Ok, last night I came up with a tale for a character, and have just finished writing the first bit. This character is a hitman, who's next target for some reason is Bright…Yeah, but anyway, he has no idea what The Foundation is, he's trying to not get killed by everyone, finds out about the scps…To sum up, he ends up being given amnesiacs and becoming a field agent.
So here it is, mentlegen, well, at least the first part.
Oh and they lock him in with 173 at one point. I want to make a 173 tale, seeing as there are so few of those around.
The man in the equsite suit walked towards the building with an eased pace, the suitcase in his left hand produced muffled clicks with every step he took along the yellow-dust road.
Click. Crunch. Click. Crunch. Click. Crunch. Click.
Above him the angry indian sun glared down at him, threatening to knock the sunglasses and the faint smile from his face with one brutal slap.
Click. Crunch. Click. Crunch. Click. Crunch. Click.
A slur of indian words filled his ears, and he heard movement behind him. He didn't bother to turn. Just keep moving. The task at hand was more import.
Another set rasped behind him, irrated, urgent, forceful.
Angry.
He spun round at once, kicking the man in the guts and swung the heavy silver case high over his head and onto the man, knocking him to the ground where he lay still, a pool of blood forming around his fallen form.
Pausing for a moment he gazed at the corpse, his handiwork, the show of his power. He didn't care what other men thought. Sometimes it was just easier to kill them, just to make them be quiet. Blood soaked his shoes.
Approaching the stairs he hurried, as a loud cheer rang out from far off, the promise of his targets arrival. 3,4,5 stairs at time he climbed, up, up and up, until the indian sun once again bit his face. The ground beneath him was stained with his sticky red footprints, and he glared at them in disgust. He'd have to burn the shoes later.
They were his favorite pair.
No matter, no matter. He opened the long case, unclipping it and pulled out the gun, snapping on the scopes. He examined it for a moment, taking in it's beauty before snapping down the stand and aiming towards the source of the noise; A fair.
So many people, so many targets, so many…Possibilities.
A sigh passed his lips.
And that was when he saw her.
She wore a light, lime-green dress, simple but formal, and waved at the roaring crowd.
He saw the rise of fall of her chest. He watched the wind blow into her hair. She was quite beutiful. He didn't know her name. He didn't know who she was, or what she was talking about.
He didn't really care either.
Bang.
