this is my fifth story. Iwanted to make this series just a bit different then others. it contains alot of location switches so watchout for the three dots seprarating the paragraphs. this is quite long so for those that are on a sceduale try to read as much of it as you can and read the first four so you can make sense of this. Comment, pretty please. Anyway Enjoy.


“Jake, are the kids parents there?” static on the other line. “ya, they just pulled in. what do you want us to do?” The wolf get’s agitated “I want you to go and buy them underwear” “What are yo...” “Get them and bring them in for interrogation you dumb jackass” the Bangle tiger gets pissed, but he doesn’t express it. “Yes sir” the line goes dead and the wolf sits down to look at photos. He just waits.
“Wait until the two go in” “Roger” Jake and his partner of seven years, Uklain. A Human from Montana and a fourteen year veteran of the WYPD, move towards the back while the other two walk up front. Gibbs and Sam knock on the door and hear a couple inside moving around and then a muffled “wait a sec” the two froze outside for another five seconds until the door opens and a black and white Coyote stands in the doorway. “Yes?” the Black Fox looks at the man and says. “Sir, Can we speak with you’re son?” “He isn’t here. Can I ask who you are?” “I’m sorry. But I can’t tell you that.” Suddenly there was a scream in the other room. The coyote turned around and ran to the kitchen where he was met with a gun barrel. Tom froze in his tracks, as he reached the door. He saw his wife, laying on here stomach and yelling “don’t you hurt my Donnie. You sons of bitches don’t have the right to take him.” Tom was forced to the ground and handcuffed. After the two were loaded up on the HMMVEE Jake called George. Jake lifted the pone up to his ear and waited. The other line stopped ringing then “You better be calling with some god damn good news.” “The parents are secure and enroot to you’re destination” a slight pause on the other end “finally did your job I see. Now lets see if you don’t fuck up on the drive here” Jake ended the call and got into the HMMVEE. The engine revved and the HMMVEE peeled into the road.


. . .

White, white ,white, white, white, white, white, white, grey, grey, grey, grey, black…black…….black……….bllllaaaack “Kilo” voices, black “Kilo wake up” Blue, orange, white, moving. I jolt awake, sweaty and scared. I look around and see moving objects outside the window. Donnie is at the wheel and was alternation his head between me and the road. “You were talking in your sleep” “oh, I had a bad dream” he nodded but kept his eyes on the road. I looked around and said “Where are we at” “just out of Julesburg Colorado.” “wow, we’ve been on the road that long?” “I Woke up at four and drove from then on” He coked his thumb towards the back and said “I stopped for gas awhile back and bought a couple of things for the road. I looked at the back seat and saw, other then the bag he brought along and the nylon rifle case, three grocery bags, all plastic. I grabbed the one in the middle and riffled through it; there were eight bottles of water, six 5 Hour Energy’s, twelve Slim Jims, some rubbing alcohol, seven Snickers and a lot of other stuff I didn’t get a good look at. I grabbed a bottle of water and sat back down. I opened it and drank half the bottle, it was still fairly cold which helped wake me up. Then it dawned on me, this is totally insane. I was riding across the country with TWO loaded guns, a total of one thousand dollars, and people who would rather have me dead then let me spend one more second with a High Valued Individual. I had to ask “what the hell are we doing and who’s chasing us. You could at least answer me that.” He looked at me, clearly annoyed and sighed. “I would love to know that just as much as you” “why did you get me into this? And why am I still here. If you hate me so much to the point where you wouldn’t even talk to me for a whole school week, why would you risk your own life to save me.” This pissed him off and he yelled back “BECAUSE I CARE TO MUCH ABOUT YOU TO LET YOU DIE” I loosened up on him. He continued “These people do not fuck around. If I leave you to fend for your self it’s like. It’s like.” He dug through the bag that was sitting in between us and pulled out the pistol. “It’s like putting this gun to your head and pulling the trigger.” This was a MASSIVE pistol, a revolver. It had a black rubber handle and was molded to the profile of a hand. On the side of the barrel it had S & W. Right below that were the words ‘Raging Bull’ I have never seen a pistol so big in my life and it kind of scared me. He put the pistol back into the bag and said. “I don’t want to do this anymore then you do. But I’d rather risk my life trying to get away then to straight up give it away.” He was right, I don’t want to die. And neither does he. We have to run in order to live. Otherwise it is guaranteed death. The car was quiet once more and nothing but the rushing wind on the outside and the faint static on the radio broke the ominous silence. I decided to ask one more question. “So if you have a split personality, wouldn’t you just turn at random intervals?” he looked at the road then at me. “No, only certain things trigger this” “and what are those things?” a sudden look of worry washed over his face. “That’s what scares me. I know it has something to do with you, but I don’t know what you did to trigger this.” A final silence before I ask another question that doesn’t pertain to the situation “what kind of gun is that?” I say, pointing to the pistol that is in the bag. He keeps his eyes on the road and replies. “My dad got it at a gun show in Denver. It’s a Smith and Wesson Model .500. it was worth about four hundred dollars when he personalized it with a molded hand grip and an extended Mag release.” I wasn’t totally lost. I knew quite a bit about fire arms. “He only shot it five times before he put it away. Said the recoil was a bitch, he sprained his wrist once.” We continued to drive. Soon we passed a sign that said ‘Now Entering Colorado’ I looked around at the changing topography and got lost in the changing scenery as it pasted by, silently.



. . .

Manhattan, New York.

“Wind speed” “umm ten miles an hour” “Temperature” “Forty five degrees” “Distance” “about 1,700 meters” “adjusting” “you need to aim about two mils left of the target” “adjusting” “and about one mil above the target” “Adjusting.” The target is stationary ‘thank god’ “go ahead, fire” I squeeze and sudden recoil pounds my shoulder and a bang causes my ears to ring. The target falls and the glass shatters ‘good. now they can’t determine where the bullet came from.’
New York is capped with snow as I make my way to my hotel parking lot. I’m not much known anywhere, the only people who know me are far away and they don’t even know where I am, just the way I like it. No connections, No risk.
I’ve always contemplated the idea of taking ones life; I just never considered that any of them actually made a difference in life or death. I’m not part of an organization, just an individual hit man. I don’t work for the people who employ me, they work for me. Because all I need for a successful hit is a time and local. My ‘employer’ always sets a time and location for my pay. And if they get cocky then, well let’s just say that they will forever be separated from his/her family by six feet of dirt.
My hotel room is about average size, with one king-sized bed and two large pillows that are covered by the blanket. I never use my real name for anything that requires a name. The only thing I do have in my real name is my birth certificate, but I keep a good eye on that. I walk over to the bed and lie down. The bed is rather soft, too soft. I sit back up and look at my oversized suit case, which I use for both carrying clothes and transporting my rifle. I get up and walk over to it, dial in my safety code and open the latches on either side. There are two sides to my suit case, the side closest to me is for clothes and the other side is for my rifle. I open the other side and look at my rifle. It’s in three pieces; the stock, the main frame of the gun and the 47” barrel. I take out all the pieces and set them on the bed. My rifle is a beefed up version of the CheyTac Intervention. But this one, I fitted with a special .50 caliber bolt and a widened barrel to accommodate a larger bullet. I also have a 12” suppresser so it sounds like a pebble bouncing of a plate glass window. I sit down beside all the pieces and clean all of then one at a time.
After I finish cleaning my rifle I put it away and try to catch some sleep after being up for three days straight.




. . .

“Tell me where the hell they are” George demands “how the hell would I know where they are?” Jessica replies. “Because you his damn mother. Now don’t get me pissed or I’ll make you look like Me.” he pointed o the five inch scare on the side of his face. “I don’t know where he would of gone. He never talks to us like he wants to run away” Tom replies “Okay then, I tried to ask but I guess I need to get desperate.” He pulls out his revolver and empties all but one shell. “We are going to play a game.” He puts the rest of the bullets in his pocket, spins the cylinder and flicks the mag into the receiver and pulled the hammer back. “Every time you tell me what I don’t want to hear, a part of you gets blown off, okay?” A wicked, evil smile stretched across his face. “Now, where are they at?” he pointed the gun at Tom’s right foot paw. “I don’t know” he pulled the trigger but there was just a ‘click’ and he reset the hammer and asked again. “Where are they at?” Tom said “God I don’t know” he pulled the trigger again but still there was a click. He again reset the hammer and asked the same question again. “where are they at?” this time the gun was pointed at his left knee. “I don’t know for Christ sake” he pulled the trigger. Tom’s ears went deaf for a second and pain rippled his entire body but most of his entire knee was engulfed in red hot pain. “God damn it, holy fuck” he took a peek at his knee but all he saw was red. The pain itself was to much to bear and every thing went black.
Jessica looked at Tom if a horrible disbelief at what just happened. George had shot her husband, who was now passed out, and now loading another bullet into the cylinder and loading the gun, this time he didn’t spin it. “where are they at?” he asked, the gun barrel resting on her head. She gave up the charade and said. “his brother” George asked “who is his brother?” “Ron” “where does he live” she looked into Georges eye’s and said. “Manhattan. Manhattan New York” he backed away and called in the paramedics who were in the other room. He went outside of the interrogation room and into his office. He sat down and made a long-distance call.




. . .

I jolt awak from the phone ringing. I look at the caller ID and its from a the WYPD. ‘Oh shit’ I instinctively pick it up and say “Hello?” “Logan?” “Speaking” “I have and assignment for you” I sit up, intently listening for any one that might be in the Background. “Who is this?” “Do you remember me, the names George” my eyes grow wide at the familiar voice and name.