Chapter Text
You don't know who I am. If you did, you'd be dead by now.
Most of you probably know about the disappearance of Miguel Metric, about six months ago. Since then, deaths from assassinations attempted on people of all classes have risen. If you're reading this, it also means you know about The Master. That son of a [REDACTED] got 100 million kills under his belt with that bionic suit of his. But that's nothing compared to the amount I got right now. It's a famous number by now; 314 million and counting.
Today, I'm on my way to Florida to hunt down a scientist codenamed the Author of DNA. Contract: 120 million.
Time to see just how fast I kill.
-----
I strolled through the summer heat, barely shielded by my navy-blue cloak. I squinted this way and that, trying to get some vision through the mask.
"Ugh... some weird-ass [REDACTED] happening with the general climate..." I muttered under my breath. And to illustrate my point, an alligator casually strolled through the pedestrian lane. I cursed silently, running through the sidewalk, approaching the stark-white building where the target lay.
I held my breath. A familiar presence... one I haven't felt in years. I tilted my head towards the door…
-----
"-please, just please help me, Gealogo. I'm on thin ice here!"
The other man, Gealogo, spoke with surgical precision and efficiency. "My speaking services aren't free, and so are my lawyering services. You could gamble on one of my UFC matches, but that would be a setup, and I'd have to arrest you..."
The first man spoke again, a man in a lab coat and glasses. "I have to have your defense in court here. I cannot go to jail again!"
"Sorry, H. Can't happen, no money."
"But-"
Their conversation stopped as-
-----
I accidentally slipped on, I don’t know what, some kind of piece of glass, clanging against the door frame, a table, and then the floor. Both men stepped away a bit, and Gealogo instinctively went for his hip.
A sign that I wasn't hallucinating.
-----
Gealogo, aka. Alfredo Manolo G. Gealogo, had been a friend of Metric before they disappeared. Since then, he'd returned to being a UFC fighter, and became a lawyer and detective. Busted over 203 thousand cases. His trademark: a sword which he carried at all times, named Yamato. I'm afraid he’ll find me again and reveal my identity, because he's one of the greatest of his profession. I have a habit of overthinking, though, so maybe I'm safe…
-----
I stood up and grabbed the table, shoving it against the lawyer. In response, Gealogo jumped onto the table and went in for my arm, grabbing it and preparing to fling me. His eyes widened, though.
"You feel metallic... Wait, YOU?!?-"
A kick to the head silenced that notion. I inhaled sharply, trying to believe that it had actually worked. I unsheathed my sword, a five-foot length of midnight black metal attached to a grayish hilt and handle. Less accurate and way more risky than your usual plasma cannons, but effective nonetheless.
Sometimes.
I swung it around, slicing the table in half to get to the scientist.
"I WILL USE LETHAL FORCE IF NEEDED! I-I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!"
I stared the scientist down, holding a broken beaker in his right hand. My gaze went to his name tag. "Eusebio, H. M. O," I silently whispered to myself, feeling a fist closing on my heart. Another familiarity. I can't have him see through me.
One slice. That's all I needed.
I brought my index and middle fingers to the side of my head, as memories of us completely wrecking other groups in school projects threatened to spill over my eyes. "Assassination complete. Requesting payment."
A number popped up in front of my HUD; 120,000,000$.
I walked out, sheathing the sword. Before the door had even fully closed behind me, a shout split the sticky air.
"MASKED ONE! STOP RIGHT THERE!"
I broke into a dead sprint. Gealogo was faster than I expected, likely fueled by a mixture of outrage and terrible, terrible recognition. I could hear the faint shing of Yamato leaving its sheath. The large number still lingered on the edge of my vision.
"I swear, if you make me draw my blade on an old friend, Miguel—"
He said the name. That was confirmation. The mask did nothing. The heavy melee focus did nothing. The only thing that mattered was the expensive, custom-built kinetic armor I was still too attached to.
I darted around a massive, toppled statue of a generic politician, kicking off its concrete base to change direction. Gealogo was gaining. He was stronger, more agile, trained for high-speed chases (thanks to old-days history, I guess) and less weighted down by a five-foot sword and a reputation.
I veered off the road and into a swampy, overgrown side alley, knowing he’d follow. My HUD was flashing a critical warning: the power core was at 45%. I had one shot left to buy myself six more months of silence.
Gealogo vaulted over a rusted-out car, landing just twenty feet behind me, his katana raised. "Give me a reason not to arrest you, Miguel!"
I cursed, wondering how I even got to 45%. What the hell had I been doing today?
"I don't have time for this," I snapped back, my voice modulator distorting the words.
I didn't stop. I spun, dropping to one knee, and slammed my left hand onto a concealed panel on my armored thigh. The movement was instant, robotic.
WARNING: POWER CORE DRAIN. The HUD blazed red, flickering as it forced emergency power reserves to come online.
The release was an invisible wave, a focused, high-amplitude neural pulse designed to overload the sensory input of anyone within a ten-meter radius. It was a prototype weapon meant to clear crowds in Metricopolis, but we never used it as the UN had deemed it unethical. And it hit Gealogo like a freight train.
He staggered, his sword dropping point first into the muddy ground. His hands flew to his head, and he let out a guttural sound that was less a scream and more an explosion of agony. The blast didn't knock him unconscious, but it scrambled the specific short-term memory centers.
I didn't wait to see him fall. The pain in my own head was blinding, and the armor's power dropped to 10%. I could barely move, my modulator was barely masking my voice and I was already resorting to using my sword as a cane. Ugh. That’s how it is when your power is linked to your battery life.
I walked out of the alley, leaving the detective convulsing on the ground, struggling to stand. He was still upright, still chasing, but the name... the knowledge... it was gone, fractured into a dozen unusable pieces.
My thoughts turned to the lawyer, Gealogo. He knew who I was. I can't let that happen again. And Eusebio... he was my friend. Could I have spared him?
No.
I have expenses to pay. I have rent, which is continuously rising in the US. I have survival expenses too. Also exorbitantly high.
I told myself that every drop of blood is another month in my house. Every grave is a table with food on it. Every grieving family, clean water. Every betrayal, a few less minutes of sleep.
But it doesn't make me feel less disturbed.
I sighed. “SoundCloud. Enemy by Imagine Dragons,” I dictated into my voice commands. The respective song began to play.
“Everyone is an enemy nowadays,” I muttered under my breath.