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Monday, May 16, 2011


At night, the desert can become so quiet that one can esily hear footsteps on the sand. But I relaxed as soon as I heard Jacinto's whistling. He walked up to the top of the dune and sat down beside me.

"Again you're sulking in a corner. Tell me, Lurch, why do you always run off to some lonely dune on an almost nightly basis?"

Because there is a very good chance that your campsite could turn into one giant nasty bloodstain on the sand because of 'me'.

"I like silence."

"Silence. Of course. Anyways, I thought you'd appreciate a, ah, stimulus for your thought process in this jolly silence of yours." He said, drawing out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from a bag slung on his shoulder.

I grinned. "Why not?"

The liquor was cheap, but getting a bottle of booze in the middle of the desert is pretty much a freakin' miracle to itself, so I'm not complaining. What did suck is that the British have a habit of becoming complete bastards when they're drunk.

"I know you said that you'll never answer this, but I have to ask,"

See? Bastard.

"How in blazes did you end up in the middle of the desert? And alone? Unlikely. Who were you with, Lurch? What happened to them?"

I looked at him gravely. "I come from an alternative future, one where what's left of humanity has been enslaved by radioactive, mutated cattle, who can also fly. I have been sent back in time by the last free state of Man to this time-line, so that I can ensure that the forces of evil cattle may be reduced to juicy beef, once and for all!"

"By God!" Jacinto exclaimed. "I knew you were the savior! I knew I wasn't the only one to think that time was the only way to escape the rule of Empress Bessie!"

My face went blank. "What?"

The Old Dog grinned slyly. "Drunk, Lurch. Not stupid."

"Look, I've told you that its not something I want to talk about. I'm grateful for your help, and I"ll do anything I can to repay you. But don't ask me questions I can't answer."

I took another swig and leaned back, staring up at the stars. They're ridiculously clear at night, and they cover the desert sky like strings of diamonds.

"They never change."

I turned to see Jacinto looking up as well.

"The Earth will always change. It may be too slow for us to notice, but the ground is always in motion, always shifting its shape, its form. But the stars never change. They will always be silent, always be bright. Unless, of course, one of them falls on us and kills us all. But I don't think that will happen anytime soon."

"Whiskey getting to you, Jacinto?"

He took his monocle off and began polishing it with the end of his shirt, talking only once he had put it back on.

"We had a good day today. Found a six foot statue of Anubis, almost nearly intact. By tomorrow, we'll know when it was from. The team from Brazil found some new inscriptions on a wall. The problem is, half the wall is missing, and what is left is also terribly damaged. The value of the wall won't be much if they can't figure out whats written on it."

He turned around to look at me. "The point is, Lurch, that all of us know what we're doing here, we all have a goal, a purpose. What is yours, my friend? Why don't you find something for yourself to do?"

"Not much variety in a desert." I mumbled.

"Don't joke. You know what I mean. All you do now is just sit silently. Even if someone tries to strike conversation with you, they might as well be talking to the air of to their toes for all the good it will do. You don't help anyone or offer to work around the sites, not that I'm saying you should. But it would be healthy, it would be nice, if you could even talk to someone!"

"I don't need sympathy."

"Well, you walk around like you're screaming for it."

I rose to my feet, finally fed up. "The rest of the world doesn't seem to give a damn, Jacinto, so why the hell do you care so much?"

The old man stared at me simply. "Because, Lurch, I am your friend."

I... I couldn't tell him that a friendship with me would end in his death. Not that I knew it at the time, but it was obvious to me even then that it was the only was it could turn out. Because sooner or later, everything around me just lead to that. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if I only killed my birth-parents, I just didn't know it at the time. I can't be with people, can't take help from them and definitely can't given to them. And here was a man, who just wanted to that, justed wanted to help, but there was just no way I could explain it to him.

So I picked up the bottle and poured us another round. With me, its obvious by now that I haven't got much to live for. So I have to take these moments as I get them, and then just hope for the best. I know that's a bit naive, but its all that I have.

The bottle ended, and as always I had to dunk a snoring Brit into a bucket of water before dumping his ass on his cot. But sleep didn't come to me yet. Drunk out my wits, all I could do was lie on the dunes, feeling the slight warmth of the sand seep through my back as I stared up at the stars.

See? Thanks to me your capacity for booze went up. And then you say I've done nothing good for you, that really hurts my feelings you know.

You made me an alcoholic.

Nah, I think you pretty much did that to yourself before I came into the picture. The difference is that know you're a good alcoholic.

... What the hell is a good alcoholic?

You should know, you are one.

I don't even know why I'm telling you this. Jacinto's dead, and me telling you about him isn't going to change that.

That's where you're wrong, buddy. It will. The magical wish-fairies will hear your stories and make all the bad things go away. Then you and Jacinto will be happy again as you dance through the dunes, eh?

Don't go there. I know its my fault that he's dead, you don't need to rub it in.


... and more than half of it is because you went and got Jacinto killed.

You bastard. You go and out me through hell, and then you think you can pin this on me and get away with it?   I can't even believe you would-

I'm not trying to get away with anything. You killed the one person I saw as a friend, and I hate you for that. Nothing more, nothing less. I hate you otherwise as well. But I really hate you for that.

I... where did we leave off?

... Toronto.

Canada? We're still in freakin' Canada? Oh god, no one spends so much time there. I got into Toronto, and stayed there long enough to get money for a ticket out. But where to? I think I just wanted to go and get some R&R, I really needed it.

Surprisingly, I agreed at the time.

No, you fucking lied to me.

No, seriously, I actually agreed with you at the time. How was I supposed to know my mind would change by the time we reach Thailand?

Really? And is that why half of Bangkok is now DEAD?!

... possibly.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011


I looked around me once to check. The security guard had just turned around the corner. Behind me, the camera was still aimed directly on the picture, and there were still a bunch of tourists. But that didn't matter any more.

My bladder was ready.

My hands shot out and grabbed the frame. As alarms blared out, I lifted it of the stand and slammed the Mona Lisa to the ground. The glass shattered after the third hit. I saw the first two guards run in and shot them both in the thighs. The next one got in the chest. I didn't have time to aim, as I was fiddling with my zip.

The coast was clear. And then...



I gave my willy a little shake to get rid of the last drops, and couldn't help but smile as the piss soaked through the painting. By now, the barriers had come all the way down, but it didn't matter. I reached into my pouch and pulled out a pen. One click, then two more, then one more and I threw it at the wall.


No more wall. Heh, had to thank Moni for that Birthday present. Passes any kind of security check.

I ran through the hole and down the corridor, towards the staff stairwell. One the way, I ran into a few more guards. I tackled into the first one, sending the two of us sprawling onto the ground. Even before we hit the floor, my fist had caved his temple in. I then got up to catch a police baton, pulling the guard in and using him as a man shield against a series of tasers.

My fingers still tingling, I reached into the now unconscious guard's belt and pulled out his own taser, zapping one guard in the neck and another in the face before I carried on running.

At that point... 

Argh! What the hell. Where am-

Yeah, I got jolted in the ass and he got loose for a moment. But I kicked him back inside and carried on. I turned around and pulled out a tiny knife that I had managed to smuggle in, and threw it into the last guard's right eye.

And then finally, the entrance to the stairwell was in front of me. Once in, I ran up to the lower basement, jumping into the hummer I had ready and parked. Lovely little tank a hummer is, its like they made it for breaking through roadblocks. Which I was doing as I was hastily wearing the scuba gear I had stowed in the side seat.

Roadblocks are really fun by the way. Two to  three cars and about half-a-dozen stupidly suicidal cops. I mean, these guys don't even use a spike strip. You think doing it on a T.V. screen is fun (not that I'm saying it isn't) but come on, try it in REAL LIFE. Its something else.  

Breaking through another one (yay!), I finally had the Seine in sight. The Seine by the way, is France's competition to the Thames, which I personally think is a way classier river. Trust me, I've been in both.


I shouldn't have said that, it kinda ruined it.

So long story short, I crashed the hummer into the Seine and then swam away before the cops would figure out where I had gone. I know I make this sound easy, but trust me, with the French it actually is.

Good times.

I've come to realize something. He hates me a lot, he really does. I... well, so do I. And he wants to kill me and I-

And I...

I don't know about that any more.

If I kill him, then whose button do I push. Who else's life could I completely destroy and then sit back and watch the fireworks? If I try someone else, then I know they will die under the pressure. Cause I will kill them. 

But him? I can't kill him. I need him. I need the freakin' bastard cause at the end of the day, he can still throw a joke, even if it sucks. And if he's not there, then who am I better than? You?

Of course I'm better than you.

But he. He can be a challenge sometimes. And every time I do something, it always is fun. He's never let me down that way.

I need him?

Fuck this, I don't know what the hell I'm saying. Just, just shut and let me...


He's in the room right now, and I know I can keep him in there for at least a few more hours. But you can not tell him anything I just told you. You can not.

You have to promise me.

Or I'll kill you.

I can't? Try me.

(gun clicks, trigger pulled, shot is fir-)





Hi! Let's hope you weren't as irritating as the last guy.... guess we have a lot to catch up on. Long story short...

Ah, I don't have time for this.

(gun clicks, trigg-)

Hey! Look at this! The first guy's still alive! Hold on, let me patch him up a bit, I think we can save him. That way I won't have to waste time explaining everything to you. 

Come on, get over hear. Now hold this right there, yeah don't let it go.


Good job! You'd make a nurse proud. Let me know when he's conscious, then I can carry on.





You're good? You can here me? Are you fine? Excellent. Well I guess that means we don't need this guy anymore.

(gunshot, body falls)

Now, where were we?

Oh yeah. Well, the truth is that this guy means something to me after all. I couldn't let him die because I needed him. And now, even though I could try to get rid of him, I don't wanna. I mean, I want to, but at the same I don't want to.

You get me?

Sigh, of course you don't. Just go and get some sleep. You look like you need it.

Sunday, March 6, 2011


Buenos Aires.

The second largest metropolitan city in all of South America and the capital of Argentina, the ankle of the world. The skyline looks damn beautiful at night. And here I'm standing on a barge in the middle of the Rio de la Plata, watching the waves kiss the shoreline as fireworks erupt gloriously across the sky.

What a night. 

The entire city, each and every building, is lit up like its a fucking competition. I can only hear the sounds of the waves hitting the side of the barge, and from the distant city, I can hear faint noises of a celebration, cheers and music that reach all the way to my ears. Argentina loves football, and a home win is always throws the city into ecstasy.

I heard footsteps as the katsa walked up to me, handing me a H&G. I cocked it, checked the sights once. The gun was perfect. Ready.

The katsa gave a patient sigh. "For once, Michael, use discretion. Not everyone we come across has to die."

"If they don't die," I lied, "Then they might tell anyone about us, who we look like. I can't take that chance."

The katsa frowned. "Why don't I believe you then?"

"That's not my concern. When do we leave?"

"The locals are parading their football team through the streets of the city. Many people are about, much celebration. We will need discretion and subtlety, Michael."

I ignored him. "The target?"

"Fredrick Ulrich is currently located in the Teatro Colon, attending an opera that is too end in another forty-seven minutes. He will then proceed to board his vehicle, a Rolls Royce Phantom, and will drive towards his safe-house. Given the current celebrations, there are five possible routes that his vehicle can take. We currently have scouts on each route. Once we have determined his choice, the strike team will move out and execute the mission."

"Execute the mission." I smiled. "Understood."

"We are not here to kill Ulrich, Michael. We are to transport him back to Israel where he will be held under trial for his crimes."

"After which you'll declare him guilty and spend three days thinking of the most creative way to kill him. He's going to die anyways, might as well save the cost of an extra flight ticket."

The katsa stayed silent. I turned around and looked back at the sky-line. The hypocrisy sickened me, but fuck it, who am I to judge?

Eight minutes later, he was back.

"We've got the signal. We need to move."


Two minutes later, a raft sped away from the boat, skimming over the waves. In it were four men, lightly armed, but ready to take on an army. The raft reached the shore and the four men got out, walking briskly up the beach and to the nearest road, where two bikes were parked and waiting. Coincidently, two of these four men each had a key that perfectly fitted in these bikes.

As we sped down the freeway, the voice in my receiver directing me where to go, I checked my Colt once. I had given the gun a quick clean on the barge, and I could see the barrel, in its holster, shining in the streetlight. Ah, my gun looks so damn beautiful.

Another right turn took us into thicker traffic. This was the road Ulrich's car was on, I could see the Phantom in the distance. We came closer and closer and I began to slow. I could feel a slight wobble as the katsa behind me stood up, grabbing onto my shoulders for support. Just as we reached the car he leapt, landing on the roof of the vehicle. The next second, the Phantom jumped forward in a burst of speed, and the katsa on top was almost blown off, gripping the sides of the roof at the last frickin' moment.

Revving the bike, I burst forward, dodging a bunch of cars and a truck filled with happy drunks, that took me right in front of the speeding Phantom. With almost no time left, I jumped.

And landed on the bonnet of the damn car.

Jumping of a bike and on a speeding car is not fun. But then again, compared to swimming under ice and crashing into a super-tanker, it kinda fits right in.

My feet had landed on the bumper for just enough time for me to plant my arms on the cars window-vipers, planting me flatly across the car's entire hood. The next second I looked up to see the driver raise a nasty looking pistol aimed right at my face. The second after that, I had to duck my head as the other katsa bike drew up on his side, and turned his head into pulp in a nasty burst of machine gunfire, along with the entire side window and windshield. I smiled a thanks and reached through the broken glass and grabbed the wheel. Ulrich had a panel between him and the driver, so I couldn't see shit beyond the driver's seat. 

I looked up to see the katsa on reach down for the handle of the car door as he tried to get it open. Just as his hand gripped the handle, the window he was leaning on burst in shards and bullets flew out, tearing his body to shreds. Now dead, the body just fell of the car on rolled onto the road, before a truck ran over it.

So Ulrich was armed, fine.

This is where the cool spy stuff comes in. If they know I told you this, they'd probably kill me. Then again, if they know I'm alive, then they'll probably wanna kill me either way, so I might as tell ya. They have this little device, shaped like a squash ball, that explodes and shoots this sticky goo everywhere. What this goo does, see, is that when it gets attached to any gun, then the damn thing clogs completely. You can't fire off a single round. 

I pulled one out of a pouch one my side after I slid through the window and into the driver's seat. I noticed the panel had a little door in it. I opened it and through the ball in before slamming it shut again.  A second later, a heard a slight pop, followed by a shout of anger. I smiled and drove on the other bike pulling up beside me as the katsa sitting shotgun jumped onto the side of the car and quickly got in. I felt some thuds behind me and some muffled shouting. Then silence, before someone tapped on the door panel.

I opened it and looked behind to see the same katsa from the barge's eyes looking back at me.

"The target has been subjugated."


He moved away as I slammed on the breaks, drawing the Royce to a halt. I got out, cocked the Colt, and pulled the door open, butting the gun against Ulrich's temple.

"Good evening, Ulrich. How was the show?"     

Thursday, March 3, 2011


Do you know what is in my hands? Yes, its a newspaper. Please let me read out to you what it says. The title is...



Well done.


No, no please tell me. Tell me the reasons for your latest escapade. A supertanker's entire crew killed off for what reason exactly? You were bored? You were horny? Just what was it exactly?

They needed to die.


... I take it you're not in a good mood.

Money... Money I can understand. But these men were innocent, they had done nothing wrong. WHY THE HELL DID THEY HAVE TO DIE!!!

Because if I hadn't, then I would have killed us instead.


Yes, yes I swear to God I would have. I need to kill, I fucking need to. And I'll do anything to kill someone, through anyways possible. Its a kick for me asshole, to know that I snuffed out that life, that I was the one who made that heart finally stop beating. I ENDED A LIFE! And that is the ultimate for me. I live to kill. And I'll never stop. I never will. As long as I'm there in this room, as long as we share this, I will kill. 

I will.

You're insane.

No, I'm just trying to have a good time. And Alaska was indeed a good time.

A boxing match with a grizzly bear is not my idea of a good time. Neither was the avalanche.

Ah, you're just cranky from all our time in the wild. We came back stronger from it.

Stronger? I never wanted to spend over year running through forests in the first place! Humans are built for cities, not the fucking wild! If even once during that time if I had taken control-

But you didn't.

And if I had any say in what you did-

But you didn't.

And the worst was that I could have prevented the whole thing in the-

But you-



Thank you.

I woke up on the side of a mountain, my body frozen and half covered in snow. A blizzard raged all around me, the wind trying hard to wrench me off the mountainside. I was covered in a fur coat, that was the only thing keeping me-

Wait, the fur coat.

Yeah, about that. 

The grizzly gave a single low grunt, before the bastard charged forward, spittle flying from its fucking jaws. I put two bullets in its chest, but that didn't slow it down in the slightest. I rolled right at the last minute, and the damn thing crashed into the tree behind me, at that time, I whipped out my knife and rammed it till the hilt into its back. I could feel the blade nick the spine, and smiled. 

The nest second the fucker turned around and swiped me in the chest. The wind kicked out of me,

You cracked a rib.

I cracked a rib. Oh yeah, and flew flying backwards before I passed out.

You did. That was where I came in. Waking up to a mad grizzly trying to kill you. That's in the top five. Easily.

Top five?

Top five of the most fucked-up situations you gotten me into. This makes number 3.

You're an asshole.

But seriously, a grizzly?. If some animal, then why not a raccoon or something like that? But no, we get grizzly on the menu. Main fucking course.

I scramble to my feet and draw the colt again. This time I pump the entire magazine into it. The beast lets out a roar of pain and stumbles. Once. Then its back on its feet again, just as fast. Now I'm running through the forest, and I can hear that bastard running behind me. Its catching up. Few more minutes and I'd be fucked.

Then I saw salvation. A tree, with branches low enough for me to climb. I was halfway up in seconds, and then looked down.

That bastard was right behind me. Yes, I knew bears can climb, but when one is chasing you down, you're brain doesn't really have time for general knowledge. His claws were about to rip out my leg when I jumped off and fell to the ground. I let out a scream as I felt my ankle snap. I fell to my knees gritting my teeth in pain. I could feel the ground shudder as the bear fell to the ground behind me. I couldn't do anything, me leg was on fire. The bear had me.

I turned around, and the bear's head was right there beside me, its glassy eyes staring sightlessly at me. At first I didn't understand, but then I saw the blood staining the grass around it and I realized. With all that adrenaline, the bear's heart had pumped out enough blood through it's wounds to finally kill it.

Bear killer! Hurrah!

Shut up. But why the hell was the bear attacking us in the first place?

I threw a rock at it.

You through a... YOU THROUGH A ROCK AT IT?! YOU FUCKING- ah, I shouldn't really expect anything else by now. But what the hell were we doing in a forest.

Hmm... let's see... After crashing the supertanker into the port, I fled to the city, grabbed some stuff, killed some folks, and then hit it for the woods.

So anyways, you killed the bear, then I'm guessing you spent a few days before I came back?

Almost three weeks. I nearly starved a couple of times and was lost. Came across a bunch of weird looking berries, wasn't sure if I should have eaten them or not. But just as I was about to bite one, a moose came and ate a bunch of 'em. The next moment it heaved over and died. I decided to throw the berries away.

Good choice.

Where did the mountains come from?

Saw 'em on the horizon. They looked kinda cool. So why not? I reached there in a month, trekked alongside a river that lead all the way up till the hills. From there, just made my way higher and higher.

So you could kill us.

No, because up there, above the rest of this crap and bullshit I finally found a place of silence, where I was forced to survive in one of the harshest places on this mud ball. I did it, even you bloody did.

This made us stronger.

I almost died of hypothermia. Fell on the climb back down. Fractured an arm. Still somehow, I made it. Our left arm never set after that, you know. The last three fingers never set back straight. And the avalanche, oh, the avalanche.

I was walking down the side of a mountain which decided to fall of the mountain. I was swept across hundreds of feet in a flurry of snow, before an especially hard piece knocked my out. When I came too,only my fucking feet were sticking out. It took hours for me to get out, and still I was half delirious when I finally crossed the snow-line.

I do not see 'stronger' in this.

Which is why I will always be the better of us.

The only reason we're still alive is because of those lumberjacks who found us. And once we're healed, you hack them to pieces with their own axes.

Don't you see the irony in it?

Irony my ass. You and the Joker should get a room.

Probably, but then you'd have to watch.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


The clouds had become grey. And the wind had picked up.

Blackthorn hadn't cracked a single joke all day, and every sailor seemed in a frenzy. The storm had kicked up more than just a notch, and was bearing down strong on us. We were still on the edge of the storm, but it was definitely catching up to us. Watkins was nervous as well, but the storm wasn't the only reason.

"We're less than a thousand miles away from the coast of Mexico." He explained. "In time, the storm will blow over our course and onto the mainland, where it will eventually disperse. But," He pointed to the map. "We're damn close to the coast, which means we're in Pirate territory. And the last thing I need on top of this storm is a couple of gunships to deal with."

Within five hours, the weather had worsened considerably. It had started to rain, and the supertanker was now being gently swayed by the swells that crashed alongside it.

That was when the Pirates came. Three mother fucking gunboats that came skimming over the waves, now much higher than before. We saw them well before-hand, and the crew was ready. Alarms rang out, and each sailor dashed in turns to the armory, returning equipped with armor and rifles. Watkins met up with me in the middle of the fray.

"You'll be needing it." He grimly said as he handed me my Colt, along with an M16 rifle and a kevlar jacket.

"I trust you know how to use the gun."

I cocked the rifled and aimed down the sight. "I'll manage."

As they came closer, the gunboats split up, two heading port side while the third drew up on starboard. As soon as them came in range, they began to firing. The rifles carried by the pirates weren't as much of a threat as the twin 50mm canons mounted on each ship. They punched holes through the weaker sections of metal, and already three men had been hit. We fired back salvos from both ends, taking out a few men on each ship. I looked down the deck to see one sailor aim a grenade launcher at one of the ships on port side.

With a dull whup, the grenade sailed straight onto one of the cannons blowing the weapon and the pirate handling it apart. The sailor let out a whoop of joy, right before he was hit twice in the chest and once through the face.

Carefully aiming, I shot the pirate who had killed him, before aiming at another ship and shooting another pirate. The port side of the supertanker was under hell. The sailors were not soldiers, and as all rushed to aid the port side, our starboard flank was left clear open.

Which is exactly what the pirates were banking on.

By the time I had realized this, almost a dozen pirates had already climbed onto the ship via grappling cables, and laid down a devastating surprise attack, taking out at least ten men in one wave.

Those idiots deserved to die. First rule of war: always guard your rear.

But from the tower came another salvo, and without any cover, the pirates were quickly moved down. I looked up to see Watkins with a group of sailors staring down from the windows, the rifles of their barrels still smoking. Blackthorn gave me a cheeky wave, before his head disappeared.

And this...


This is my favorite part of the story. The part where I come out and you go back into the room. 

The second my eyes opened, I raced for the starboard side. The grappling hooks of the pirates were still hanging from the side of the ship. I didn't even hesitate as I grabbed one of the cables and swung down, landing in a neat crouch on the pirate ship. My Colt was up before I was. Three shots, three dead pirates before I jumped for cover.

Oh boy, I was so happy to finally have people I could go God-of-War on. Blinking the rain out my eyes, I ran forward, taking two more down with shots to the head. I reached the entrance to the cabins just as another pirate was running out of it. My open fist caught him in the throat just as a wave hit the ship, and I used the jolt to tackle him to the ground. I then crushed his windpipe with my boot, before running in. The deck had only one pirate left, who came charging at me with a machete. I ducked under a swipe at my head, and caught the next slash on the barrel of my rifle. I  then head-butted him. I still remember the sound of his nose breaking, followed by a howl of pain, cut short by a quick round of bullets pumped into his gut. 

I pistol-whipped him for good measure as well.

Now the ship was mine, just as I had planned. I had seen enough of Blackthorn at the wheel, and knew enough to pilot the ship. But doing it through what were now thirty-foot swells was another matter. It took every fuckin' thing I had in me to turn that bloody wheel around and bring the ship to heel. Worse, the waves were bringing me dangerously close to the side of the supertanker. If I hit that, it would have been like a bike going head on into a pick-up truck.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, I was flipping, I was. But man oh man, you had to have been there. Its fucking pouring so badly that I can barely see past waves that are now bigger than the ship you're piloting, each one drenching the open deck in sheets of water that then spill of the sides, only to come pounding back with as much force. But it was something else, knowing that it was just me going out with everything I had against the one enemy I knew I could never kill.

Somehow, I steered the ship around and took it behind the rear of the supertanker, until I was drawing up to the other two gunships. The battle was still going on, though the amount of fire from the Mexicans had gone down, as the bastards were now also having to concentrate on staying afloat.  

I carried on, steadily pushing forward, increasing speed. The ship was now straining its engines as I seemed to leap of the waves, rising up with a slight bounce on the crest of a huge wave. Higher and freaking higher until the entire boat rose from the sea on the back of this mother-fucker of a wave. For one minute I looked to my side, and out the window I could actually see Watkins staring out at me from the tower of the supertanker, his mouth fallen to the floor in shock. I gave him a weak smile before I looked forward just to see where this wave was taking me.

Of course, it had to be right on top of one of the other gunships.

Imagine a being hit by a hundred ton boat with a side dish of a gazillion tons of sea water. My ship went straight through theirs, driving straight into its port side at over a 100 kmph. I practically went through them. Cut in half, the remains bobbled shakily before they were swallowed by the next wave.

I remember gulping. Because now came the tricky part.     

You could have always stayed on the supertanker, there was no bloody need for this.

Are you mad? Out there in the middle of all of that, knowing I could die any second... I'd never felt more alive. I was shivering in fear, could've pissed in my pants right there and then. God, I was so scared and I loved it, loved every shiver, every thought. It was like a fucking high, and what a high at that. The fear of death does that to you kid, you experienced it too. The only difference is I don't cry about it later like a little girl.

Fuck you.

Anyways, my boat was now pretty fucked as well. Parts of it were missing, and not non-important parts but very important ones. My boat was now moving about more because of the waves it was riding instead of its own engine, each crest sending me soaring to the sky before we'd come crashing down again. How that little boat held out for so long I'll never fucking know.

Oh fuck, I still get chills thinking about it.

My boat was going to collide with the supertanker, on the forward port side of the ship. I could see no other option. Hell, I wasn't really even driving anymore. But as each wave took me higher and lower and closer and closer, I finally realized what the fuck I had to do.

I exited the control room and headed back outside, gripping the side of the gunboat with everything I had. The side of the supertanker was less than fifty feet, no thirty feet away. I could feel a surge starting as the boat was lifted for the last time. For a second, all I could see was the stormy sky as the boat climbed higher on the back of the wave. Then the deck of the supertanker was in my sights.

Letting go of the guard rail, I ran for my life. It was less than ten steps to the end of the ship. How the fuck I made them, I'll never know. 

But I'll never forget the jump.

As the wave began to pound into the ship, I leapt for safety, fear, glory, whatever the hell you wanna call it. And I made it, I actually did, landing almost feet first on the ship.

But the gunship didn't, and crashed headfirst into the side of the supertanker. The crash threw me off my feet and as the remains of the gunship fell apart, a massive gash opened up in the supertanker, through which gallons of sea water was already pouring through, turning the football sized holds of the ship into what more resembled Olympic sized swimming pools. Already I had to maintain my balance as the ship began to list onto one side.

The next second an angry hand clamped down on my shoulder in an iron grip. I turned around to see that old faggot, Watkins standing there.

"What the hell did you just do?" He screamed. "You just killed us all!" 

"I don't have time for this." I muttered, and shot his twice in the gut. I let him be there and ran onwards, stumbling and falling as I headed for the tower. As I was, I looked out over the sea, just in time to see a massive wave come crashing down on the final gunship. The pirate boat was swallowed without a single trace. I finally reached the tower, but now I had that bitch of a stairwell to climb. Fucking thing nearly killed me, too. A wave slammed into the ship's tower, hurling me over the side and leaving to dangle over a thirty foot drop. But then the next second another wave hit from the other side, knocking me back on. Go figure.

When I finally reached the control room, Blackthorn was the only one there, in a desperate struggle with the wheel.

"Where are the others?" I shouted, gripping a table for support.

"They're down in the holds trying to keep the water out! And do you have any idea where the hell the Captain is?"

"The Pirates got him! He didn't make it."

At once Blackthorn's face fell. His arms hung loosely by his side and the wheel began to rapidly spin without halt.

"The Captain's dead. Wha... I mean..."

I didn't even hesitate as I walked up to him and slapped him the face.

"Control yourself and this ship or else I swear I will kill you." I snarled.

At once he snapped out of it and jumped back onto the wheel, wrestling it back into hold. I stood there right beside him, not moving at all as we rode out the storm.

After three hours, the waves began to recede. Three hours more, and the rain finally stopped. And as the first rays of sunshine finally broke through, I leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor, closing my eyes in exhaustion. Lord, I was tired.

A phone on the console rang. I opened my eyes.

Blackthorn picked it up, and after a short conversation put the phone back down again.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"The call was from down-below." He gave a tired smile. "The pumps are finally pushing the sea water back out into the ocean."

"So the ship is safe?"

"Yes, yes she is."

I gave a tired sigh. "Good. That mean's I can start."

He gave a confused frown. "Start? On what?"


The bullet flew straight through his forehead, bursting out from the other side in a neat hole and a slight mist of blood. His mouth formed a little 'O' of surprise as he pitched backwards and fell to the floor.

I stood up. Stretched. Checked ammo and then headed out. Might as well start sooner then later.

Thursday, January 27, 2011


When I woke up, all I could see was metal. I reached out and touched the metal bunk above me, feeling the steel pressed against my fingers. Then the sound of the sea. The gentle swish of waves pounding away in the same rhythm.

I was in a ship. More specifically, a room in a ship. Of course, I had no idea how I got there. The last thing I remember was a flying hunk of metal screaming down on me. I asked him if he had done anything-

But like I said, I was out too. I don't remember anything as well.

I got out of the bed, taking a moment as the swaying of the ship unbalanced me and almost sent me falling down as well. I stumbled for the door and opened it, which lead to a long metal corridor.

In front of me was a very large man. He stared down at me through dark black eyes with a slight squint, under an equally dark mop of black hair, before nodding at me.

"You're awake. Good. Captain wanted to see you."

"Captain? Is this a ship? Where are we?"

The man had already begun to walk at a rapid pace through the corridor, and I struggled to keep pace and my balance as well as I listened to his answers.

"This here is the Mighty Victory, the largest supertanker built by Yellowmirth Shipping Company. We're on course through the Pacific towards Alaska for refueling. We found you in the water about two days ago nearly dead amongst some debris. Captain Watkins, that's our captain, ordered us to keep you in one of the spare bunks till you're well enough to stand on your own two feet. Once you were fit enough, you're to meet with him straightaway, and that's what we're doing right now."

"Wait, what's your name?"

"Jonathan Smith, second mate to the ship, on loan from the Company's branch in London."

"You're not American?"

"Oh, you could tell, could you? No I'm not one of them Yanks, thank God. Though the Captain is a good 'un, I'm happy to serve under him."

"You don't sound British."

"That's cause I'm not! I'm Scottish! Proud of it, ye hear?"

"I hear."

We had begun to climb a series of metal steps that lead to a huge metal door built into the wall. Smith grabbed the level built into the door and turned around to give me a smile.

"Hope ye enjoy the view."

He turned the handle and pushed open the door as the corridor was flooded with light. I blinked away at the harsh sunlight, rubbing at my eyes. When I could finally see again, I stepped out through the door and stepped onto the deck.

It seemed to stretch on forever. A deck of steel that carried on for hundreds of meters, with a series of pipes running through the center of the deck. A giant sword of steel that pierced through the sea and the sky. I could see men, little ants running around the deck, working on the pipes. I could hear them from the moment I had woken up, but now the sound of the ship's engines were loudly ringing through my years. Hell, I could feel  the vibrations in my feet. Above, the giant dome of blue sky stretched on forever, with a few wisps of white cloud here and there.

I've never been struck breathless, but this was some view.

And the motion. The sensation of not being on terra firma. It takes a while to get used to.

Smith looked at me and tutted. "No sea legs."

Yep, no sea legs.

Shut up.

What? I'm just agreeing with what he said.

"The Captain is waiting for you in the Control room." He pointed behind me. "Up there."

I turned around, and stared up to the top of a massive white tower, several stories high. I blinked, as the portholes and antennae slowly came into sight as well. The control tower for the supertanker was massive, as large as a building, dotted with hundreds of port holes in its walls. The paint of the tower was so bright that the entire tower seemed to shine out loud. Smith's finger pointed to the very top, and then down to an entrance into it. I nodded, and walked inside.

Another sailor helped me to the stairwell, a massive metal green staircase that wound its way all the top floor, like some giant green dragon that hid inside this tower. I began to climb up, counting the floors as I went higher and higher. Outside, I could see the sea staying level with me. I finally reached the top and walked through the entrance to the control room, something borrowed from the Millennium Falcon. But with a fancy wheel attachment. A tall, thin man stood beside it, a single hand on the wheel, the other loose by his side. His back was towards me and he stared out towards the horizon.

"Captain Watkins, I'm assuming?"

The man turned around with a cheeky grin on his face, and burst out laughing. I frowned, confused. He kept on laughing though, now so hard that he had to lean on the wheel beside him for support.

"That's enough, Pilot. The joke's stale now."

"S-sorry cap'," The man was wiping his tears now. "It's just that-"

"And call me Captain, dammit!"

"Yes, sir, Captain sir." He stood up straight and I turned to face the other voice behind me. There was another man seated there, a deep frown etched on his creased face. From his uniform I could tell that he had to be Captain Watkins, but that shirt was hard-pressed to hold back that chest. Watkins was the largest man I had probably ever seen. He was just slightly taller than me, but those arms would have snapped me in half like I was a bloody twig.

I'd kill him in three moves.

The point is, that he was a large fellow. He stood up from his chair and walked up to me, grabbing my hand in one of his giant fists, I shook back, hopping I'd still have my fingers intact.

"I'm Captain John Watkins, the man at the wheel is Pilot Angus Blackthorn, forgive his manners."

"Me manners are fine, Captain, but I hope they always meet your standards."

Watkins bristled, but ignored the comment. He carried on talking to me. "Welcome to the Mighty Victory. We are on route to the Port of Anchorage, Alaska. And while sailing near Cuba, we found you. Well, not just you. Do you remember anything? Your name? Where you were?"

"Adam. Adam Mani, I was... vacationing in Cuba, and we were on a cruise ship that was attacked. I... I don't remember much after then."

Watkins stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, but we found some possessions in the debris alongside you. Perhaps you'd like to take a look at them?"

I slowly nodded. "Yes, yes I would."

He opened a panel in the wall behind him and brought out Stahlien's duffel bag. I gulped.

"Yes, that's mine."

"By the way, we found this on you, I take it it's your's?"

He held my Colt in his hand.

"That's mine as well."

"I thought so. But as you're not a member of my crew, I can't let you have this now, but at the end of our journey. I'll keep it in the Armory till then."


"Pirates, Matey!" Blackthorn shouted from the wheel. "Even in the twenty-first century!"

Watkins grimly smiled. "Yes. pirates. Not just in Somalia but hear, near Mexico as well. We have licensed weapons aboard, and many of us are accomplished marksmen. It pays to be safe."

"Tell me about it."

Watkins was American, all fifty years of it. The man's face was so weather beaten that it seemed like he had been on the seas when you still needed sails and a mast. The other man, Blackthorn, looked like he had run away from Eton to sail a ship. But he must be good enough, otherwise there's no way he'd be given a ship like this to pilot.

"How far is it to Alaska?"

"About four weeks, though maybe a little more. We're expecting a storm ahead."

"A storm?"

"Yes, and a bad one, through nothing that something like this girl can't sail through. Plus, her tanks are empty, so we have no fear from the waves. But it'll slow us down by a day at least."

"But its nothing our Pilot can't take us through." Blackthorn sang out.

"Dammit, Pilot, sail the ship!" Watkins barked. Blackthorn turned around and took hold of the wheel, whistling some tune.

"How far is the Storm?" I asked.

"About a week away, it'll pass through our route and then cross over onto Mexico. There, over the land, it'll spend itself out."

"And its still going on? That's some storm."

"Yes, we've been getting numerous satellite calls from almost every Meteorologist in the world, with every buffoon asking us to send them our weather data for research. They're acting like its a bloody Gold Rush."

You'd know, you probably saw the last one.

"By the way, did you find anyone else in the water near me?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry to say this, but no. After we picked you up, we sent rafts in almost every direction to see if we could find any other survivors. But my men found no one. If you had any loved ones on board, then I'm sorry for your lose."

So the Butcher was finally dead. And with it, so was I again. But I had his bag, and whatever was in it. By the way, most of the money was ruined by the way, some forty thousand was still in usable condition. But the Diamonds were fine, as well as the envelopes.

Which I opened.

Why not? They were now mine.

And Wow. I threw away the envelopes, folded the papers and kept them inside my pocket. As long as I had these papers, I knew that I would never run out of money for as long as I wanted to. All I needed to do was to go to a bank and-

That was the first time I realized.

Then? Seriously? I thought about it the second you opened those papers? That you're not the just only one who just got the keys to the good life?

If... If I knew then-

What I'd do with the money? Yeah, yous should have burned away those papers when you could have. But no, I don't think you would have. Cause you're just as greedy as I am. Yes, yes you are. The only difference there is that I have the balls to go and take whatever I want.

Though I'm impressed with that Nazi. He really stockpiled up. Maybe the Jews taught him something as well.

God help me.

He did, Jackass. Say thank you.

Saturday, January 8, 2011


The fourth blow was overkill. The butt of the rifle smashed into the back of the Katsa's head, breaking his neck. But the third had left his skull caved in, blood oozing from cracks hidden under his dark brown hair. Von Stahlien looked down at the mess that was his face.

"Now, Alonso, was that really necessary? It is fortunate that that we have three more. Hopefully, one of them will cooperate."

The bull named Alonso gulped, and hastily stepped back. I took a glance at the other agents. Their seething eyes never left Von Stahlien, their mouths shut in firm lines.

I gave a tired sigh. "We're from the Mossad, we're supposed to bag you and take you back to Israel."

He looked at me, frowning. "You're not Mossad, are you?"

"Your answer is I'm not Israeli. But I am Mossad."

"That must be quite an honor, a Mossad who is not an Israeli."

"Yeah, some honor."

Von Stahlien blinked at the sarcasm. Then he took out a pistol and shot the other two Katsas in the head. Their bodies were flung back with the force and they hit the polished wooden flooring with dull thuds. Von Stahlien turned to face me again.

"Leave us, and take off his bonds. Keep him unarmed though."

The guards hesitated, but quickly marched out as one knelt to removed the bonds around my wrist, before following the others, closing the double doors behind him. Von Stahlien turned around and sat by the table pouring out two glassed of sherry.

"Sit." He said.

I sat down.

He offered me a glass. "Drink."

I drank it.  

He looked at me from over the top of his glass, his eyes never leaving mine. I only then noticed that they were as blue as Jacinto's. The monocle was still there on its chain around my neck, I could feel its metal rim against my chest. I imagined what the Nazi would look like if he were to wear one. It made me grin.

It didn't escape Von Stahlien. "What is amusing you at a time like this? I am most curious."

"I have a gift, from a... friend of mine. He's somewhat similar a chap to you." I just realized how stupid that sounds. I'm comparing an eccentric archeologist to a Nazi murderer.

Yeah... that is pretty fucking stupid.


So then the old faggot looks at me with this stupid cocky smile, and he actually asks if he could see it! So this jackass takes it off, honestly I don't know why you keep that on you, it only further proves how much of a little girly faggot you are, holding on to an 'item of a lost one'. Makes me wanna puke...

Where was I? Oh yeah, so this ass hands him the monocle and, and holds it in his hands, and then he puts it on!

... Alright, I'll admit that it did look pretty fucking stupid on him.


Even a little a funny.


What? Silent treatment again? You know I'm not eight. Shit, you are stupid.


Anyways, so he puts the monocle on, we have a fucking laugh, and the two glasses become a bottle. I take control, cause this little shit has no capacity at all, and the one bottle goes on to six, and a few lines thrown in as well. Soon we're swapping stories about gasing jews and raping chinks, laughs all around.

"And then, and then, he actually thought for that moment he was finally a free man. It was then, when I shot him in the stomach, blowing a hole through his spine." Stahlien let out a slight chuckle as he finished his sentence. I snorted another line. Shit man I gotta tell you, the Colombians know their shit, they could rule they world through this if they had a little more balls.

"Before the Mossad, I was in China."


"Hong Kong, to be specific. It was the first time I killed a man. Well, not exactly, but the feeling the rush, the kick I got from knowing I had just ended a man's life, with an object smaller than my toenail... it was something else, I knew that I would do anything to have that again, and again and again."

Von Stahlien gave me a knowing smile. "The world as it is right now is no longer... accommodating for people like us. We live in harder times."  

"Sure. Says the man in the golden house."

"A golden house, that is also a beautiful birdcage. I have been here in Colombia for longer than you have been alive, I saw the  fall of Hitler, just as I saw the rise of cocaine before the rest of the world was to be hit by it, I saw the potential. And I went for it, I helped the many cartels, taught them, trained them. Escobar couldn't even take a walk in the park without my advice. Now, I am like a hero amongst them, respected, worshiped. By a land of born murderers. But if I leave Colombia, all I become is a target. Even the vast power of the Cartels cannot protect me, as you have seen from tonight, in their own lands, where would I be if I were beyond them?"

The poor bastard had put serious thought into this, and he knew that by the end of it, he was screwed, not because he couldn't get caught, but because the whole fucking game had changed.

It was like I was looking at my own retirement. Kinda creepy, now if I think about it. Shit, I should have just killed him then, just to put him out of his misery. His gun was on the table next to him, but I was sure that I could reach it before him, or at least go for his neck. But I was like, 'fuck it, the old fart's not so bad'.

"So tell me, how does an Indian who lived in China end up with the Mossad?"

I gulped down the rest of my glass. "Also been to Egypt, England, France, Argentina,that was to snap one of your boys, Italy, Mongolia, boy that was a blast... uh... Oh! Also your ruddy fatherland as well, though I think I've forgotten two or three."

Von Stahlien's eyebrows shot up. "You have been very busy, I see."

I shrugged. "Hate to be bored. Hey, can we go kill some people?"

He frowned. "You want to kill people? Right now?"

"Not immediately. But in say, fifteen-twenty minutes?"

A bewildered looking Nazi wearing a monocle is one of the most retardly hilarious things on this planet. Seriously. I think I must have laughed for five straight minutes.

I jumped out of the jeep before the wheels had come to a halt. Blood still flowed from my shoulder from when the bullet had nicked it, but I didn't care. We had been betrayed by one of our own, and this time they were-

Hold on... Oh, we've come a bit ahead. Sorry about that, get confused a couple of times, lotta things aren't that clear. I thought he had come this far, but its alright, I think I know where he left off.

When one complete psycho finds another complete psycho in the land of almost-psychos, it leads to a beautiful friendship. And by the time I had come back from the room, I was one of the Hermandad and deep into the Cocaine Empire.

The Mossad? Von Stahlien sent back the bodies of the other Katsas, with a note attached saying mine was to be kept as a trophy. The Mossad knew they had to withdraw for the present, and they did.

Heh... Hiel Hitler.

And so I was not stuck in another entirely different mess. Actually, it was pretty much the same as before. There's not much difference between the many espionage agencies in the world and the unlawful brotherhoods they wage war against. Its a vicious circle of sharks in a blood red sea. And I was now stuck in it.

In hindsight, the Cartels were not that different from the Triads either. Both hated the law, both thought they were the greatest, and both always end up dead in very elaborate ways. I fitted right in with them. As for Von Stahlien, he became my greatest drinking buddy. Great bloody conversation when you're drunk, God knows why the Mossad would want to kill him. I mean, once you get to know him, he's not so bad a guy. He's read a lot, and likes to debate a lot of philosophy. I'd reply with reality and sarcasm.

We'd also kill a lotta people, though that was mainly me.

Once in a while he would leave his home, and accompanied by an army of guards, travel to meat with the heads. Most of the time, it'd be Mosquera. The bastard always needed a hand to hold, and Stahlien was more than pleased to give it to him. Stahlien always asked me to accompany him on these meetings. He and I both knew why, and both of us agreed to help him. We did owe for that much.

Screw that, I don't owe him squat. I could have taken care of the Mossad by myself.

By the end of it, we had gotten careless. We all knew that with the smuggling and production routes firmly set, some of the heads had started to think that the Nazi was now not that great of a help. The respected hero was now slowly becoming expendable.

The attack started in two places. Both at Von Stahlien's mansion, and the Convoy we were in. Everyone was in it, even the driver of our jeep. But I had put a bullet in his head before he could even raise his gun, and then kicked the body out of the car and climbed into the driver's seat. They had already started firing from the front and behind, and broken shards of glass were flying around the place. I floored the gas and swerved around the jeep in front, yanking a grenade from the car's armory and throwing it into the driver's window. The explosion sent pieces of metal flying through the air, one took off my side mirror.

I drove on like a mad man, while Von Stahlien crouched in the backseat as Diego fired blindly at the car behind us.

Diego. Von Stahlien's bastard son. The Nazi never married, just had a lot of fun. Some of it caught up to him in the form of a five year old boy, whose mother had just died due to a horrible bus accident. The Nazi took him in and trained him to be a lethal weapon. Though Diego had the same olive skin as any Colombian, his eyes were big and bright blue like his father's, not the usual black squint like the others.

When the ambush had begun, Diego had started firing straight away, mowing two men down as we sped away. He had been hit in the arm as well, but he showed  no sign of pain as he leaned down to check on his father.

"Est├ís bien?"

Von Stahlien nodded, and turned to face me. "Indian. We need to head to my home, now."

I turned around when I heard my name. "Your house? Are you sure? Shouldn't we be rushing for some airfield instead?"

"That can wait." He patiently replied. "I have made arrangements to escape, but we need to go to my house first. There are documents that I need which are most important to me. Please, Indian."

I gritted my teeth, and pulled right down another lane. 

Coming to where we are...

Von Stahlien said the safe was hidden behind the plasma. I winced as the sixty inch screen crashed to the floor in a million pieces. The safe was there, and I punched in the key he gave me. Inside lay two hardbound folders, a pouch that I was told contained diamonds, and some half-a-million dollars in cash. I threw everything inside a duffel bag, and ran back out. Gunfire erupted as I ran down the stairs. The Cartels had caught up with us, but Von Stahlien's guards at his mansion held them back. These men could not have been bought over. While not related like Diego through blood, each man saw the Nazi as a father. They loved him, they would have died for him.

Which is what each of them ended up doing. We sped off in the jeep, rushing for the river, while they did their best to hold back the hundreds of Colombians descending on the grounds. Von Stahlien had a jetty hidden there, known only to him, which was built only a few miles away from where the river opened up into the Pacific. The jetty held one boat, but it was fast enough. No car or boat would be able to follow us. We got of the car and Diego leaped into the speed boat, starting the engines as I helped Von Stahlien climb aboard.

It was around then that the chopper flew right over us peppering the river with a hail of bullets. We all ducked to the floor, but Diego had floored the boat, and the hull was already cutting the water in two clean sheets as the little devil jumped to life. The chopper turned around and began to give chase, taking its sweet time to draw closer.

I shouted at Stahlien. "Give me something to blow it up with!"

He pointed to a cabinet built into the floor of the boat. I opened the trapdoor to see enough weapons to start a Blood Diamond mine. Pulling out the classic RPG, (yes, it's a classic), I knelt, aimed and fired. The rocket flew straight into the chopper's belly, blowing a hole right through it. The result was a flaming ball of metal that flew right out of the sky.

And landed right on top of us.

Monday, January 3, 2011


You know, this point marks a very healthy change in our attitudes towards each other, don't you think? A sort of teamwork? Don't get me wrong, I still want to see your guts in my hands but-

Shut up.

See? You always get touchy about the little things? Its what makes me wanna throw your guts to the dogs after I've just ripped them out, or-

Listen, you need to know that I didn't want this, its just that there really was no other way, and I'd thought of everything. There was no way I could escape from the Mossad. They had me under constant surveillance . Then again, the Mossad had all of its agents under constant surveillance, but I was a 'special case'. I could feel cameras all around me, and somehow, now I just happened to know where they were, just like that.

It's called elite training, you jackass, and you didn't have to run through those training tests, I had to haul our bloody ass across-

I'll admit it now, its probably the only good thing we learnt from the Mossad. We learnt how to survive everything else. In hindsight, you didn't screw up entirely

... Fuck you.

Erich Von Stahlien. 'The Butcher'. Third actually, the first two butchers having had as great careers that have now lead them to the grave. Stahlien, the Mossad felt, was overdue. I... he had done this before, he knew the tricks, he knew everything that would have accomplished the mission, fooled the Mossad, kept us alive. I couldn't trust him, but... what else could I do?

The first time I even suggested it, he flipped! Little cunt started screaming off the top of his head, threatening to blow it off! five seconds later, three guards kick the door open and barge in with hecklers at my head! Paranoid bitch, you are!

But after the second time,

And the third,



No, I think it was after some twenty times... I relented.

You know it was the only was we could live.

I do, but I can't believe I had to sell my soul for it.

Ha! You jackass! ...You did that a long time ago. 

Erich Von Stahlien. I almost forgot about him. By the time Hitler offed himself, Stahlien was already out of the country. He had seen the fall early, and sold out to the Russians, giving up secret stashes of treasures and weapons, totaling up to some 17 million in USD. A lot back then, a hell of a lot. In return, the Russians did him a favor and 'killed' him, then under complete secrecy had the KGB ship him out of Russia and into India, from where he disappeared for some sixty years. Intel had reports of him in South Africa during the seventies and a hit-and-grab was attempted. Failed badly, almost got public. Now he's in Colombia. Intel says he's been there for almost a decade, providing advice and experience to the new-rising cartels.

Stahlien boasted to me that he had been here before Escobar.

Stahlien was smart. Figures he was a Nazi. He knew something was off with us. Saw almost all the way through.

Didn't stop you from shooting him in the head, though, did it?

Nope, not a bit.

Mossad wanted him back in Israel. Alive. It wasn't impossible, it had been done before. Only this time the target was surrounded by one of the most powerful and dangerous criminal organizations in the world. The owners, suppliers and masters of cocaine. The Cartels. With a kilo of pure cocaine selling for $60,000 to $70,000 across the water, the Cartel spend hundred of millions equipping their private armies with enough weapons to level a city. And with each addict added, the money bills grew even higher. Which brought us to our number two man.  

Nilano Mosquera. Mossad told us he was the new Don of the North Valley Cartel, the biggest Cartel in Colombia. The previous Don had been caught, tried, and imprisoned. And then someone offed him in jail. Leaving the seat open for Mosquera to take control. Of course, he was advised on almost everything by Von Stahlien. As was the Don before him. And the one before him. All the way to Escobar.

Like I said, smart. Stahlien was gifted, the ultimate traitor. He knew just when to change sides, and he comes out beautiful because of it. And when he helped you, more often than not you became the head of all the pure coke in the world. It's probably why every half-decent gangster in that shit-hole wants to lick his wrinkly old ass to get him on their side. Its made of fucking gold.

When Mossad finally-

Oh shut up, you still don't know jack about how it went on. Choosing Katsas is never a problem. All of them could kill you in creative ways, were trained for way longer than I was, and would die in a second for their country. Losers. I picked the first three from the folder and met them only on the flight to Colombia.

But as for the drop. Parachuting into the night jungle is never fun. But Mossad likes to make you do it. Fucking Katsas would have jumped without a parachute if asked. That's the one thing I hated about being there. The Mossad let you have fun, but kept the kiddy gloves on sometimes. We had to infiltrate the target's mansion at night. Sneak in, bag, sneak out. No explosions.

Sneaking in? Not a problem. There were guards, only guards. Not even a single dog. Though I could see three machine guns held up behind sand bunkers. Two on the grounds, and one on the roof. The closest guard was already dead at my feet, neck broken. I passed him on backwards to where the last man would hide his body under a bush. Quick. Silent. We were inside the building in minutes, having crept in through the open French doors. With little time left, we headed up the stairs, kicked down the door and-


He stood there with his back to us, looking out of a huge widow that framed the entire wall. He was holding something in his hand, and when he turned around I saw that it was a glass of sherry. I felt the katsas raising their guns, and I knew he drill.

You shout, you die. You have crimes to pay for, Von Stahlien and-

"I have crimes to pay for? My boy, I know excatly what I have to pay for." All trace of German was lost from his accent, it was perfect fucking Oxford. But as I looked at him, I could see a weariness, a tired old man who really did want to give up.

"You took your time, gentlemen," He continued. "But I have been patient. I am ready for this, I was a long time ago. Please, don't waste time."

And as we rushed forward, an army of guards burst our of the closet, every door, from behind us, even the windows. In seconds we were nailed to the ground, weapons snatched. The bastard had even trained them to get to our mouths so fucking quickly that we couldn't even swallow the cyanide pills in our jaws.

Stahlien's got a sweet smile on his face, and the old bastard walks up like he's asking us out for a fucking date.

"Now, you will tell him who sent you. And then we will see what to do with their silly mistake."

My turn.

Sunday, January 2, 2011


I was in a room. I don't know for how long, but I was in a room in the corner of my mind. There was nothing there, just a single light that shone brightly. The walls were brightly painted in white, so bright that they seemed to shine. I was dressed in a simple shirt and pants, as white as the walls around me. I feel my chin, there's a stubble... just how long was I there?

The room wasn't very big. Big enough to sleep in, but without any bed. I never felt sleepy, or tired that ways, but when was day, when was night. I wasn't sure if it was a second, or an hour that passed, I couldn't tell anything...

It was like time had died.

I tried breaking the walls once, just thumping at the in anger, frustration. My fists, they never got hurt, just sort of bounced off the walls. This was like solitary in heaven, and I didn't know what to do.

At times I heard sounds, so close I could have sworn they were right behind me. Someone shouting, some screams... it was like they were so close, yet so far off, like whispers around me. I didn't know what I hated more, the silence or that.

The funny thing was when it all came to an end. I blinked once, and I was sitting on a bed in another room, this one with normal walls. There was a mirror, in front of me, and I could see my face staring back at me under a dirty orange light.

The first thing that surprised me was the scar. Just the tip of it was visible from the opening of my shirt collar. I felt through the fabric, and could feel it running down the side of my chest, all the way down to my stomach.

I hope you're still not pissed about that.

There was a sword in my chest, you jackass, what do yo think?

I still got us out of it.

And into what? Of all the things you could have done, what made you go and sign up with the fucking-

Shut it. I know you enjoyed it too.

Enjoyed it? I was stuck there, with no idea of how I had even gotten there, and I had to bluff my way through DAGAN!!! IT'S A BLOODY MIRACLE HE DIDN'T FIGURE IT OUT THE FIRST FUCKING TIME!!

We got out in the end, didn't we? And look at what all we've learnt. The best part, is that we fucking fooled them. The assholes think we're dead. 

They'll find out soon enough. They always end up knowing. But we're getting too far ahead.

The room had a dirty look to it, and there was a large metal door set into one of the walls. I went toward it and reached for the handle, turning it open. Outside, I could see a long corridor lit by a series of bulbs in the ceiling, illuminating the many doors set into the walls of the corridor, as well as the fully armed soldier who stood right in front of me

He saluted and jumped to attention, informing me that the director was waiting for me. I dumbly nodded, and walked past him, frantically trying to understand where the hell I was. By the time I reached the end of the corridor, to where it split into two, I had a rough idea of where I was. It was some sort of military base, where I couldn't tell, and I knew that for some reason, I wasn't here as a prisoner, which was again very hard for me to wrap my head around.

But it was the writing on the wall that did it. There, at the point where the corridor split into two was a board with various signs, pointing to the mess, communications room, interrogation center, research center, and so on until I could see the direction for the Director's office. The first that I noticed, was that everything was written in Hebrew, which then got me thinking when the hell had I learnt Hebrew. But it was the symbol of candles surrounded by wording that hit me like a thunderbolt. Or more accurately, the words written below it. 

HaMossad leModi'in uleTafkidim Meyuchadim 

Mossad. I was in the fucking Mossad.

I'll never forget those few seconds. I couldn't move. A single trickle of sweat trickled down the side of my face as I read those words again and again, trying hard to make something else of them. But all I could see was the name of  possibly the deadliest institute for intelligence and special operations in the world. 

And I was stuck in it.

Stuck? Bullshit, they wanted us there.

I was trying to figure to what to do, when I remembered the soldier's words. Silently, I headed left towards the Director's Office, now all the while wondering whether they were currently watching me or not.

The Mossad is Israel's answer to the CIA, to the KGB, the MI6. Formed in 1949, it has quickly risen to become one of the most feared agencies, having carried out numerous assassinations, rescues and infiltrations beyond Israel's borders. And those were just the ones the public knew about.

Trust me, I know this, but the Mossad are just scary. When you take the most fanatical people from a country of soldiers and train them in the arts of secrecy and murder, then you end up with some seriously fucked up people. They have access to information that no other agency knows, their sources are almost everywhere in the world. The bloody Mossad always knows. When on a mission, the Mossad doesn't care about anything but one thing, and one thing only: Israel herself. And they are willing to do anything, cross any line to protect it.

The Mossad are awesome! It was like I'd finally fond a place to be me! I don't know why I hadn't just gone there in the first place. It was a hell of a lot better that Hong Kong, for sure. 

I was still stuck in Germany, but I was getting so bored that I was stuck surfing the net. A opened a few articles on the attempt on the Queen'n life. Authorities were still combing the land, now spreading to other countries in Europe in collaboration with their governments. Took them long enough to do so. One of the articles even had a picture of me from the window. But it was taken so badly, that all you could tell was that it was a man, which narrows the search by about fifty percent.

But I was popular. The police, the MI6, the entire Royal Marines, even the SAS were after me. After some negotiations, the Italians, Germans and French joined in as well, but the French have been after me for years already, so it was no big deal really. 

But I'll admit that Europe was getting quite hot, and a shift was needed, though where to? See, this is the problem I always end up facing. When you have over a hundred countries in the world, which one to go to? So I started looking around, checking out possibilities. But I just couldn't decide. I almost threw the laptop out of the window in frustration.

I opened up the articles on the Queen attempt as well, scrolling down until I found a paragraph.

"Still no words from any authorities on the status of the manhunt for what the public is calling, 'The Assassin'. Despite visible evidence that not just Britain, but now many countries are utilizing their resources to hunt this man down, he has still managed to evade capture, which leads many to believe that he could be part of a certain intelligence agency of some foreign country, or at least has received training by said intelligence agency, though there is no credible evidence to prove this."

I smiled at that. Gotta love those idiots in the crowd who'll see a burning man fall to his death and think its a stunt jump. So, now I was a spy, or at least, I was thought to be one.

And that's what got me thinking. I'd like to be a spy, I wouldn't be bad at it. It was a nice thought, one of the most wanted men in the world now becoming a secret force for justice. 

But whose justice?

Two days later, I sent a mail. I got a reply back, to which I sent another mail, then I patiently waited. The phone rang exactly thirty seconds later.

I picked up. The voice on the other side spoke first.

"This line is secure. You can speak freely."

"Can I? You already know what I have to say. But I want to know your answer."

"If you are this man, we could arrest you within the hour, send you to London with a nice bow tie around your neck."

"I'm not that easy to catch."

The voice on the line chuckled. "We are better than the British, we do not fail so often."

"True, but I can still get by you if I have to."

I could hear the arrogance on the other side. "We will see..."

Just as I expected, the windows burst in a hail of glass as four men, dressed in black armor, leaped through the windows and landed on the floor, weapons ready and targeting through the room. 

But I was already behind the first one. I punched him in the shoulder, making him loosen his grip on his weapon. I then kicked the back of his shin, almost breaking it as he fell crashing to the ground. I grabbed his gun and shot the other three in their legs before I turned the barrel down on the guy below me, who was clutching his leg in pain. 

A phone strapped to his Kevlar jacket began to ring, I took it and spoke into the receiver.

"Did you like my audition?"

There was another voice on the line now, this one older. "No deaths. Very impressive. We will have a plane ready for you. Board it, come here."

"You won't hand me over?"

"We are still debating on that, though it is agreed that yo would be...useful to us. Board the plane. Come to Jerusalem. We will talk more on your arrival."

You should have never boarded the plane. Hell, you should have never sent that mail in the first place. 

Listen, the Mossad was like home to me, and Dagan may have been a cunt, I'll admit to that, but he knew how to get the job done. I can respect that.

I still remember the first time. The second he saw me, he paused and I could see him frowning. He knew something was wrong, but he still spoke.

"Sit down, Michael."

It took a moment for me to realize who he was talking to, but I nodded and sat. He took his time, pouring himself a glass, downing it, then pouring another one for me and himself.

"England called again." He said.

My eyebrows went up.

"As always, I told them that our reports revealed nothing on their mystery assassin. But we would search eagerly, as always."

He gave a sly smile. "They tried bribing us this time, offered us two Merlins for our 'efforts'. But I said no to the choppers. Israel does not want to be in debt to the Queen, nor do we think that you have outlived your usefulness."

I dumbly nodded, not sure of what to say.

He noticed that. "Why so silent today, Michael? Normally you can never stop speaking rubbish, threatening me with revealing state secrets, or promising to assassinate my mother." He gave a grin. "Though in all honesty, I would not mind you shooting my mother."

I smiled weakly at that. What else could I do?

"Anyways," he continued. "On to business. I know you came back from Argentina only last week, but we need to send you out again. We've found another one, and he'll be a little tricky."

He lifted a remote and pressed a button, pointing towards a wall in his office. It was actually a screen, and an image of an old man appeared. His white-blond hair was well groomed, and I could see gold chains and rings around his pudgy neck and fingers. His blue eyes shone with intensity, the evil kind.

"Von Sthahelin. Erich Von Sthahelin. Over thirty thousand Jews were tortured and then murdered under his authority. In the span of five months. After the end, he went into hiding, just like the rest. We finally fond him though."

Dagan turned to face me. "And this is where the tricky part comes in. Sthahelin is in Colombia. Worse, he is still in business, helping the Cartels their get richer through their cocaine trade. Which means he has their protection. Though I'm sure that won't be too much of  a problem for you."

I finally spoke. "Problem?"

"Yes. The usual please. You need to capture Erich Von Sthahelin and bring him back here for interrogation and then sentencing. As always, the usual resources are at your disposal, and you may choose any three Katsas, apart from yourself, to assist you. You will be leaving in three days."

And with that, the Director of the Mossad turned back to his paperwork, a signal for me to leave.