Carnation's Brief Assignment

This is actually a short story with a character from my novel The Assassin's Tears. The short story below takes place on 16th of February 20xx, 8.45 pm. It actually happened in the novel but it wasn't elaborated.

Thanks to hitxuanni and Auxiira for helping me improve this ^_^ Although I'd appreciate any kind of nice criticism ~

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The men stood on the square roof of the East Uriah Tower, overlooking the brightly-lit city which illuminated the night sky. The silence between the five men was dreary, so to escape the awkwardness, each of them leaned out from the roof, looking down at the brilliant city lights. All the commotion happening below them were a soft murmur from where they stood, and the rooftop was quiet, dark and wide, giving them a chance to steal a quick nap on the job.

Despite not knowing each other, each man wore a dark suit and had a handgun strapped to his waist. The group was assigned to the rooftop by Mr. Kirk Herman, the powerful and rich man who had hired them and another twenty-five men to guard him while an important meeting took place on the seventy-second floor, twelve floors down from the rooftop. It was unknown to why Mr Herman hired a large number of men to protect him during a meeting that people like him were used to, but nobody dared to ask.

There was not a single cloud in the sky and the stars scattered throughout the horizon twinkled in the dark-blue night. The full moon glowed a luminous white, creating pleasant scenery for the bored men on guard. The atmosphere, with them being so high in the air, was thin and cold, encouraging the sleepy feeling further.

“You guys ever wonder why Mr Herman hired so many men?” One of them stirred the conversation, his voice gruff, “Don’t cha guys think he being targeted?”

“He hired us just to show off how much money he has,” Another man replied, sounding formal and polite, “If he was being targeted, he would have called the cops and not hire us.”

“Just think about it, pal,” The sturdy man said, “Really weird he assigned six groups of five to different parts of the building all the way to the doors of the meeting room, don’t cha think? He’s being careful for something.”

“We have been here for an hour,” Another of the five sighed, “That’s not happening.”

Silence fell upon them. Just as the awkward situation returned, strong wind howled and a light came from above, followed by the sound similar to that of a fast-moving fan. They looked up and saw a helicopter, hovering above the helipad the rooftop provided.

“Who is this?” One of them shouted over the noise.

“Probably the people for the meeting!” Somebody replied.

They moved a small distance, giving space for the helicopter to land. Gradually, it lowered onto the helipad, landing on the concrete with a small and confident thump. The pilot turned off the helicopter’s dim lights and engine and the darkness returned. As the blades of the helicopter rotated to a stop, the five men squinted in the darkness, focusing on the people inside the helicopter.

Although it was very quiet, the pilot stirred in his seat, as though he was preparing something. For a brief moment, the group stared blankly, anticipating an eminent figure to emerge from it. However, when nobody did, one of the guards approached.

“Hey, who’s—“

Before he could say anything else, a woman emerged from the interior of the helicopter. She hopped onto the ground, held a sub-machine gun and pulled the trigger, sending a series of bullets tearing through his flesh.

He froze, confused, until an impalpable pain overwhelmed him. With a cry of despair, his eyes rolled back, he dropped to his knees and he fell to the concrete floor—writhing for a few seconds before he died.

The other men froze, not quite able to take everything in. They stood, paralyzed, their limbs shaking and their hearts throbbing with fear. Their colleague's murderer smirked and aimed her gun at them.

In an instant, they took in all her features. A tall woman with dark brown hair, pulled back into a messy bun; the flicker of malice in her dark green eyes which glimmered like precious emeralds; the finely-shaped, red metal armor, strapped on tightly to her torso, serving like a traditional bulletproof vest; her pretty, harp-like lips parted into an evil smile.

As a deafening sound erupted into the tense atmosphere, and as the men were suddenly struck with pain as though they were being stabbed, dismay and hopelessness pervaded their dying frames. They fell back or dropped to their knees, blood gathering in their mouths, open wounds in their limbs.

All of her features were easily distinguished. She was Carnation, the master assassin.

.

When she ceased fire, the silence of the night returned. The smell of something burning entered her nostrils and she grimaced at the sight of the dead men she had just killed.

Seraphine took her time on the roof, picking up ammunition from each of the mens’ handguns, so she could use them. She threw her M5 into the helicopter and proceeded with reloading her two 9-mm. handguns with the collected ammo. The remaining ammo was kept in a small pouch strapped to her belt.

With a 9-mm. in each hand, she opened the door to get to the lower floor, leading her to an empty and plain stairway, which revolved into a downward spiral as far down as it could go, leaving a gap in the middle. Seraphine leaned out from the railing and stared down, listening attentively for movement.

She heard it—there were at least five men, each guarding a different floor.

“Hey, you got something to eat?” One of them asked the other, his voice bouncing off the walls into an echo.

One of her handguns was silenced, and Seraphine used her advantage against her newest challenge. Swiftly, she crept down the stairs, her steps soundless, her guns prepared, and stopped her stealthy descend once she reached the first guard, who stood by the door of the seventy-sixth floor.

He stood leaning against the wall with his arms folded, his shoulders loose and his eyes closed.

‘Never slack off during the job,’ Carnation smirked as she quickly pulled the trigger.

A dark hole appeared between his eyes and he slid to the ground. She approached him, pressed her covered fingers against his neck and found no pulse. The brown-haired woman continued down the steps.

Unluckily for her, the man guarding the lower floor was halfway up the stairs, apparently to approach the first guard. Both him and Seraphine froze when they saw each other.

The man quickly recovered and he revealed to the brown-haired woman a handgun, shouting to the lower guards, “Guys, there’s—“

Seraphine quickly fired and the bullet implanted itself into his chest, puncturing his left lung. Without giving him a chance to realize the pain, she pulled the trigger again, and this time, he fell to the floor and his head cracked against the stairs. The bullet had penetrated his heart.

Her heart, on the other hand, was throbbing. Despite being a professional, she was always weary of unexpected outcomes. Her rapid pulse calmed as she lowered her weapon.

“Gord, you okay?” Another voice alarmed her as footsteps clicked against the concrete, approaching her, followed by other men.

She retraced her steps to the upper floor, returning to the first guard, planning to wait for the men to gather around “Gord” before she attacked. After some intense waiting, she heard the reaction she waited for.

“Oh God,” One of them breathed out, “Who the fuck did this?”

Seraphine revealed herself from her hiding place and, with her two handguns, fired numerous times. The bullets tore through the flesh of one of them and he instantly fell back, tumbling down the stairs.

Before the other two could react, she rendered one of them helpless by slamming the gun against his temple—and he collapsed to the floor as she sent another bullet through his brain.

In a flash, Seraphine attended to the other guard. She dropped her guns, balled her hand into a fist, and struck him at his jaw with a powerful blow. Being trained in a certain martial art, the young assassin was physically strong for a woman.

He stumbled back a few steps, blood gathering in his mouth, as the assassin clambered onto him. Her slim legs locked on his neck as his shoulders supported all of her weight. Before he could register what happened, a grueling crack sounded as she twisted her waist along with his neck between her thighs.

His body went limp as she scrambled down from him.

With that finished, an inaudible sigh escaped her lips as she retrieved her guns. Silence reclaimed its place in the dreadful, spiraling stairway and the depressing atmosphere returned. She stared at what she had done—the blood splattered on the walls, the lifeless bodies in pools of red, the empty bullet cartridges scattered on the floor—this was all her doing, and she was impenitent.

Reloading her gun, she proceeded down to the seventy-second floor, where her target, Mr Herman, had a meeting. Gifted with sharp eyes, Seraphine took out security cameras with her silenced handgun, professionally using one bullet at a time without missing. Unlike other floors, the seventy-second floor was private, so it ruled out any innocent fatalities.

Very soon, she came across a carpeted hallway, its ceilings painted peach, adorned with royal paintings which soothed her to a certain extent. Everything was silent, nothing stirred at where she was—the only sound came from her as she breathed slowly and moved stealthily.

The meeting room was near, but before that, she had to attend to the ten men guarding the hall leading to the doors.

She hid for a few minutes, relying completely on her hearing to estimate the number of people she was up against. There were another five men in front of the meeting doors, so added with the ones scattered throughout the hall, she was against fifteen of them.

Seraphine stayed in her hiding place for a little longer as she contemplated everything. It crossed her mind; every probable obstacle, every likely outcome, every possibility. The environment around her strained as a sour smell filled the air, a drop of sweat rolling down her head. Her lips were set in a serious, straight line and her eyes were shut.

She opened her eyes and withdrew her silenced gun, her plan set in mind.

“Stay still for me, please,” She murmured to herself, closing her left eye to concentrate fully on her right one. Everything around her became blurry as her target—the head of one of the men—became as clear as a picture. Seraphine had entered ‘the zone’, something usual after years of experience with shooting.

With a quick whistle of the bullet, the man slumped to the floor and she quickly moved on to the other man. She shot him precisely in his right temple and he fell over, dead, just as fast as his friend did. The remaining eight men withdrew their guns, shouting warnings to the men guarding the door, looking around to shoot at anything that moved.

They dispersed around the room, prepared. Two of them headed her way and she shot both of them in the head. When they fell to the floor, the other guards saw this and quickly moved to her location.

“Come out, you’re surrounded!” One of them shouted.

She stepped out of her hiding spot, revealing herself to her enemies. However, before they could react, she started shooting. The bullets sparked upon fire and dashed to their targets at the speed of sound, cutting through their bodies and organs, spilling their blood.

“Don’t move!” One of the remaining three men pulled the trigger on her.

She ran towards him, dodging the bullets, shooting him repeatedly as she did so. Dead, he dropped his gun, but was not given a chance to slump to the floor. Seraphine grabbed his heavy body and held him over her. Bullets from the other two men planted into him—the assassin was using him as a shield.

“You bitch!” Whilst being disgusted by her cruelty, they cursed when they learned they had run out of ammo in their handguns.

The handle of her gun came in contact with the back of his head, sending a shock-wave to his brain. Without being given the chance to stumble forwards, another hard, metal object hit him hard on the nose, breaking it, causing him to spit out blood.

As he was distracted with the unbearable pain, she moved on to the other. She tackled him like a wrestler, turned him over, grabbed his leg and pulled it back at a stunning velocity. A bone cracked and the man below her screamed in pain.

She got off of him, rolled him over and grabbed his hand. The struggling man, as he fought the pain, failed to prevent her as she rested her foot against his cheek and trap his arm between her thighs. Suddenly, his face was pushed back in the opposite direction and he blacked out.

The strong, gruesome crack was like music to her ears. Satisfied she successfully broke his neck and killed him, she returned to the bleeding man on the floor to shoot him several times.

“Now for the other five,” She reminded herself, reloading her guns.

Suddenly, a thunderous sound erupted from the meeting doors and she ducked for cover.

“Shit!” She cursed at the near miss, getting to her feet, ‘They have a sub-machine gun?’

At a lost of what to do, a stroke of luck blessed her and she spotted a shotgun—a very unique shotgun. It was on display, shielded by a glass box, with a small description outside the glass. She chuckled softly, hoping the shotgun was real.

She broke the glass and checked the SPAS 12, learning there were eight bullets.

Deliberately, she stepped out into the open space so her enemies could see her. This small risk allowed her to see who the person behind the M5 was.

Something sparked and the loud sound went off once again, and series of bullets embedded into the walls and floors. The imprecise aiming, although just seconds, gave Seraphine the chance to get back into hiding, and the shooting ceased. The shooter was the one on the far right.

She inhaled deeply and unconcealed herself, quickly aiming at the far-right shooter. Her finger pressed against the trigger and a boom, followed by a bright spark, came from the shotgun. It jerked against her shoulder, and sent a single, powerful bullet to her target. The force of the metal projectile as it punctured his heart sent him flying back.

Two handguns replaced the SPAS 12 and a shoot-out between her and the remaining four men broke out. Bullets sparked as they ricocheted off her armor. The men had such poor aiming they were incredibly easy to kill, and within two minutes, all of them were dead, each with at least one ricocheted bullet in their bodies.

The air returned silent and a smile crossed her face. The people inside the meeting room were probably terrified after hearing all the gunshots. She kicked open the large doors and found her target, along with a number of other rich and powerful men, gathered at a side of the grand meeting room.

To say they were scared was an understatement, for they huddled up in the corner, dark spots underneath their armpits and sweat trickling down their heads, mixed with tears which rolled down their cheeks as they feared for their lives. Seeing them reminded her of mice caught in a corner when running away from a hungry cat.

Soon, the rich and powerful dropped dead to the carpet, their resplendent suits stained with blood. They might have been respected and well-known, but when faced with the flower of Death, nobody could escape her.

Mr Herman was the last left alive. He trembled in fear as she crouched down in front of his weak frame. As she held the gun to his head, she noticed he had a phone in his hands.

“Oh, you called the cops?” Her calm smile parted into a grin. The expression on her face made him break down—he cried out in despair and sobbed.

She pulled the trigger and watched as his eyes rolled back and his shoulders relaxed. His tense, weary face loosened into a serene expression, and the phone dropped from his grasp.

Knowing the task had been accomplished, she stood up and kept her gun away, turning around to the door. The call Mr Herman made had lasted fifteen minutes, as stated on the screen, so the police must have already arrived.

She ambled to the windows and looked down at a swarm of people gathered outside the building—journalists, civilians, ambulances, police cars, SWAT vehicles. Glancing over her shoulder, looking over the bloody bodies throughout the whole room, she looked at the doors of the meeting room to learn they were closed.

When her mind drifted off to frivolous thoughts, she heard movement outside the room. Narrowing her eyes, she estimated twenty men.

“Carnation, surrender!” A muffled voice came from outside, “You’ve been surrounded. If you do not co-operate, we will open fire!”

Seraphine fumbled around her belt, looking for a certain gadget. Upon finding it, she strapped it to her right forearm.

“You have no way out of this!” The SWAT member said again, “You can either surrender or be shot!”

Carnation ignored his warnings and turned around to face the window. She crouched, opened the latch and pushed the glass, opening the floor-length window as wide as it could go. A cold breeze blew as it entered the room, kissing her skin and playing with her hair, whereas she looked down. Just as she expected, being seventy-two floors up, and not a reasonable option in sight, she would die if she jumped off.

“Carnation!” He shouted again. Seraphine just waited. To many, it would seem as though she was trapped, but she wasn’t. Carnation was a master of strategy—she could escape this without a single wound.

Just as she predicted, a few minutes later, her chance came.

The soft breeze changed into a strong blow of wind, forcing its way into the room, throwing papers into the air and pushing her fringe back from her face. She narrowed her green eyes at a bright light which glared at her. The sound of fast, rotating blades sliced through the air. Two, Gatling-styled guns hung from either side of the helicopter, aimed for the assassin.

“You are trapped,” The pilot spoke, his voice booming from the speakers, “Surrender or we will receive orders to shoot.”

She stood bravely at the open window, standing on its edge, smirking at the helicopter. She teased him with her playful expression, daring him to shoot, challenging his capabilities, doubting he will be able to apprehend her.

For a few moments, she waited there, giving the pilot a chance to examine her. Everybody knew Carnation was a brown-haired woman with red armor, so even if the pilot could see her, he would not be able to help identify her without her name.

Even if somebody could remember her face, she still wouldn’t be caught. She made sure all witnesses were dead.

Noticing the split-second moment of the pilot’s distraction, as he spoke into the microphone with his eyes on the controls, Seraphine fired a hook which held on to the helicopter, and she jumped the second the hook gripped on the chopper.

She was in the air, swinging forward like a pendulum, enjoying the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins. A small gasp came from the crowd below as a small giggle escaped her lips, and the helicopter tilted slightly to the right. After gathering the courage, she looked down and saw a stunned crowd, too surprised to notify the journalists, who were all busy reporting with their cameras aimed elsewhere.

Although Seraphine was having fun, the assassin quickly climbed up the rope, clambering onto the helicopter flawlessly and soundlessly.

“I have lost sight of the target, I repeat,” The pilot sounded exasperated, staring blindly into the meeting room as Seraphine quietly entered the chopper. The pilot shouted into the microphone and slammed his fist into the controls, “Get the SWAT team in there, dammit!”

Just as he finished his sentence, a hand cupped over his mouth and pulled him from his seat. He stumbled, surprised by the sudden attack and found himself in the mercy of his assailant. Seraphine dragged him to the side, pushed him out and quickly got to the controls before the helicopter went out of control.

“Carnation is not in the room,” Somebody said into the earpiece as she put it one, the person unaware the actual pilot was falling seventy-two floors to the ground, “The SWAT team is inside and she’s not in there.”

Seraphine noticed the shifting shadows inside the meeting room and manipulated the helicopter’s light, so she could see. SWAT members squinted at the glaring beam as they gathered near the windows, examining the dead bodies.

A grin slowly found its way to her face as she slid her thumb over the red button on the handle.

‘To press, or not to press?’' She thought childishly.

The Gatling-like guns on the sides of the helicopter began to rotate. They increased in speed every second and created noise, catching the SWAT members’ attention. The glaring light ceased and they focused on the pilot—only to learn it wasn’t the pilot they knew. A woman took his place.

By the time they realized Carnation hijacked the helicopter, it was already too late.

Civilians underneath screamed in fear as hundreds of rounds of bullets were sent dashing towards the meeting room, shattering the windows and penetrating the men. The bullets flew everywhere, hitting everything within range, killing anything which was alive. The sound was deafening and the sparks were bright and blinding at times.

Seraphine ceased fire and waited for the smoke to clear. Dead men in SWAT vests and helmets laid dead on the floor, their blood absorbing into the carpet, parts of their bodies severed. Several arms and legs scattered around the room, detached from their owners during the powerful shoot-out.

When a feeling of satisfaction settled in her chest, Seraphine was disgusted with herself. How could she feel pleased when she had killed people so brutally? She shook her head violently and bit her bottom lip.

‘Sera, you aren’t like Father,’ She told herself, ‘It isn’t the satisfaction of the killing you’re feeling, it’s the satisfaction of victory.’

There was a small pause between her thoughts, and she nodded lightly, ‘Yeah, that’s it—victory.’

She pulled the handle back, manipulating the helicopter away, and increased her altitude, wishing to escape the scene before the SWAT gets another helicopter to shoot her down. All she wanted to do was go home.

‘Hopefully Mei made me hot chocolate,’ Seraphine smiled, flying away from the catastrophe.