《TAG: The Assassin's Guidebook》


 Chapter 1: Atlanta

    The morning alarm rang out.


    Brad Pines, a mid-thirties newly elected member of the US Senate for the state of Georgia began his morning routine. He cleaned himself up, gave himself a little pep talk in the mirror, and debated for a little too long on which color tie he should wear.


    His house is baren, but clean. No artwork, pictures, diplomas, memorabilia from memories past, or even much furniture. To call it minimalistic would be too generous; perhaps the classification of an essentialist would be more adapt.


    Pines stood in front of the mirror holding a red tie in his right hand and a blue tie in his left. He begins his statistical deduction, "There will be 565 men and 378 women in the crowd today. There is a 60.2 percent favor with republican ideologies. Red and blue coloring will be too aggressive and risk alienating a percentage of my audience who perceives color coordination with stances on public issues."


    He pauses for a moment and looks over at a green tie.


    "Green ¨C the color of finance, luxury, energy, and success. Potential risk of alienating the lower to middle class. Poverty rates are hitting a decade high in just the last year," Pines reasoned.


    He glanced at an orange tie.


    "Orange ¨C There are no political calculations with orange. Orange it is."


    The politician knots his orange tie around his neck and ambulates to the kitchen. On his countertop sits a single shot glass with a dark, oily, espresso-like liquid. Pines approaches the glass and gives the concoction a quick gulp.


    "Refreshing," he said to himself.


    Pines approaches a suitcase by the front door. He sets it on a nearby entrance table and gives its contents a quick scan. Everything seems to be in place for the workday ahead. He grabs his car keys and heads out the front door, ready to take on another day. Pines enters his vehicle and sets the briefcase on the passenger seat. He turns the ignition of the sedan on and eighties pop begins to play on the radio station. He reverses out of the driveway and goes down the neighborhood street.


    After a short while, Pines exits the highway and begins to enter downtown Atlanta. Skyscrapers and heavy traffic surround him; nearly overstimulating his senses. He hits a red light and comes to a slow stop. Another vehicle pulls up beside him in the left turn lane. Pines turns and gives a signature wave to his fellow commuter. The driver gives no notice and turns left as their light changes.


    "Up next we have a classic that topped the charts in 79''. Here''s The Buggles on what exactly killed the radio star," says the radio station broadcaster.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Pines begins to drive forward as "Video Killed the Radio Star" plays through his speakers. All seems normal and calm on this Monday morning, just as any other daily commute through the city. He approaches another red light and comes to a stop.


    Far off in the distance, a shine off of a reflection can be seen from the driver''s side window. Pines notices the slight shine off in the distance. His focus on the shine attempts to zoom in on a potential cause, but the change to a green light takes his attention away. Pines slowly begins to pull forward with a light press on the gas. Suddenly, without warning, the glass on the driver''s side window shatters and a bullet makes impact on the temple of Pines'' head. A dark red substance splatters on the windshield and passenger window.


    Pines'' car pummels forward and hits a lamp post. Nearby civilians that witnessed the event are slowly piecing together cognitively what they just saw. A brief panic breaks out as some decide to scream and run, while others take out their cell phones to record and livestream what is happening. The rare bystander uses their phone to dial 9-1-1. As the rush of hysteria continues on the city block, Pines'' deactivated body lies motionless across the driver''s seat and armrest.


    The song continues to play on, "In my mind ¨C and in my car. We can''t rewind, we''ve gone too far¡ª."


    Across the stretch of urban jungle, on top of a nearby office building lays 40-year-old hitman Jin Shimada. His clothing is loose and relaxed; top button undone, open cuffed sleeves, unstraightened tie, and glasses that hang off the ridge of his nose. The smoking barrel from his sniper rifle serves as a near identical reflection of the freshly lit cigarette on the cornice of the building.


    Jin lifts the sniper rifle back up, in the background from his own portable radio, the same song that served as Pines'' final acoustic waves continues to play on, "You are ¨C a radio star (oh, a, oh)."


    Jin reaches for his earpiece, "Target''s taken care of. Am I clear to leave?" He asks.


    On the other end of the communication line, a voice rings out from Sebastian Wix. Single, late twenties, flamboyant, and full of enough sass to be the stiletto in a room of flats.


    "Come on Jin ¨C Give our boys in blue a little bit of a head start," Wix replies.


    Jin smirks as he begins to pack up his brief case and take apart the sniper rifle. He exits the rooftop area of the building and works his way back to his car in the building''s underground parking garage. He opens the trunk of his vehicle; it looks innocent enough so that if anyone were to pass by, they wouldn''t take notice. Jin takes a quick look around the garage to make sure no wondering eyes are closing in. Once he deems it clear, he flips a hidden switch, which flips the bottom tray of the trunk to reveal a hidden armory of death. Jin places the sniper brief case back to it''s assigned spot before notching the switch once again. He waltzes to the front of his vehicle with a little bit of a jig and slides into the driver''s seat.


    As the car turns on, the radio continues to sing out, "Video killed the radio star¡ª."


    Jin looks down at the radio and begins to flip through a montage of channels and music; eventually setting on a radio talk show of the daily news report. Surely his work would be broadcasted soon. Jin''s car pulls out of the underground parking lot. Police cars drive by on the city block. Their sirens blaring across the metropolitan morning haze. Jin works his way to the highway ramp to head north, towards his home of Washington DC and away from the fresh, self-caused, chaos of Atlanta.

 Chapter 2: Washington D.C.

    Washington D.C. is a hell of a place. A barrage of iconic government monuments drowned out by the sound of civil unrest. For every Washington Monument, Pentagon, and White House, you have a neighborhood like Brentwood or Shaw that has seen a history of violence. Jin''s office glistened in the summer sun between the barred windows and gated front door. It was a low rent room in the middle of one of those aforementioned no-good neighborhoods. Given the paperwork and subject material of his profession, the office was able to blend in easily behind the larger issues of society that loomed beyond its four walls.


    Inside the cluttered apartment, Sebastian sat at his desk, leaning back to the point of nearly tipping over. He was talking on a wired phone. A relic of ancient technology that Jin never bothered removing when he began renting the place. Sebastian''s fingers twirled in the curl of the chord.


    "I''m telling you Jessica, he''s no good. I don''t know what you were thinking with marrying the guy and putting yourself ten years and three kids deep into it." Sebastian said with a sarcastic bite.


    As Jin entered the apartment, murmurs could be heard on the other end of the line. Possibly a barrage of gossip and self-pity. Sebastian initially ignored Jin''s entrance as he was still wrapped in the conversation.


    "Come on, leave the kids with the rich deadbeat and let''s go light up the club tonight. Work has been killing me."


    Jin removed his jacket and set it on the freestanding coat rack near the entrance. His undershirt was covered in a bit of blood; which also stained his forearms, knuckles, and face. Taking notice, Sebastian set the phone down and moved to grab the med kit in the bathroom.


    Jin sat at his desk as his assistant moved over to clean him up.


    "It''s not mine." Jin said as Sebastian took out a cloth and some rubbing alcohol.


    "Then who''s is it?" Sebastian asked while unbuttoning and removing Jin''s shirt.


    "Any excuse to take my shirt off." Jin smugged.


    "Fuck off" Sebastian laughed. He began cleaning off Jin''s arms and chest.


    "It was the usual shit. Some loud mouth at the bar. Harassed a girl. Didn''t like his attitude¨C"


    "And you probably threw the first punch" Sebastian interrupted.


    "Always fire first."


    "Quite a bit of blood for one bloke."


    "Yeah, well let''s just say his buddies weren''t to thrilled seeing their friend get a crossover to the jaw."The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Police make their way over?"


    "No. It wasn''t a big place, and the others in the place weren''t the kind to want the fuzz sniffing around."


    Jin reached for a bottle of scotch at his desk while Sebastian finished cleaning him off.


    "Clearly you didn''t get enough to drink. Jin, it''s only three in the afternoon." Sebastian remarked.


    Sebastian rolled his eyes and flicked the cut on Jin''s forehead. He stood up as Jin winced. While Jin was pouring a drink, he returned to his own desk and grabbed a folder.


    "I need you to look over this paperwork from the main office. Also, this is me giving you your verbal reminder that you have your doctor''s appointment tomorrow."


    "I don''t know why you scheduled that thing for me. I''m in pristine health." Jin said before slightly choking on the glass of alcohol.


    He let out a light cough from the ashy burn of the scotch. There was a momentary pause in the conversation, as though Sebastian''s point was already made. They both rolled their eyes at one another before Sebastian handed Jin the folder. Jin gives a slight sigh of defeat and begins to flip through the documents.


    "As I was saying, go to your appointment. Your damn near almost forty. In your line of work, between your brittle back and damaged liver, you probably need it more than you want to admit."


    Jin grabbed a nearby remote and turned on the television in the corner of the room. On the news was a broadcast covering the death of Governor Pines. Meanwhile, Sebastian was packing up his bag to head home. He glanced over at the television.


    "Speaking of work, please go by the main office tomorrow and turn everything in. Rent for this place is due, and you owe me some cash."


    "Yeah. Yeah. I''ll stop by before my doctor''s appointment."


    The news broadcast reached a break point and commercials began playing. An advertisement for the new Bluto''s Chicken Sandwich made noise in the background.


    "Love that chicken from Bluto''s" Sebastian hummed while the ad sang its slogan.


    Next was an ad from Taco Gong. A new Chinese-Mexican chain that had been rising in popularity in the DC area. Orange chicken burritos, Moo shu pork tacos, General Tso spicy chicken quesadillas. Jin thought that the fad of mixing different cultures cuisine to be off-putting.


    "I heard that place is actually pretty good," Sebastian said as he began heading to the front door of the office.


    "Yeah, I don''t think so," Jin responded.


    "Anything you need from me before I go?"


    "No, I''m okay. I''ll see you on Monday."


    "Have a good weekend, Jin," Sebastian said as they headed out of the door.


    Jin gave a slight wave as they finished looking through the dossier folder. Nothing of interest was gained in their daily dose of reading. The television changed to another commercial, this time showing disabled veterans.


    "I''m CEO Richard Burke of Incognito Incorporated. The industry leader in prosthetic and robotic technology that not only gives our veterans a second chance, but improves the lives of millions across our great nation. This year, I plan to¨C" the television blared before Jin abruptly turned it off.


    "Yeah, that''s enough of that." Jin muttered to himself before getting up from his desk.


    Jin moved to the upstairs portion of the office which served as a small apartment. He set his glass on the nightstand next to his bed. As he laid on top of his comforter, he felt heavy in his own thoughts. Despite never being one for companionship, the feeling of loneliness and isolation occasionally reared its ugly head. His mind wandered at the words Sebastian had said. Hearing out loud that he was nearly forty brought a sobering thought to his cerebral, and despite his effort, the liquor wasn''t drowning it out. He kicked off his shoes before passing out on top of the mattress.

 Chapter 3: H.I.S.

    A couple of miles from the pentagon sat an unmarked office building in a vast sea of parking spots. With no logo or advertisement nearby, one might think the building was abandoned; save for the cars parked nearby. This was the secret building for H.I.S. (Hitmen''s International Syndicate). A workplace that assassin''s and bounty hunters called home in-between posted jobs for any country.


    Jin pulled up to a parking spot in his car, a red, 1995 Toyota Supra. He exited the vehicle and grabbed the envelope that Sebastian handed him the day before. As he approached the office building, he noticed a newly posted sign near the front door that read: "ALLEN ¨C NO OUTSIDE FOOD OR DRINK".


    As he continued walking, only 10 feet away from that sign stood a man who looked like a doppelganger of Mike Smith, famously known as Bubbles in the television series Trailer Park Boys. This, was Allen, a late 40''s, short, slightly overweight, and socially awkward hitman with bottlecap glasses. He was also the "self-prescribed" best friend of Jin. With Jin approaching, Allen took notice of his incoming amigo and decided to toss his beloved vanilla ice cream onto the pavement. Jin passed him and he began to follow.


    Jin picked up his tempo. "Al, you dropped your ice cream back there."


    Allen turned back to the melted scoop of vanilla on the smoldering pavement. Ants flocked to it from the cracks in the cement.


    "That''s alright Jin, I can always get another one," Allen responded. He noticed the folder in Jin''s hand and his eyebrows perked up above the rims of his glasses. "Turning in a job? Where''d you go?"


    "Al, you know we aren''t supposed to give out classified information in regards to work."


    Allen adjusted his glasses and ran forward to open the door for Jin. "No, you''re right. Just got a bit curious is all." He said as Jin passed him to enter the building.


    Jin and Allen entered the lobby of their workplace. Outside of a few lounge chairs and couches, the atmosphere was one of silence and hollowness. Everything in the building was a sterile white, and the sunlight blindly reflected off of multiple surfaces. A single desk was placed in front of two elevators where a secretary sat.


    That lovely secretary was Delores. A late 70''s woman who was just as quick to pull out a shotgun as she was to bake cookies for her grandchildren. She often hummed to herself, and passed the time reading the latest erotic fiction paperback. It was a deep escape from her office and home life.


    She paid no attention to Jin and Allen as they approached the desk; her newest novel was in the middle of a juicy scene. Jin stood for a moment, knowing better than to interrupt the woman in her momentary bliss; Allen however, lacked the social awareness. He locked eyes with the bell on the counter and began ringing it incessantly.


    Ding. Ding. Ding.


    "Delores! Jin and I need to go to the office!" Allen shouted attempting to get the attention of the hearing aid with glasses.


    Delores glanced up at the two men who had interrupted her literature.


    "Scan your badges," she said with a slightly annoyed, but underwhelmed tone.


    Allen''s eyes widened. He looked at the scanner on the counter and then at Jin. Moving his head back and forth between the two. Jin reached into his pocket and pulled out his worker''s badge. Before he scanned it, Allen was quick to yank him aside.


    "I don''t have my badge," Allen whispered.


    "Why?" Jin asked, not whispering back and raising an eyebrow.


    Allen fidgeted to himself for a moment, he continued to whisper so that Delores wouldn''t hear. "I didn''t plan on killing anyone today. So, if I''m not working, why would I need my badge?"


    Jin was dumbfounded by the logic. If you weren''t going to work today, then why hangout in front of the office building to begin with?


    "Then stay up here," Jin suggested, still not whispering.


    "No!" Allen whisper shouted. "I want to go with you. I''m your backup."


    Jin gave a sigh and turned back to Delores. He smiled at the disgruntled secretary. "Delores, beautiful, we''ve been working here for over ten years. Would it be okay if Al went with me even though he left his badge at home?"


    "We have rules¨C"


    "¨Cif you say no, then Allen will have to stay up here and keep you company while I work," Jin insisted.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Delores turned her attention to the pair of fogged bottlecap glasses. Without hesitation she was quick to scan her own badge to override the system. Much to Allen''s joy.


    "Go ahead," Delores instructed as the right elevator doors opened.


    Jin smiled and gave Delores a wink, "You''re the best."


    Jin and Allen moved into the elevator. On the keypad, Jin hit a 7-digit sequence before clicking the button for the basement floor. The elevator door closed on the two men and they rode down to the office.


    The basement floor of the office building was a bustling place. Cubicles created aisles up and down the floor in an office environment that hadn''t seen a change in procedure since the mid 90''s. Men and women in suits sat at their computers, surrounded the copying machines, and bided their time at the lone, dusty watercooler.


    Along the east side wall was a gated armory. A couple of employees stood at the window to hand off weapons to employees that made orders for missions. The register furthest to the right was newly installed for the companies attempt at online orders. The employees were busy stuffing explosives and firearms into to-go bags for the hitmen''s online orders.


    On the west side wall sat a row of tellers. Employees that worked in the company''s banking and finance; paying out successful jobs and logging in the accounting papers.


    On the north side there were three doors. Two that were designated for conferences and meetings, and another that led into the office for the boss of H.I.S. There was also a row of painted portraits of previous professional killers that went above and beyond their profession in both life and sacrifice. These included people such as Luther, Jack Walter, and many others from history.


    Jin began his trek to the tellers. Allen attempted to stay by his side until he was pulled away by nearby office workers George and Carl.


    "Hey Al, how''d you find your way down here?" teased George.


    "Yeah, we heard you botched the Zimbabwe job," laughed Carl.


    "Fellas. I didn''t botch the job. The hit required me to take out the entire family, and I shot the husband clear in the head. He was as good as dead. Saw no reason to eliminate the wife and children. I have rules you know. They were harmless." Allen said, attempting to justify himself.


    Carl continued laughing, "Harmless? The wife was the leader of the cartel Allen. You just put a bullet into her eye candy, trophy, husband."


    George threw Allen into a headlock, "always complete the job!"


    Away from Allen, Jin continued to walk through the office. Another man, Hugh Jackson, a late 20''s hotshot to the workplace noticed Jin from the watercooler. He had sandy blonde hair and icy steel blue eyes, with a cool temperament to match. Hugh brushes off his conversation with a few coworkers and moved over to Jin.


    "There''s the master," Hugh said pointing a few finger guns at Jin. They shot off their imaginary, supportive bullets of encouragement.


    Jin continues walking to the tellers and gives no acknowledgement.


    "Did you get my memo?" Hugh asked.


    "You know I don''t read that company newsletter shit." Jin responded.


    "Yeah, well, a couple of us guys got thinking¨C"


    "¨CThere''s your problem" interrupted Jin.


    Hugh gave a fake chuckle as they entered the back of the line for the tellers.


    "Anyhow, we were thinking some things needed to change around here. We professionals shouldn''t have to compete for contracts. They keep double booking us and wasting our time."


    "Not this again¨C"


    "¨CWe need to unionize." Hugh said firmly.


    The two men took a step forward with the line.


    "Do you hear yourself. A union for professional killers. What government is going to support that?"


    "We need to stick together Jin."


    "That''s why I work alone. I don''t want another team unnecessarily above me to make my job more difficult. If you are worried about competing with others to take jobs, then be more efficient than the other guy."


    They took another step forward. Hugh placed his hand on Jin''s shoulder, "Look, you are one of the oldest among us. The office sees you as a leader. Who else are we going to elect to represent us to the boss? Allen?"


    On the other side of the room, Allen was still in a headlock from George. He was trying to smile and play it off while they belittled him. Jin and Hugh took another step forward.


    "Think about it, please. Cause if you aren''t with us," Hugh said as he began to back away. He reloaded his imaginary finger guns and gave of a few more shots, "You''re against us."


    Jin was called to the teller as Hugh returned to the watercooler. Jin approaches and opens his dossier folder to grab the correct papers.


    "Last and first?" asked the teller.


    "Shimada, Jin" he answered.


    The teller began typing into her computer. Jin slid the documents through the window tray and the teller grabbed them. She quickly glances over the papers.


    "Pines, Bradley. Assassination. 850 thousand initial payout. Subtract, 200k for finder''s fee. 50k for rifle loan and ammunition. 25k transfer fee. 275k in other taxes and expenses. Your total for the job returns to 300 thousand. Would you like that deposited into your account or any of it in immediate cash?"


    "Deposit, please."


    The teller continues her typing. An initial receipt prints and the teller hands slides it through the window tray to Jin.


    "Is there anything else I can assist you with today?" she asked.


    "No, no thank you. I''ll have my assistant take care of the paperwork and assigning my next job."


    "Have a killer day."


    "Same to you."


    Jin turned around and placed the receipt in his pocket. He began his trek back to the elevator to leave. Meanwhile, Allen broke free from his captivity and retreated back to Jin''s side.


    "Making friends?" Jin asked with the rare hint of sarcasm.


    Allen almost trips over his own feet, "Those guys? Nah, they''re just a couple of knuckleheads."


    Jin and Allen enter the elevator and the door closes on the office workplace. Jin and Allen reach the lobby and move past Delores, who ignored them as she continued reading her literature. Outside the building, the vanilla ice cream remained on the ground; nothing more than a sweet puddle infested with ants.


    Jin takes notice of the puddle and stops momentarily. He drowns out whatever words Allen was spouting on about and his head begins the thump. He stared at the engulfing insects devouring their nectar and his ears rang out. His vision became blurry and Jin began to black out.


    "Jin? Jin?" Allen said in a sound that was muffled out by the ringing in Jin''s head.


    Jin collapses over on the ground as the sensation of devourment overwhelmed.