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Old 04-16-2004, 10:32 AM   #19
Crunchy in milk
delusions of adequacy
 
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Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: Melbourne, Australia
Posts: 1,403
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I was just recently reminded of how much I was moved (I can't really say enjoyed due to the subject material) by Hitman 2. I was inspired to write down my experience of one of my favourite missions and it was hard to pick one. Perhaps its telling that the most brutal was the one I chose. All the others where either extremely clean and/or efficient kills but for some reason I really let fly on a poor Hacker.


Quote:
After dropping the time delay smoke bomb down a laundry shoot I walked as fast and unobtrusively as possible across the hotel lobby. Fire alarms go off and frantic firemen in long black cloaks burst from a door near the restrooms, all heading for the stairwell. They're too busy to notice me slip into the change rooms in their wake. I'm thinking only of grabbing one of their black cloaks but there's a fire axe just laying there. It seems almost sad left alone so I take it too. "Part of the disguise" I tell myself.
I'm taking too long.

I rush out of the change room hoping to shadow the firemen to the basement. A lobby guard gives me a cautious glance, noticing the distance between myself and the pack of firemen, but the metal detector goes off and the axe acts as both explanation and deterrent. You don't want to stop me.

I soon catch up to the firemen, but I don't want to get too close, I'm not one of them, they'll know. People push past us in the other direction, fleeing the 'fire' in an orderly fashion. We spiral down a flight of stairs and are soon rushing along a basement corridor. One or two guards are still down here, just exiting a control booth. Their reluctance to leave their post during a fire tells me where I have to go.

Obscured by smoke I crouch low and duck into the booth, taking a set of elevator keys and then swiftly through the rear door. After some more stairs I reach a turn in the corridor and I can almost feel an electronic hum reverberating off the concrete walls. Its quiet down here. Is the target even aware of the fire alarm? I can see him now, through a glass paneled door. He's at the far end of a large room maybe 30 feet away. Seated at a computer terminal with his back to me.

I step into the room and stand quietly still. The subterfuge to get me here was exciting, but its only now that my heart really starts to beat faster.

Knife?
Razor Wire?
Ballers?

It's like choosing flavours. My mind racing, my mouth watering! And then through its 'sudden' weight in my hands its as though the axe is making its presence known again. Like a drawn sword begging to be whetted. No more time for thought. They'll have found the smoke bomb by now. Act! I break into a run. Right between shelves to either side, straight at the target.

I can't hear my footsteps. I can't hear anything. I'm 20 feet from him and he still hasn't turned! Time starts to slow down. Why doesn't he notice me? Is he alive?. Has someone beaten me to the kill? NO! The thought makes me angry. His hands are moving, I almost feel relief. The axe swings up high over my head.

10 feet now, its like he's ignoring me. I don't like that. Either the noise of my boots disturbing the junk food wrappers strewn on the floor nearby, or the fierce roar that rips involuntarily from my throat shortly after startles him. I can't hear either myself. He jumps in his seat, a half glance over his left shoulder in terror and then his back is to me again. He's fumbling for the phone on the desk, trying to call for help and just as he raises the receiver to his ear, the axe falls.

That moment stops in time.
The immediate aftermath so brutally ugly as the body, stripped of all grace crumples under the blow. There's blood on the monitor. I can hear a distant, tin-like voice coming from the phone as the blood rushing in my ears slows with my pulse. The receiver's agitated sway as it hangs over the edge of the desk a mockery of the now still form at my feet. Still caught up in the moment I briefly consider hiding amongst the shelves now, just to steal of a glimpse of a reaction from someone, anyone. To see what it is they feel when confronted with what I've done. What I do. But that would be unprofessional.

Last edited by Crunchy in milk; 04-16-2004 at 10:41 AM.
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