The whole affair began about a month ago, when Tony’s son, Tony Michiavelli Jr. suddenly went missing on a fishing trip. The entire boat simply disappeared. Days later, the packages began to arrive. First, it was the fingers, wrapped and packed like cigars, followed by arms, legs stuffed in golf bags. Then, subsequent packages became more and more macabre… organs. The heart, kidneys… one by one, every single day, encased in jars with formalin and finally ended with arrival of a soccer ball. No kidding, it was the head.

A message was engraved on the cheek:

I COME FOR YOU! LUMINAS OBIS!

The former part was clear enough, but the latter… Luminas Orbis? What the f*** was the garble all about?

But certainly, it got the old man to attention and that’s how it came to Johnny being employed to do babysitting. For a man, who really deserved to die for the things he done. The crimes he committed, the lives he took away with his drugs, the property he destroyed. A man who had a strangle hold on the normal life of San Francisco’s residents, causing them to live in perpetual fear. However, money is still money, no matter what its origins are, will always be the thing that makes the world go round.

A mercenary has no time for morality to dictate his/her action, so long as he earns the money. In the Balkans, he leant just that. Morality is just an innocent notion by the weak to protect the weak and enforced by the weak. What really matters is… survival. The survival of the fittest. In those days, he fought for mere survival, and it’s for the money. Apart from that, he need that money to feed the mouths at home… god be willing, let them be safe!

Its been 8 days since he had been employed, and so far, nothing particular had ever happened. However, this night, things are not what they seemed. Everything was perfectly normal out here, but yet something was wrong. Worse still, he could see nothing wrong. Everything was so calm that it was wrong. Something sinister was at play here. Something dreadful is going to happen, just like the calm before the storm. He could feel it to the bone…

The assassin would come tonight…

And he hoped, in the dark recesses that were his mind… it was otherwise.

However, it was just as foretold…

****

A dark shadow loomed over the bodyguard’s corpse, lying spread eagled on the ground. The AK-47 was strewn several feet away, still cold from inactivity. The guard stood no chance. Clad in the darkest black from top to toe, face covered with a visor-like breather, the assassin was one with the shadow. With the grace of a cat, the assassin bend down to grasp the weapon lodged in the chest of the guard. It was a katana, which its blade shown brightly in the moonlight. With a jerk, the blade broke free from the mangled ribs, eliciting a small fountain of vitae that sprang forth in the cold midnight air, splurging before adding to the now considerably large pool that had begun to gather beneath the body. The guard’s lifeless, inanimate eyes stared dully into the sky, with the moon his last sight on the mortal realm before passing into oblivion.

The assassin without pause, quickly deposited the katana into the sheath strung diagonally across his back, only to say,
“Termination… Commencing”

****

Tony Michiavelli is a frightened man.

Dressed in only his bath robes, he was halfway though his night bath, when the shooting began. It seemed an eternity to him, even though it was minutes ago. Now, he stood in his personal sanctum, guarded by 2 of his most favored bodyguard, overseeing the numerous screens that are connected to the CCTVs installed throughout the premises and coordinating the necessary countermeasures. All in all, things are bad… And getting worse.

Of the 46 cameras, more than half were gone, as the screens are blacked out. Those that were not, reveal bodies of his 30 member strong bodyguard lying about, killed and gutted. The handiwork of a skilled yet ruthless assassin. All killed with a blade to the neck or through the chest. Neither had a chance. Guns were useless in the face of the assassin. As a testimony, peppers of impact craters littered the walls; none so far, had found a mark on the assassin.

Even now, bursts of gunfire could be heard, even in this room like a distant, angry war god trudging across the battlefield, bellowing. Confusion, disbelief and shock assailed him in waves; each amplified one another with a synergistic effect. This was further supplemented by the communications over the Intercom where it was chaotic and grim. A mixture of screams; muffled gags; pleas for more support, reinforcements; curses filled the Intercom.

All have one thing in common… desperation.

One by one, the voices faded before finally, went silent.

Quickly turning to the computer screen next to him, Tony could see the rendering of his villa in 3-D with blips of green indicating the remnants of his bodyguard and status: Their location and vital signs. Sweat began to trickle down from his bald head as he began to count…

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7……

By the count of 7, a blip went out, indicating another fatality. This leaves 6 left. Apart from the 2 standing guard outside just this room, the rest were clustered at the stairway to leading up to his room. Quickly he referred to the screen depicting the area to find them seeking temporary solace behind the guard railings from the carnage that awaits them. They were armed with an assortment of weapons: A Glock pistol, a HK-50 submachine gun, a machete and a Benelli shotgun.

All seemed determined, judging by the look of the faces, to stop the assassin. Or to put it in short, to survive.

Then, out of the blue. Tony for the first time could see the assassin in full action.

The assassin seemed to be in no hurry as he approached the stairway, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the bodyguards taking cover behind the railings on the upper floor. A katana, still dripping with blood from its previous victims was held in the right hand. Step by step, closer and closer he became to be in range of the guards’ firing range.

Seizing upon this chance, the bodyguards emerged from their cover, pouring incandescent rounds of bullets, firepower enough to obliterate entire squads into the opening, only to find the target missing.

“What the…” Tony could not believe what he had just seen. Moments ago, the assassin was there, and then moments later, he was gone. Questions were beginning to form as his cerebral hemispheres worked to the brink to discern what is going on. A sudden blur of movement caught his eye as to his horror; the answer began to be materialize before him.

The assassin jumped! And straight to the upper floor… Impossible!

And the guards knew too late…

The assassin ripped into the 4 guards like no other animal would have done. With 2 feet, he landed directly first on to the guard wielding the shotgun, knowing well the devastating effect the shotgun has at close range and almost instantaneously, decapitating the guard with utmost precision just above the atlas bone. Blood splayed from the headless guard, who shuddered and jerked before tumbling into another guard wielding the submachine gun. Strike one.

Taking advantage of the situation, the assassin moved swiftly behind the guard with the pistol, who was firing blanks with his pistol. With unparallel skill, the assassin locked the guard in an arm brace before bringing his katana to bear, slitting neatly through the neck into the jugular vein. Strike two.

By this time, the guard with the submachine gun had recovered and brought his gun to full auto. However, by then, the assassin had anticipated it and directed the unfortunate guard that had his throat just slit to be caught in the path. It was horrible. As the guard received the burst at point blank, he was literally blasted and ripped apart.







Just as the guard stood subjected to the other guard’s machinations, the assassin took care of the guard wielding the machete with relative ease. Though the guard had been trained in the ways of using a machete, in a flush of madness to survive, he had discarded every bit of skill in a bid to survive. All in one effort, one lunge. This, the assassin sidestepped, and sliced through the wrists of the guard before kicking him over the railing. The handless guard crashed down into the floor on the head, accompanied by the sickening crunch of bone, flesh and blood. He was killed on the spot. Strike three.

Click!

The submachine gun went silent, as the guard looked to his gun with a concoction of fear and disbelief in his face. Quickly, he went for a reload…

But it was too late. The assassin had him.

“Who are you? Monster…” The guard went limp as he sagged down to his knees. The katana deeply embedded into his torso, thrown by the assassin. Strike four.

Without a word, the assassin retrieved his weapon, before looking at the CCTV…

Tony was speechless.

By just looking at the assassin finishing off his 4 bodyguards like dummies, he was right to be scared. His irises began to constrict as he quickly rummage through the ways out of the situation…

And he could find none.

Only to fight.

Then the decision was made. He was to fight; after all, he is Tony Michiavelli, Lord of San Francisco!

Adrenaline began to be pumped into his circulation as he went over to a large portrait of him hanging by the wall. With a turn of a knob at the side of the portrait, the portrait began to shift upwards, to reveal a safe.

Never had he thought in his lifetime, that it will come to this…

To use that thing…

To use the thing given to him long ago by agents of Luminas Obis!

By pressing the appropriate number sequence, XXX-XXX-125851, with a click, the safe door swung open. In the dark confinement of the safe, lay a tool, fashioned in the form of a handgun ornately gilded. This gun known as the Torch was special, as bestowed to him by Luminas Obis decades ago was said to be able to sprout light of destruction, but only for a round. Tonight, will be the right time to use it. It better be.

As his hand closed about the gun…

Gun fires began to sound outside his room, reminding of Tony the urgency of the situation and as quickly as it came, it was gone. A grim realization came splashing across Tony’s face like freezing water…

He is alone now.
It’s now or never.

Without warning, the door to his room was smashed open and in its place, stood the assassin. His visor-like visage was intimidating as it reminded him of the Sand Troopers in the Star Jaws movie he watched when he was a kid. Slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, the assassin ventured into the room. His gaze never leaving Tony a single moment.

“Tony Michiavelli…” A deep voice emanated from the assassin. “Born in 1963, in the streets of San Franscisco… Parents are middle classed and you were the eldest. They could have put you through college and you could have lived a life free of crime…”

“I don’t care what shit you are talking about…”

“But you choose this life! A life of oppression, crime, deceit, corruption… and now, I am here to deliver judgment…”

“Eat this, you piece of shit…”

Tony pressed the trigger of the gun, and the gun roared to life, humming before launching a luminous ray of light at the assassin. Incredibly hot the single ray of light is, as even his hands were singed the moment it fired. Bright light filled his vision as he squinted to see what is transpiring.

He was going to be disappointed. Terribly disappointed.

The assassin stood where he was moments ago. Not seeming affected at all. But the effects of the ray of light were evident as the wall behind the assassin looked as if it melted. Contrails of vapors of moisture were seen spiraling into the air, only to be blown away by the wind.

There was a brief moment of silence as the assassin regard Tony coldly. Apparently, he had dodged the ray of light the moment it was fired.

“Mmm… Such cheap last words, I presumed?”

“Who… are … you?”

“A messenger of death sent by the people you have committed your crimes against…” The assassin strode towards Tony, “To end your reign of terror…” He took another step, his blade poised to strike, “The debauchery of San Francisco ends here tonight,”

With a sweep, all Tony could see was his vision spinning across the room before settling on the floor. To his surprise, he could see his all too familiar fat body standing across the room, facing the assassin and before he knew it… He sank into the darkness he belongs to.

“Repent your sins in hell… like all others before you. Mission accomplished.”

The assassin casually sheathes his blade before taking hold of the Torch.

“This, however, would require some study,”

Moments later, as fast as he came, the assassin disappeared into the woods without a trace, out of sight, out of mind. In the assault, not a single person was left alive, not a single trace of evidence that would betray the assassin was preserved… everything was burned… to the ground.

As later, people would relate the fate of Tony Michiavelli to the other killings of the same magnitude. All the victims have one thing in common. That with each misdoings, there will be retribution…