The Large Presidential debate banner stood proudly on the front of the building, a crowd gathering and forming a line near the front. Dyson strutted up to the entrance, feeling naked without a weapon, rage in his veins, emptying his pockets into the plastic tray and moving along as they handed his wallet and keys back, belt and glasses. They removed his phone case and handed it back. He walked down the hall, Passing Alexander and giving him a nod.


    Tanner sat in the car, guns locked and loaded in the passenger seat upholstery, picking up her phone and looking angrily.


    “Yuri…why the hell are we waiting out here like assholes while they go in?” she sighed.


    “Because you are on security watch list from mayor massacre camera, and we do not have time for fake ID. And I look suspicious and have Russian accent. I would get too much attention, so I am like you…outside position."


    “So if they get killed and Bloomberg gets assassinated, and everything is fucked, we can at least take shots as they escape, probably with shooting back folding plastic auto shotguns and shit?” she huffed angrily.


    “You have Archangel and boyfriend inside, this is the best we can do. You want to go get arrested and leave Alexander alone if he lives, go ahead. I’ll wait here and not.” He sighed.


    Dyson took one of the keys off his keyring, a brass blank with notches on the back side, as he locked the bathroom door behind Alexander. He removed his shoe, placing a piece of sandpaper on the sink, and the two of them began quickly rubbing the key blanks across the paper, sharpening them into a makeshift blade.


    “You’ve done this before?” Dyson asked.


    “Yes, in prison.” Alexander grinned.


    “Is it pretty lethal?” he asked.


    “Compared to a toothbrush, yes, compared to a real knife, well, be thankful we’re not sharpening a toothbrush.” Alexander said, switching grit and sides. “Just be careful returning it to your pocket, lest you receive an impromptu vasectomy via negligence.” He said handing it back and beveling the point in a rush.


    “What were you in prison for?” Dyson asked.


    “Stabbing someone.” Alexander chuckled.


    Mike stood, looking in the hotel bathroom mirror, holding a wax dipped bundle of 2 holy bullets. He took a deep breath and swallowed them, washing them down with a glass of water and beating his chest to hold it down. He stepped outside and grabbed his cane and his hat.


    The line was long and unnerving, making him glad he went early. He limped heavily, nodding to the security and removing his top hat as he smiled through his fancy waxed mustache and gold rimmed glasses, placing them in the plastic tray.


    “Waltman Brimline…” said the security guard.


    “Yes sir, that’s my I.d. there." he said in a small, decrepit voice.


    “Multimillionaire and business owner Brimline that owns Brimline railroads?” he asked.


    “Nope. I’m his twin brother with the same name.” he joked, jabbing playfully with the cane.


    “I’ll be damned.” the guard smiled.


    “Won’t we all be some day? Now, I don’t mean to alarm you, but that metal detector’s probably gonna go off. I got 2 screws from heart surgery years ago.” He said, unbuttoning his shirt as he motioned him to a private area, taking the cane and glasses. They stepped into a side booth as he undid his shirt, a fake scar over his ribs and the wand beeping over it. "Everything else looks clear. Sorry about the inconvenience, sir.”


    “That’s no problem. Check everyone with these crazies nowadays. Hell, if someone did something crazy, I might end up getting shot. I was already in Nam, you ever had 2 bullets floating around in your belly?” he asked.


    “I imagine it’s not fun, sir.”


    “No, but getting them out is worse than when they went in. Be careful with that cane. That’s a solid piece of endangered African rosewood. Illegal to even cut down now, very rare. Please be gentle with my 20,000 dollar cane, mister…what is your name?” he asked harmlessly. He gave the cane a wand over and handed it back.


    “Doesn’t matter, here is your cane, sir.” These binoculars need checked. He said as Mike nodded with a smile. “Just don’t break em, I wanna get a good close look at the debate. My eyes aren’t what they once were.” He said as a second guard moved them, unscrewed the lenses and checked them for anything and everything, re-assembling them since it was quite literally, just an optic.


    “The lens was scratched when I got it.” he sighed.


    “Oh I know. Those are just cheap replaceable binoculars. Worth about 30 bucks. Unlike the suit and the shoes. You know, quality footwear at my age comes at a price, but you can’t put a price on good posture.” Mike said, as they gave him back his things and moved him alone. He left the line and joined arms with a very attractive brunette waiting for him.


    “Damn…money really does get you everything.” The guard sighed to his friend, staring at Nadja''s ass.


    “What was delay?” Nadja asked.


    “I was so busy thinking about the things I was smuggling in, I forgot these pants had a metal button, so I had to get checked.” He lied. “Bathrooms.” He nodded, she nodded back.


    Mike heaved over the bathroom sink, his eyes watering and cleaning up his hands as he dried off the wax pill and carefully broke the middle, unwrapping the bullets and placing them on the mirror ledge, he coughed loudly, yanking the lining out of his shoes and removing the pieces of the plastic pistols, assembling them and tucking one away. The one with yellow tape on the barrel stayed out, as he opened the cylinder and dumped 6 plastic rounds from it, He quietly drew the hammer a few times to double-check the direction of rotation, and he reloaded it placing the gold and silver "unholy rounds" in the chambers marked in yellow paint marker, and lining it up very slowly to visually confirm they would be the last two of 8 rounds. He tucked away the other pistol and left the bathroom.


    Mike made his way to the balcony VIP area D, the right side of the two center lined balcony rows, 2 others to the sides of the main public area below, a horseshoe shape of 6 elevated sections, surrounding the perimeter of the debate center. He moved his eyes discreetly, counting the 5 other guests in the little nook taking their seats. A young man in a suit entered the area with a silver tray and bumped into Mike, who was stepping conveniently in the way.


    “Sorry sir, that was my fault.” He apologized as Mike scoffed and helped him steady the tray.


    “Oh no, don’t worry. I’ll take that, You’re as wobbly as a baby giraffe, kiddo.” He laughed, patting him on the back and taking the tray of glasses and Champagne. Taking a bottle of eye drops from his shirt pocket, he smiled and wandered slowly, placing 3 drops in each glass except the far left one, and heading to the guests.


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    “Gentlemen, ladies, My treat. A fine bottle of bubbly to relax the tension.” He said shakily, pouring the glasses and letting people take one each. One of the other “older” men politely declined.


    “No, thank you. I don’t drink.” he waved.


    “Well, you better start. At our age, any day could be your last one. You might regret missing something good in life. One glass never killed anyone.” He smiled.


    “Ah, but I must resist.” He smiled.


    “Well, that’s a damn shame. I’ll pour you one in case you change your mind, and if the time has come to part, and you haven’t touched it, I’ll just finish it off myself.” Mike smiled, still hunched and looking slightly sinister with that statement.


    They took their seats, everyone enjoying a drink except the tall man in the middle. Mike leaned over to get a look at the surroundings as Nadja in the next VIP nook gave him a subtle nod. Raising her glass and taking a sip. Her vivid blue eyes piercing the distance. She sat down, clutching a small plastic contact case and her own eye drops.


    Dyson made his way towards the kitchen area, following the catering staff and grabbing a small glass of red wine, dumping it on his white shirt and pretending to be upset. He reached out and tapped one of the kitchen staff as he walked by.


    “Excuse me…this is embarrassing. I have a date waiting for me and I just ruined my shirt, can I buy your jacket?” he asked discreetly.


    “It’s for catering staff only.”


    “Look, kid. I don’t think you understand how fine this chick is, if she sees me like this, I’ll lose my shot. 500 bucks cash.”


    “I’ll get another one, you can use this.” He said, removing the white jacket and letting him cover up. He walked briskly through the kitchen and grabbed one of the empty trays and some bottles of wine, pretending to be kitchen staff, as a woman in a similar outfit followed him.


    “Hey, those are for Carlos, do I know you?” she asked, following him down the hall.


    “Carlos is sick, I’m a friend of his covering for a bit.”


    “Those aren’t even the right bottles, you have Merlot and Champagne in the same ice tray, the Merlot isn’t chilled.” She said, chasing after him as he moved away. She grabbed his arm and he stuck the key knife up towards her eye, covering her mouth.


    “You scream, you die, understand?” he said, letting her mouth go. “Look, I’m sorry I had to do that, follow me.” He said, shoving her in front. And pushing one of the blunt keys into her back for intimidation. “My name is Dyson, I’m one of… I’m the last of the Archangel Vigilante group. There are two Russian spies here to kill President Bloomberg, or possibly President DuPont. I can’t let that happen. You have to help me."


    “Why don’t you just tell security?” she asked.


    “I’d be taken in for questions, they wouldn’t believe me, and then some of the necessary security would be guarding me instead of hunting them down. They don''t know what they''re up against, I do. They killed my friends. Lives depend on this, and I’m sorry, but I WILL kill you to stop an assassination, please don’t let people die, I just need your cooperation. I need you to take these bottles into every VIP section and tell them it''s free complimentary refreshments, and tell me if you see any men fitting this height and build, and any woman of this height and build, anything suspicious or…and this may sound crazy but, see if any of them have a Russian accent or orange colored eyes.” he said giving her a paper description.


    “You’re serious. That does sound crazy.”


    “And security would just be occupied with me. I’m technically wanted for vigilante crimes myself, we tried taking them out already. America needs your help. Just please do this.” He said, removing the key from her back and holding up the blunt one. Switching to the sharp one.


    “Okay. But if anything happens, I’ll tell the police your description.”


    “Honey, if anything happens, I’m probably not gonna be alive to arrest. If they’re both in that VIP room when I go in, I’m a dead man. I just want Mister Black dead and two living presidents walking out of here tonight.”


    The “waitress” entered Mike’s section, offering free drinks as they all declined, holding their own already. Mike got up and accepted the bottle anyway, leaning in close to the woman to mutter something quietly.


    “Is this from the woman in the next section down?” he asked.


    “Uh, no sir, it’s complimentary of the venue.”


    “I really do hate to cause any trouble but, I think I saw her place something in someone’s drink. I recognize her from earlier, she’s quite attractive, I was going to introduce myself, but she was with a very intimidating looking man who slipped her a small bag of pills. It’s probably nothing, medication, I just want to make sure. She has a very…odd accent? More of as lisp really.” Mike whispered.


    “I’ll keep that in mind.” She nodded.


    She came out looking pale and alarmed as Dyson approached her.


    “Oh my god, someone spotted the girl in the next section. Weird accent, good-looking, slipping people pills in their drinks. Shit, this is really happening, isn’t it?”


    “Go, tell security a man fitting any description but mine, was threatening to kill the president, I’ll take care of her.” He nodded. She walked briskly down the hall as he readied his key. He opened the door, head down and a bottle up to obscure his face.


    “Complimentary wine for the lovely lady, from the man in the next section.” He said in a gruff tone. Nadja looked his direction and they locked eyes. There was an awkward silence as she recognized the fake voice and smiled back.


    Mike stood silently as the tall sober man noticed a woman slumping in her seat, the other VIP guests nodding off slowly as Mike locked the door.


    The tall man felt a hand around his mouth and a pen lodge in his neck, stabbing him 4 times rapidly, as Mike hid behind the man.


    “See? One drink never killed anyone, just put them to sleep, but the lack of one cost you your life.” Mike sighed. Letting him go slowly. He checked his jacket and found the security card, assuming there would be one in all the 6 VIP sections. The debate echoed as the candidates argued, and Mike hunkered down with the dead man. Grabbing his cane and prepping the kill. He pulled the carbon fiber lock pin, sliding the grip forward and engaging the barrel with the magazine, as it locked permanently forward. He took the right half of the binoculars and detached them with a snap of a pin, sliding the locking pin into the hole, and attaching the scope to the protruding receiver, he cocked the receiver firmly, loading the first round and unscrewing the base of the cane, now holding a 2-foot-long pistol with an optic and 15 rounds of polymer death. He peered down the scope, checking the scratch in the lens was facing upwards, marking the point where the round would hit at the distance to the stage. He knew he had one shot guaranteed, and after that everything would be questionable. He cleared his head and slowed his breathing, popping up and lining up the sights with President DuPont, pulling the trigger and seeing a splatter of red from his face, He moved his sights swiftly to the VIP sections to the right and left. Shooting whoever was standing up and not ducking down, neutralizing security in the upper floor with all vantage views. He ducked down, hearing shots fired back and popping up to take out the sniper in the roof area across the stage. He leaned over the balcony and watched the crowd scatter, looking for whoever glowed warmer, firing the last of the rounds as he moved back and forth to avoid pistol fire moving his way. He fired the last round up into the light and dove behind the unconscious bodies for cover. He drew his revolvers, left hand with the one sporting the yellow tape in the dark section, eyeing the door.


    “Six… SIX.” He said aloud. The door busted open and Mike took 6 shots, aiming for the gaps in the body armor between the face and neck, counting them aloud and dropping the pistol to his belt with the two rounds remaining, switching to the unmarked revolver for the last 2 shots. He tucked the taped gun with the blessed ammunition left, in his pocket holster, and favored the other gun, rushing out and down the hall. He grabbed one of the security guard’s 9mm Berettas, using the revolver as a brace and shield and dropping anything in his way resembling security or armed.


    As the guns began firing, Nadja drew her pair of revolvers and Dyson flipped the cart, dodging the 4 bullets and hunkering behind the metal cart as people scattered and hit the exit. She fired the remaining 4 at the cart and noticed the dents in it.


    “Fucking plastic bullets.” She said, corset-holstering the other gun and tossing the empty aside as Dyson hopped up, key out and fists up like a boxer.


    “You killed my friend.” He said, kicking the door shut behind him and locking it.


    “No, I butchered your friend alive.” She chuckled. “Killing is what I’ll do to you without proper time to make it last like your friend. You’ll die quick, he did not. Did you hear that first shot?Bloomberg is dead, you have failed." She said, pulling an ink pen from the seat and stepping closer. He swung and missed as she ducked under, slicing wig and taking a stab to the hip. Kneeing at her face. She blocked with her arm and struck his knee and groin, trying to drop him, but only lowering him to her level, taking a manly headbutt to her face and staggering back.


    “Two can play the cokehead game, bitch. This time I’m the monster on enough blow to feel absolutely nothing.”


    “Blow yourself.” She scoffed, stepping in and breaking his nose, deflecting another punch with the key blade and kneeing his ribs, double handing his bladed arm and doing a front flip around it. She pulled, twisting his arm and nearly breaking it, as she disarmed the blade and rolled back up, holding it. She slashed his throat and flicked if off the balcony with a smile, arms playfully behind her back. Then she drew the pistol as he struggled to stop the bleeding, and put two rapid rounds in his face, missing one and hitting with the other, killing him anyway. She took out her eye drops case and unscrewed the top, carefully removing the blue contacts and letting them fall to the floor. As chaos ensued around her. She stepped out and began firing. She took 2 rapid killshots, perfectly to the forehead of her targets, her orange eyes reflecting in the flashing light.


    "Much better." she smiled, stepping on the blue contacts as she moved onward.