IV:1,2,3,IV

I SUGGEST YOU READ IV AND IV:In The Red BEFORE YOU READ THIS

WONLAY

The fact that Wonlay was quarter past tipsy did not help his situation at all. A very dangerous man was making an attempt on his life and he had been ill prepared. Perhaps he should have taken that caller with the voice distortion seriously. ‘Regardless,’ he thought, ‘people that choose to mask their voices are spineless and cowardly’.

The bullets from the unidentified man's vicious attacks echoed through the church hall, chanting their unholy hymn of death. Wonlay had to think fast. ‘What could stop or at least slow down this relentless attacker?’ He looked around for some clue or inspiration. The candles-the ones not desecrated at least-gave him an idea. He felt his jaIVcket for his old liquor canister and his lighter. Wonlay knew nothing about being a bartender, but he could make one hell of a Molotov cocktail. The contents of the old canister he kept in his breast pocket at all times were quite flammable. It was a something he cooked up himself in the makeshift lab/mini distillery he had in a backroom at home. Whenever he felt his spirits dip to low levels or needed something with ‘kick’; Wonlay sought his pocket-size metallic friend. He hurriedly pulled out the canister, his lighter and a handkerchief. He then let out a little lighter fluid onto the white piece of cloth and then poured more into the canister. He shook the canister a little to blend the alcohol with the lighter fluid. Wonlay left just enough fluid to light the handkerchief, and then stuffed it into the canister.

Wonlay waited a little for the flame to reach the opening of the metal bottle and thrust it hard across the middle of the church floor. It slid almost perfectly to where his assailant stood. The man with the barking weapon did exactly as Wonlay had predicted and dove behind a pew. Wonlay quickly moved to the front of the column of pews the assassin was behind, and pushed them with admirable might. His manoeuvre caught the man off guard and allowed him to run outside the church. But he was not fleeing, no.

Wonlay never thought they would ever be of use, but on that day, the two Match pistols he had hidden behind the tank of the unused toilet in the gents; would probably save his life. He was reminded of Michael Corleone from The Godfather as he felt for his guns behind the cistern of the toilet.

The assassin kicked the door in and fired a number of rounds into the men’s room, shattering the old tiles on the walls and plywood doors. Though the gent’s was small, the man did not immediately see Wonlay standing just beside the entrance. But he did see him using his peripherals just in time to hit Wonlay’s arm and make him miss his shot. The pistol in the hand that the attacker struck dropped to the floor and Wonlay quickly fired a shot with his other gun. He missed again but only by mere inches, and because the man had moved out of his range of fire. Wonlay counted himself lucky because the man could not properly swing his rifle around and fire owing to the close quarters. This allowed Wonlay to elbow his assailant in the face and follow it up with a knee to his diaphragm.

The man staggered back, giving Wonlay a clear shot. Just as he was about to fire, his mind began to scream and he was paralysed.

JUGBEH

The blood poured profusely from Jugbeh’s pinky and ring fingers. If the amphetamines had not kicked in by then, Jugbeh would have been in great pain. He hurriedly tore a large portion of the lower part of his t-shirt and improvised a bandage. He had locked eyes with the small Asian man, building up even more animosity toward the man that had just severed his fingers. Jugbeh was going to kill him.

Each punch hurled seemed more powerful than the last, and if he had caught his target with any of them; Jugbeh would have caved the man's face in. It had become evident that the little man had underestimated Jugbeh and his strength, and was now toying with him. Jugbeh observed that he had almost cornered the little man and counted on him to move in closer to cut him-and he did. As soon as the blade struck him, Jugbeh grabbed a hold of his Asian foe and flung him backwards, falling with him and raising up dust and the old prescription papers that lay on the floor. Jugbeh quickly got up, grabbed an old wooden chair that and broke it over his enemy's head before he could recover from the suplex, splitting the chair into pieces. Jugbeh's fighting moves had always been largely influenced by professional wrestling and he was getting excited by this 'hardcore match'. The amphetamines induced images of a ring and a packed arena chanting Jugbeh's name. He raised his arms in celebration to the imaginary crowd and then bowed his head.

His bleeding had not slowed down and so Jugbeh's improvised bandage was now drenched in crimson blood. Even with the drugs, his stubs began to send shots of excruciating pain through his arm. He decided it would be better to use his legs to stomp the life out of the little guy. He did deserve to die like the little bug that he was after all. The little man could not fight much after the heavy blows he had received and took his beating like bitter medicine.

"Cut my fingers, will you!?" shouted Jugbeh as he attempted to leave shoe prints of his boot on the little man's face and body.

Shots of blood spattered from the man's face and stained Jugbeh's boot in his efforts to payback the small man for cutting his fingers. Had it not been for the deafening sound that suddenly pierced the room, Jugbeh would have continued his drug fueled onslaught. The sound was so powerful that it dropped Jugbeh to the ground causing him to try and protect his ears even with his bloody hand. He curled up next to his Asian enemy, whose pain had now multiplied twofold.

GOMA

Goma moved with haste and caught a glimpse of the prayerful assassin just as he turned a corner and disappeared to the side of the church. He was trying to maintain his cool and still move fast enough to catch his prey. He moved like one of the speed walkers that flooded the streets and parks in the early mornings; frantically shuffling his feet and thrusting his legs forward without exactly running.

When he kicked the door to the men's room in and fired his weapon, Goma quickly realised that he should have not been so careless and should have expected a surprise from his mark. As soon as this thought crossed his mind, the man in the suit stretched his arm out just in time for Goma to disturb his shot. The report of the gunshot left a ringing in Goma’s ear, like a mischievous child had just popped a giant fire cracker beside it. Goma soon confirmed that his foe was indeed formidable when he quickly retaliated with another shot. Thank goodness he missed, Goma thought. He tried to bring his gun around so he could fire, but the weapon was too large to easily maneuver in the small space.

Goma had resolved long ago to never feel inadequate or stupid, but this tussle with a man he thought was ill prepared brought those feelings rushing up from within the depths of his belly. But they were quickly stopped by a knee to his stomach area.

Goma stumbled back and shook his head to regain his focus. What he saw almost made him wish he had not. The barrel of the gun held by his foe stared him down like a towering bully. But the pain that shot through his head was not one of a bullet wound, no, it was something else. Something that caused even his enemy pain. They both fell to the ground and howled in anguish.

Goma was now grappling with consciousness and when he managed to open his eyes in all the pain he was experiencing, Goma saw a man in a suit come into the gents and stand over them.

BADUK

Pain. Excruciating pain. Pain was all Baduk had ever known. He had received so much in his agonising existence that he had decided to embrace the pain. He made it a part of him, let it mold him, and then he spread its agonising gospel indiscriminately. Pain cleanses the soul. Without pain, how can one know joy? Baduk dispensed pain for survival, he dispensed pain for money and Baduk dispensed pain for pleasure. Pain was all Baduk had ever known.

Taming the pain though, sometimes proved to be a difficult task. The sonic frequency that had invaded the room like a screaming bat from hell had Baduk and his foe incapacitated. He was trying his best to concentrate and make out where exactly the paralysing noise was coming from. Though he probably would not be able to drink it under the circumstances, Baduk was wishing he had a can of Amp. Energy drinks had their own way of soothing his pain. The big man he was meant to kill was barking out obscenities in between his cries of pain. A can of Amp would have done him some good too.

The banshee-like noise left the room as suddenly as it had come, but there was still a steady ringing in Baduk’s ears. He mustered the little strength he had in him and got on one shaky knee. The ringing in his ear faded out and a distant clacking of shoes on the floor gradually replaced it. When he looked up, Baduk saw a figure standing by the big man that had tried to stomp the life out of him. He was wearing a fine black suit and shades. The man in black pulled out a cloth and what looked like chloroform before he covered his mouth and drowned the mumbles of the big one. Baduk did not need to be told he was next and so he crawled across the floor in an effort to reach the exit. His world soon went black.

Baduk came to for what seemed like a fraction of a second, maybe more. He had no sense of time, everything felt so surreal and dream-like. Next to him was the big man he was sent to kill. He was out cold. There were two other men with them, one in a suit and the other in plain clothes. Both out cold. There was a slit of blinding light coming from the corner of Baduk’s eye. When he looked to see what it was, he saw the chloroform man in the suit and shades closing a door. Baduk gave way to the weight of his eyelids and let the unconsciousness consume him. He could hear a distant hum of a car engine, and for a moment, it drove away the pain.

****


IV

“Ah, I see you are all awake,” said the deep voice, “I really must apologise for my crude methods of bringing you all here, but you must understand, you lot are the four most dangerous men on the planet.”

The cloaked voice coming from the intercom on the table was the very same one that had called each of the men sitting at the table and rousing to consciousness. There really was no way of determining this for sure, but it really was doubtful whether the quota for deep disguised voice phone calls goes above one in a day.

“Wha--wha--Who the hell are you?” blurted Jugbeh. His hand had been stitched and wrapped neatly in fresh bandages.

“All you need to know for now is that I represent a large and wealthy organisation that is interested in maintaining an order and balance in the world,” replied the voice.

“You the Illuminati, aren’t you?” said Jugbeh.

“Ha ha, hardly Mister Jugbeh. But I wouldn't rule that out completely heh heh.”

“How dare you kidnap me!” Goma shouted into the intercom, “I will have your head for this!!”

“Mister Goma, you would have to know where I am or what I look like for you to have my head. Idle threats are not necessary here. However, I feel it is necessary that I apologise for what I put you all through. You should receive a small peace offering from me in shortly.”

The phones of the four men at the table vibrated and/or rang at intervals. They each pulled them out from their pockets and found they had received text messages from their respective banks telling them their accounts had been credited.

“$500,000 should be sufficient for now. Oh, and Mister Jugbeh, terribly sorry about your hand. Surgery will be fully paid for and you will receive the best medical attention money can buy,” the deep voice went on, “Of course, that is just a small fraction of what you could be receiving should you choose to stay on and work with our organisation.”

“I don't need your tainted money. What do you want with us?” asked Wonlay.

“Oh please Mister Wonlay, do not be so self righteous! EVERYBODY needs money! You now have enough to pay your debts and fund your binges! All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say. If it does not whet your appetite, you may leave. You are all free men after all, even you Mister Baduk.” Baduk only grunted his approval.

A large automated metal door opened in the corner.

“The door is open.”

The four men looked at each other undecidedly. Each one was waiting on another to make the first move. A pinch of greed and a dash of curiosity; they had all tasted the broth of the deep voiced man, and they yearned for more.


Illustrations by Lo. Follow him on twitter @inkerblood
You can follow me on twitter @Benny_blow

IV:In The Red

I suggest you read IV before you read this next installment.

WONLAY

One wouldn’t necessarily call Wontlay a religious man, but he always made efforts to attend church whenever he could. After all, he had to find time to pray for his sins. These efforts were deeply inspired by the fact that he believed he had committed the gravest of sins-TAKING A MAN’S LIFE-on a regular basis. And taking a life also bordered on theft, did it not? He stole what did not belong to him. Wontlay often wondered whether attending church was even worth it, whether God even was listening to all his prayers and pleas for forgiveness. He oftentimes felt that he indeed was the definition of a wretch. All the death, sex and Rock n Roll surely could not earn him a place in heaven; even with all the near tearful prayers.

He didn’t consider himself an alcoholic, but Wontlay had developed a tolerance and taste for vodka over the years. He no longer grimaced when he swigged at the bottle of hard liquor. Like a dreadful vacation, alcohol had become a false escape for him. Yet still he indulged. Wonlay hated his profession, but he regarded it a necessary evil. Someone had to send the evil men of this world to Hades. Someone had to serve some form of justice, even though that justice itself may have been blackened. He took another swig of his vodka and staggered a little on his way to evening mass. The alcohol was working its wicked spell. Wonlay was startled by his phone when it rang. He looked at the phone’s display and squint his eyes to focus. ‘Unknown Number’ it read.

“Hello?”

“You shouldn’t be drinking like that Mr. Wonlay; it’s bad for your liver,” a deeply masked voice said.

“What? Who the hell is this?”

‘’I cannot reveal my name to you. However, I can reveal that I am an enthusiast of your work, and that I would like to issue you a challenge.”

“What I do is very serious, and I do not have time for ‘challenges’, Wonlay replied.

“I do not doubt the graveness of your occupation my friend, what I would like to do is to offer you an opportunity after I establish that you are indeed capable.”

Wonlay thought his caller a joker, ‘What audacity! Friend??’.

“...I am not your friend,” he said. And with that, he cut the line.

Mass would be starting soon. Wonlay took the last gulp from his bottle and tossed it against a brick wall, shattering it to pieces. The alcohol was taking a stronger hold. “God help me.” He said.

The priest had not yet arrived when Wonlay stumbled into the church. It was a dimly lit hall with candles providing the primary source of light. He sat somewhere in the middle of the rows of pews on the left side of the hall. He did this to avoid any contact with the people that like to be closer to the altar, those that would frown upon him if they happened to smell his tainted breath. The rearmost pews were no good either; the father had once called him to sit in front with the rest of the congregation. That had been an extremely uncomfortable experience for Wonlay. Evening mass usually had less people in attendance and that made it a lot more intimate.

Wonlay sighed deeply and began to pray. ‘’Our Father, who art in heaven....”

JUGBEH

There were few things in this world faster than Jugbeh’s gun, like the speed of light or.....the speed of light. And now he could add the speed of Random-Asian-Killer to that list. This small man had managed to evade every single bullet Jugbeh had fired at him. This guy moved like some kind of hell cat, Jugbeh thought.

“There’s numerous ways to skin a cat little man! But of course you should know all about that, shouldn’t you?” shouted Jugbeh,”’coz your people eat cats, don’t they?”

His assailant was silent. Jugbeh knew some kind of psychological warfare usually gave him an advantage over his marks. That last shot at the Asian man’s ethnicity should have hit home at least, considering that his bullets had missed.

Jugbeh turned on to his knee to face the direction of the little man, slamming his arms on the counter and  swerving his aim left and right in an effort to catch the attacker in his sights. He was nowhere to be seen. Jugbeh looked at James; he clearly could be of no help. A dagger lodged in the middle of your face made performing any task extremely difficult after all.

Before Jugbeh could process what he was doing, the little man had moved at blurring speed from the side of the counter Jugbeh had been hiding behind and somersaulted by James’ ragdoll  of a body; dislodging his deadly dagger from James’ temples. The man stood facing Jugbeh with his arms spread and his dagger ready to strike with the ferocity of a cobra. Jugbeh was stunned, and if his life was not in imminent danger, he would have complimented this assassin on how ‘cool’ his move was.

Jugbeh swung his arm and fired a shot, but not before the little man could strike him inside his elbow and disturb his aim. Jugbeh jumped back to avoid the lethal strike of the Asian man’s blade, still it was not enough to miss it entirely. The flesh of his abdomen stung as the blood blotted against his t-shirt.

“Who skinned cat now, huh?” said the little man wielding the blade and smirking.

“Why you little....!!!” Jugbeh fired the last round in his clip and sent the man running for cover.

 He looked under the counter as the little man run and what caught his attention lit up his eyes.

GOMA

Before he stepped out of his car, Goma looked at the Ray Bans on his dashboard and wondered whether he should wear them. He left them and slammed the door, ‘Too cliché’ he thought. There was no expression in his face as he approached the towering church hall doors, even though he had noticed he had sent a few civilians fleeing at the sight of his A.K 47 rifle. Goma smiled inwardly. He knew well that he would not have to rush to avoid the poor excuse for law enforcement, even if any of the frightened people made frantic efforts to contact them. Their almost mandatory delay in their call to action was something that also inspired his change in profession.

Goma had not met his target before, and the caller with the voice distortion on his phone had not given him an explicit description; but it was not hard to spot the mark. Not many people wore immaculately tailor-made suits to church during the week.

“So cliché.”

Goma opened fire. His bullets torpedoed in all directions, munching the church walls and splintering pews. One woman was flung to her immediate death when a bullet hit her and slammed her back into a pew. Her body slid down against the back of a pew, smearing it with bright red blood.

“Collateral damage,” said Goma.

He had now confirmed his target as he saw him skilfully leaping over pews to safety. There was no safety from Goma. Not even in the house of the Lord. He fired more rounds, sending candle wax flying and shattering stained glass to shards. Goma stopped and watched the dust from the mortar as it courted the smoke from the candles.

Goma stood and listened for his target. A canister came sliding down the aisle in between the columns of pews; it had a handkerchief on fire stuffed down its neck. He dove for cover as the pocket size canister exploded and sent little shrapnel and a mixture of the smell of liquor and lighter fluid into the air.

‘Impressive,’ thought Goma. Before he could make a move in retaliation, a number of pews came sliding in his direction, including the one his back was resting against. His target had pushed the rows of pews toward Goma and then ran outside the church as Goma was trying to gain footing.

Goma now had an expression on his face, and it was one not many had seen and lived to tell of it.

BADUK

Dodging bullets was nothing new to Baduk. Looking back over the years, the number of bullets that he had missed had been enough to supply a small army. The big man shooting at Baduk had probably missed because Baduk had caught him by surprise. He would have to be careful with this loud man. He could hear him breathing hard on the other side of the counter. Baduk guessed that they both had their backs to the long slab. This man was probably slow, but Baduk knew he would soon discover his hiding place.

“There’s numerous ways to skin a cat little man! But of course you should know all about that, shouldn’t you?” shouted Jugbeh,”’coz your people eat cats, don’t they?” The man said. Baduk acknowledged that he would have to teach this man a lesson.

He slid carefully on his rear-end and came around the counter as the big man was trying to look over it to see where Baduk was. Baduk flipped towards the dead pharmacist and grabbed his dagger in the process. The shock and awe in the loud man’s face was clear as Baduk stood, dagger ready to make the man take back his insolent words.

The big man fired quickly, but Baduk was a fraction of a second quicker, hitting the man’s arm and stabbing him on a flash.

“Who skinned cat now, huh?” said the little man wielding the blade and smirking.

Baduk was having fun with this one. He ran for cover as the man said something and fired his last round. Baduk had been counting the shots fired after he noticed the loud one was using a Desert Eagle .50. He looked up from over the cabinet he was hiding behind, expecting to see the loud one reloading his gun. What he saw instead confused him. This oaf was taking drugs when his life was in danger! ‘Last wish’ guessed Baduk. He decided to take advantage of the big man’s moment of weakness and reached in his back pocket.

The weapon he pulled out was made of a thin but strong fibre wire with a wooden handle on either end of it. It was capable of cutting through flesh when stretched and tense. Baduk moved quickly and leapt onto the big man’s back, bringing the wire over his head and across his throat.

The man had not seen Baduk coming and he would have been strangled within seconds, had he not managed to get the pinky and ring fingers on his left hand in-between the wire and his gullet. Baduk pulled back hard and tears and mucus began to stream down the loud one’s face. The wire managed to cut through the flesh and bone of the two fingers, leaving only bloody stubs and the big man screaming.

The big man was evidently angered now as he used a significant amount of might to strike Baduk with his gun and throw him off his back. He held his arm up looking at the blood and then at Baduk.

“You little fuck, look what you’ve done to me!”

You can follow the diabolical Lo on twitter (@inkerblood)

IV

WONLAY
This... is bad. This is VERY bad, Wonlay thought to himself. Many had tried to kill him before, but this particular assailant was actually GOOD. Professionals the world over had tested his mettle, but none had even come close to making him break a sweat. Has my time finally come? Has God finally tired of my wretched existence and sent the angel of death to claim me? Wonlay's chest heaved heavily as his thoughts raced and the bullets flew through the church hall. They ate hungrily into the old marble pillars and walls, like tapeworms with a taste for mortar. Loud reports rang as slugs pierced through the wood of the pews and did grave damage to the once beautiful church. Sacrilegious bastard! How dare he come into God's house to take me! Wonlay was lying on his side behind a pew somewhere near the back of the hall, his body weight resting on his elbow. His suit had chaffed a little and developed dirty patches in his effort to dodge the hail storm of bullets. He had scampered further into the church as his attacker had sent lead his way. If only he had his two Match pistols, then maybe this asshole would atone for his sins. But Wonlay always left his tools of the trade when he went to pray or confess his sins. He looked up to the ceiling of the building solemnly, seeking some kind of hope. The meticulously painted images of the saints stared down at him. He wondered whether they stared with sympathy or with contempt. He had brought ruin to God's house.
JUGBEH
"C'mon man! I need the stuff! You know I'm good for it!"Said Jugbeh, "Work has just been difficult, you know? Global recession and all".
The skinny chemist looked at Jugbeh over the bridge of his spectacles. He had a smirk across his face that clearly questioned Jugbeh's integrity.
"James, how long have we done business?"
"Three weeks, maybe less."
"Yeah! And in that time, have I ever betrayed you? Have I ever not been good on my word?!"
"Three weeks is not enough to say whether your word is good or not," replied James. "Besides, you're still behind on payments for the last consignment."
''And I WILL pay you! With interest even! I'll get work soon. You want me to kill you? Is that what you want?-For me to just kill you, and rob you of your entire stash here?"
"You can't kill me," James said in a confident and even arrogant tone, "You know I'm the only person in town that can hook you up with amphetamine this good. Nobody can supply you with paranoia-less Speed. That other junk these wannabes sell will make you lose your mind."
Before Jugbeh could open his mouth to reply, his cell phone rang.
"You see!"He exclaimed to James. "This should be someone offering me some work now! Gimme a sec," he said with one finger pointing in the air.
"Hello,"
"I understand you are the best at what you do, Mr. Jugbeh."
"Well hello to you too Darth Vader!-" The voice on the other end of the line was distorted to hide the caller's real voice. Jugbeh hated when potential clients did that. It made him think of spineless kidnappers calling innocent victims and demanding a ransom. It came with the territory he guessed.
''-And that all depends on who's asking," Jugbeh continued.
''I represent a very large and wealthy organisation, Mr. Jugbeh. We are looking to recruit people with 'talents' such as yours. If you are selected, your remuneration will be considerably hefty. And you will no longer need to obtain your amphetamines from illicit laboratories."
Jugbeh knotted his eyebrows and looked at James in suspicion," Did you tell- -"
''I have sent someone of your caliber to test your skills. He should be at your location shortly. You are to defend yourself and attempt to eliminate him, for he also is being tested. If you are successful, we will compensate you accordingly and contact you requesting your services soon. Do you accept?"
Jugbeh looked at the stimulants on the chemist's desk. He wanted the amphetamines, heck, he NEEDED them. He stroked his chin a few times and put his hand on his waist, arm akimbo. Jugbeh usually did that when he was contemplating something or when his high was leaving him.
"I don't have much of a choice now, do I?" Jugbeh asked.
"There is always a choice, Mr. Jugbeh," the deep distorted voice said on the other end of the line.
"Then I accept,"
"Good."
The line cut.
As Jugbeh put his phone inside his pocket, the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and the swinging doors to the lab burst open. What followed next all happened in a flash. A dagger whistled silently past Jugbeh's ear and struck the chemist in between his eyes. Blood trickled down to his chin. If Jugbeh had not used his agility and moved quickly, the dagger would have easily peeled off a good portion of his face. Jugbeh leapt over the chemist's counter pulling out a Desert Eagle .50 from inside the holster tucked within his leather jacket, and fired a number of rounds in the direction of the invader, all in one swift motion.
GOMA
Goma held his large cup of freshly brewed Cowboy Coffee delicately as he walked from the café to his car. He was still angered by the phone call he had received earlier. The man (or woman) with the altered voice had given him more of specific orders than made him an offer. The voice said Goma needed to attempt to kill a certain man, a man probably as good at killing as he was. Goma had snickered at the thought; no one was as good as he was. He had only accepted the job because he wished to prove to this disrespectful voice that claimed to represent a higher power that his skills were unmatched. He could have cared less about the money or the future work promised.
"Higher power," Goma mused to himself. He was taken back to his days as a C5 operative. There he learnt that higher powers and authority meant nothing but badges, patches or stripes. Authority was just an excuse for megalomaniacs to demean those in lower ranks. Goma had expressed his rejection of hierarchy by showering fists on his commanding officer. He was immediately relieved of his duties. It was only natural that he later got into the business of ending the lives of various politicians and authority figures around the world.
He sat in his car and took a sip of his coffee almost religiously. Goma closed his eyes, savoring the heavenly taste and aroma of his strong brew. Coffee was no ordinary beverage for Goma; he considered it a magical elixir. Its only drawback was that he got the shakes when he held his sniper rifle and he hadn't had a fresh cup.
When Goma was done with his ritualistic sipping, he drove to the church where the voice had told him he would find his target. He parked his car close to the entrance and then began to clean his A.K 47 rifle. He wiped it carefully with the precision of a surgeon. It was not a very accurate weapon for his line of work, but it was excellent for sending messages; Loud and clear messages. Goma looked through his tinted car windows to observe the situation. It was almost evening and there was barely anyone attending mass. Perfect.
BADUK
"Hello, Mr. Baduk."
"Who is this?"
"That is of little relevance right now. What is is the fact that I know that you are capable of breaking a man's arm in four places with just one move," the voice said.
Baduk was silent for while.
"Why your voice sound funny?" He said in his East Asian accent.
''Another irrelevant question. What is of importance is that I can have all your criminal charges dropped. I can absolve you of your crimes," the voice said," you can be a free man. But on one condition."
Baduk remained mute.
"You have been doing small insignificant jobs for meager pay Mr. Baduk. The people I represent are looking for someone with your expertise. Kill one man for us and you will hit the 'big time'."
''When and where?"
"Today. As soon as possible. Your target is conveniently located across the street from where you are. He is currently purchasing some amphetamines or 'Speed' from a failed pharmacist that operates an illicit laboratory. The entrance is down in the alley opposite your gym. It may be locked, but that shouldn't be a problem for you."
Baduk thought it over, "Free man?"
"Yes Mr. Baduk, freedom for you and with all the benefits that come with it."
''I take job then."
"Good. Be warned, he is no easy mark. We will be in touch if you are successful."
The line cut.
Free man? Baduk tossed the thought around in his head for a while. He had never truly been free. He felt as though he had been running his whole life. Whether it was from cruel workhouse masters, the police or foster homes; running was all Baduk had ever known. Now all he had to do is kill a man and he would be free. Easy enough. He had hurt and killed many men before. Baduk was not good at many things, but he was definitely good at inflicting pain and bringing death when the situation called for it.
Many people had made false promises to Baduk. He had no reason to trust the demonic sounding voice, but he had nothing to lose. Besides, 'free man' rolled off his tongue well. He liked the sound of it. He sipped his can of 'Amp' as he quickly walked across the street to where he had been instructed to go. It was his sixth can that day and he was buzzing. He came to a locked wire gate and climbed over it with cat-like speed. Memories of valiant but failed jail-breaks in his time in China came flooding back to him. O' what whippings he and his companions had received.
Baduk navigated his way through the alley and into an old dilapidated building. Deep inside it, he could hear and see a large man in a leather jacket heckling a smaller man in spectacles. Baduk smiled and pulled out his trusted dagger.

                                        
                                                                    Lo Strikes again!