Warrior413
12 Feb 2005, 06:45 AM
It was a dark night, as black as the heart of a Southern senator. Rain was pouring down so hard it was as if God had twenty-seven cups of coffee that morning. The only thing you could see on that grim night was a shadow lounging on the corner. It was Harry McKillen. And he had a job to do, that very night.
Finally, the last light in the old apartment building across the street slowly flickered out like the beating heart of a puppy hit by a car. All was quiet. Now was his chance. Harry slowly sauntered across the street, taking care to not attract attention. To an untrained observer he was merely an alcoholic bum, making a living by stopping pedestrians and threatening to urinate on their shoes if they didn't pay him a dollar. But in reality, Harry McKillen was a well-trained assassin schooled in the arts of silent killing and post-modernism. He also has several cats. In any event, this deadly beast of a man of a bum made his way to the entrance of the Roderick Hillenstoff apartment complex.
His concealed and silenced pistol was firmly held in his hand, inside his trenchcoat (which he bought on sale for $39.99 at The Well Dressed Agent only two months prior) as he slowly opened the door. His target was Jeramiah "Two Hands" Johnston, who was a drug runner while playing as a part-time drummer with the country music band Johnny Reb and the Triple Kays. At this time no one was awake, and McKillen silently walked up the stairs to room 211, dodging with ease the skateboard precariously positioned at the top of the staircase. His hand firmly grasped the handle and pulled do-. Shit. It was locked.
McKillen looked for his pick-pocketing kit... then realized he left them in his other pair of pants. He thought to himself, "Don't worry McKillen. We've been through these situations before, we just gotta deal with it. Yes, well that's quite all right for you to say, you're not here. Yes I am, as are you. Oh... right." Having made up his minds, Harry then knocked loudly on the door. "Room service!" After a minute he heard from inside... "Wha'? It's four in the morning!" Harry thought quickly. "Yes, but I have mints for your pillows. They're... uh... quite good. Chocolatey. Yes, yummy... in fact I think I just might eat them all up right here!" Jeramiah quickly ran to the door and opened it up. "Wait, I want min-..."
He was staring into a barrel of a gun.
To Be Continued... (?[Er, well I might as well.{It's not like I have any particular reason not to.}])
Well... I had one of my bursts of random creativity a little bit ago... this was originally going to be a journal entry but the site went down a half hour ago.
Finally, the last light in the old apartment building across the street slowly flickered out like the beating heart of a puppy hit by a car. All was quiet. Now was his chance. Harry slowly sauntered across the street, taking care to not attract attention. To an untrained observer he was merely an alcoholic bum, making a living by stopping pedestrians and threatening to urinate on their shoes if they didn't pay him a dollar. But in reality, Harry McKillen was a well-trained assassin schooled in the arts of silent killing and post-modernism. He also has several cats. In any event, this deadly beast of a man of a bum made his way to the entrance of the Roderick Hillenstoff apartment complex.
His concealed and silenced pistol was firmly held in his hand, inside his trenchcoat (which he bought on sale for $39.99 at The Well Dressed Agent only two months prior) as he slowly opened the door. His target was Jeramiah "Two Hands" Johnston, who was a drug runner while playing as a part-time drummer with the country music band Johnny Reb and the Triple Kays. At this time no one was awake, and McKillen silently walked up the stairs to room 211, dodging with ease the skateboard precariously positioned at the top of the staircase. His hand firmly grasped the handle and pulled do-. Shit. It was locked.
McKillen looked for his pick-pocketing kit... then realized he left them in his other pair of pants. He thought to himself, "Don't worry McKillen. We've been through these situations before, we just gotta deal with it. Yes, well that's quite all right for you to say, you're not here. Yes I am, as are you. Oh... right." Having made up his minds, Harry then knocked loudly on the door. "Room service!" After a minute he heard from inside... "Wha'? It's four in the morning!" Harry thought quickly. "Yes, but I have mints for your pillows. They're... uh... quite good. Chocolatey. Yes, yummy... in fact I think I just might eat them all up right here!" Jeramiah quickly ran to the door and opened it up. "Wait, I want min-..."
He was staring into a barrel of a gun.
To Be Continued... (?[Er, well I might as well.{It's not like I have any particular reason not to.}])
Well... I had one of my bursts of random creativity a little bit ago... this was originally going to be a journal entry but the site went down a half hour ago.