82's Special Hit List

         He lay on his back on the roof across from the courthouse, quietly and quickly assembling his weapon. Once assembled, he flicked open the bipod and attached his faceplate. The Heads-Up Display ran through its booting process and came online.  He rolled over, toggling the switch for the scope, the aiming reticule flaring to life on the right hand side of the HUD.

He tapped a button on his wrist computer and on the left hand side of the HUD a schedule popped up. He scanned it and with another tap the schedule vanished. He rolled over to the prone and peered over the ledge. The center portion of the HUD began to scan every face in view. There was a burst of static and a voice sounded in the coms of his helmet.

         “What’s your status?” The voice asked.

         "Awaiting acquisition of the target.” He replied.

         “Recording has started, best of luck 82.” The voice added.

         Several minutes later, the target’s face registered on 82’s HUD with the name “Rusty” underneath. 82 shouldered the rifle; the scope zoomed in centering crosshairs on the target’s forehead.                 

         “Target acquired.” 82 said.

         “You have a green light.”

         82 watched Rusty through the scope as he glad handed nearby lawyers and laughed. 82 took a deep breath, exhaled and squeezed the trigger. A fraction of a second later, Rusty’s head jerked back and the pink mist billowed behind him. In the coms, the voice laughed with a kind of pleasure.

         “Good job 82, transmitting your next target’s details.” The voice said.

         “Understood.” 82 replied.

         A beep on his wrist computer alerted him to the transfer of the new target’s info. 82 accessed the intel; a picture of a middle aged woman, a name and a profession. She was a County Paramedic, whatever that meant. Her location popped on a map on the right hand side of the HUD, the details scrolling down the center, ending with “Use a karambit, I want it personal and leave no witnesses”.

         82 broke the rifle down and put the pieces into a case. He closed the case, pushed a discreet button on the side and picked up his backpack. He crawled toward the roof access and pushed up to walk when he was safe from view. The case exploded with a thud as the door closed behind him. He unslung his backpack and stowed the faceplate and helmet. He slung the backpack over his shoulder again and hit a landing and continued. He opened a pair of sunglasses and put them on. His field of view went from tint of sunglasses to sunlit view. A smaller version of the faceplate HUD booted up and began providing information.

         *                         *                         *

         An hour later, 82 arrived at a station house just off the college campus. A lone figure left one of the ground vehicles and walked toward the building. The HUD in the sunglasses confirmed it was his target that just entered the building. He took a knee in the small parking lot several meters from the door and took his backpack off. He switched the sunglasses for the helmet and faceplate. He clicked the faceplate into place and the HUD activated.

         The HUD switched to an x-ray display with a tap on the wrist computer. 82 counted four persons aside from the target. Another tap switched the HUD back to normal view. He stashed the backpack under some kind of land vehicle and double checked his submachine gun and magazines. On his belt, he ensured the karambit was secured. Once again, there was a short burst of static followed by the voice.

         “What is your status 82?” The voice asked.

         “Outside the station house, about to enter.”

         “Recording has begun.”

         82 hoisted the submachine gun and stalked to the door. He tested the knob and found it unlocked. Morons, he thought to himself as he turned knob. The door opened quietly and 82 slipped inside. He put his head on a swivel as he crept through the room. The sound of laughter drifted from the room ahead of him. He reached the door and placed his back to the wall. He risked a glance around the corner. The target was sitting in a chair on the right side of the room; along with two men, one sitting on a couch and the other on a chair.

         He clenched the submachine gun and twisted into the doorway, leveling it at the man in the chair and firing off  a burst. The man’s chest erupted in crimson geysers and he grunted and fell to the ground. 82 launched himself forward, switching aim to the man on the couch. He squeezed off a burst that hit the man in the back. The second man face planted as 82 vaulted over the couch and took the target by shoulder. He slammed her into the wall and drew his karambit.

         “Why are you doing this?” She shouted as she tried to fight him off.

         “My client sends his regards and has a message.” 82 said as he pressed the karambit to the woman’s neck.

         The woman’s eyes were wide with fear and confusion. He paused for a long second before speaking.

         “’You were the instrument that started the ruination of my life bitch. This will ensure you don’t do it to anyone ever again.’” 82 quoted.

         With no further hesitation, 82 dragged the karambit across the woman’s neck and let her go. She clutched at her throat and sank to the floor. 82 watched her for a few seconds, then turned and walked out the doorway he came in. The fourth person came barreling down the stairs to see what had happened.

         “Hey! What the hell-” The man said as he hit the landing.

         Without looking, 82 aimed an SMG burst into the man’s chest.

         “Location secure.” 82 said.

         “Good job 82, transmitting the details on the next targets.”

         “Targets?” 82 asked.

         “Yes, the details will explain the next mission.”

         82 exited the station house, collected his bag and departed the area. The intel for the next mission appeared on his wrist computer as he made his egress.

         *                         *                         *

               

         This final mission was the most involved. He had multiple targets in multiple locations. 82 spent the better part of that night setting everything up. After a few hours sleep, he set off to track his targets down. On his wrist computer he had a map of the city pulled up. On the map were several red blips, each of his next targets. Several minutes later, he approached the first target.

Whatever they called Politzi here, he was sitting in his vehicle looking over information on a computer. It didn’t surprise 82 that the client had targeted corrupt law enforcers. The Politzi where he came from would shake a person down for bribes or “protection” without hesitation. The client gave 82 carte blanche for this last set of targets, apparently these Politzi were as dirty as they came.

         “Approaching first target.” 82 said.

         “Recording has started.” The client stated.

         82 approached the vehicle with pistol drawn. The man in the car looked up as 82 reached the driver side door. His eyes widened in panic when 82 raised the pistol. Without hesitation, 82 squeezed the trigger and the man’s head jerked back. 82 spun on his heel and stalked off.

         “First target eliminated.” He reported.

         “Confirmed.” The Client replied.

         The next sets of targets, four Politzi in two vehicles parked in a parking lot, were engaged in conversation and didn’t notice 82’s approach. The vehicles were parked so the driver’s side windows faced each other. He pulled the charging lever on his SMG and walked up to the two vehicles. He moved closer to the vehicle facing him. He leveled the SMG at the vehicle and squeezed the trigger. The two men in the vehicle jerked in their seats as the rounds perforated them through the windshield. He jumped up on the hood and climbed to the roof of the vehicle, and taking aim at the other two in the second vehicle. He squeezed the trigger and the two remaining men slumped in their seats.

         The entire interaction took less than a minute. He ejected the magazine and stowed it in his vest.

         “Targets eliminated.” He spoke aloud.

         “Confirmed.” The client said.

         82 turned and disappeared into the night. The last target, the Politzi that lied during the trial, was responding to a call in a suburb. The preparations 82 made earlier in the day would play key in this last mission. 82 lay in the prone in the hatch of his shuttle several meters up in the air, out of visual range. He watched the feed from the scope on his Mosin through his faceplate. The Politzi dealt with situation at hand for many long moments. 82 cycled a round into the chamber when he saw the Politzi head back to his vehicle. He waited until the man reached his vehicle.

         “Hey. You.” He spoke.

         The Politzi stopped and whipped around trying to find the voice.

         “You are corrupt.” 82 said aloud, his words transmitted to the small microphone he planted on the Politzi’s vehicle.

         The Politzi again looked to try and find source of the voice to no avail. 82 smiled as his finger curled on the trigger.

         “You are corrupt.” 82 repeated.

         “Where the fuck are you?” The Politzi shouted to the air.

         82 cracked a wide smile.

         “You testified in court about events that did not transpire the way your poisonous words conveyed.” 82 said.

         The Politzi practically spun in place attempting to locate the source of the voice. He began to hyperventilate.

         “What the hell are you talking about?” He shouted.

         The reticule on 82’s HUD zoomed in on the Politzi’s face; red crosshairs appearing on the man’s forehead.

         “You have been weighed and measured and have been found wanting. May whatever God you might pray to have mercy upon your wretched soul.” 82 intoned.

         The Politzi froze in place and 82 squeezed the trigger. The ancient rifle fired with a kick against 82’s shoulder. In his HUD the result was immediate. The Politzi fell to the side and hit the ground motionless. 82 rose from the prone and hit a toggle. The hatch closed with a hiss as he made for the pilot’s chair.

         “Target eliminated.” He spoke aloud.

         “Confirmed.” The Client said.

         “I’ve completed your contracts, don’t contact me again.” 82 said in a not-so-threatening tone.

         The Client laughed heartily in 82’s com.

         “You don’t seem to understand 82. I own you outright. Without me you fade away into nothingness.” The Client said with certainty.

         There was a moment of pause before the Client spoke again.

         “I’ll let you alone for now. If anything to collect yourself for what’s to come. Just be ready.”

         The com went dead and 82 cocked his head for several seconds; listening to see if the Client said anything further. After several minutes of silence 82 took off his faceplate and helmet and tossed them in the passenger seat.

         “What’s going on?” A voice from behind him said thickly.

         82 glanced back to the hatch of one of the berths. She rubbed hers eyes as she leaned against the hatch.

         “Paying a debt.” 82 said tersely as he angled the ship out of the atmosphere and opened the engines.