[Story] The Assassin Ch.1

1
The assassin perched himself on a small patch of tiles at the top of the building. He had been following his target for 2 entire months, and for what; a 10 second job for some easy money? "No", he thought to himself. He brushed a hand through his infinitely black hair, feeling the sweat from the sheer anticipation of what he was about to do.
"I'm not one to interrupt," Came a cold voice from his left "But I get the feeling your plans are less than innocent."
The assassin swung round to face his newest obstruction. The man in question seemed to emanate a sense of utter control, a sense that was reflected heavily in his attire; a perfect condition business suit, complete with steel-plated gloves and what the assassin assumed were steel capped boots.
"What is it to you?" He questioned, boring into the man with his powerful gaze. The faint light from the street lights below accentuated the emerald green of the assassins eyes.
"Mr. Mensuta hired me," Begun the man, extracting a high caliber handgun from his belt "To take care of any disturbances." He finished, a wide grin forming on his face. The assassin laughed.
"I don't waste ammo on straw targets like yourself." Replied the assassin confidently.
"So?" Questioned the man, who was beginning to become infuriated.
"So," Replied the assassin, facing away from the man, "Catch me if you can."
With that final comment, the assassin catapulted himself from the roof and through the window of a nearby dilapidated house. The man groaned.
"I hate assassins."

Not far away, the assassin was making his way through the back alleys of London; if he could lose the obstruction quickly enough, he could easily get back to his target. And with no ammo wasted, everything was effectively going according to plan. Traffic roared past at break neck speeds, something very uncommon so close to the center of the city. "Typical," muttered to himself, "The one night I get a chase, I can't even use the roads."
He pressed on, wary of leaving any incriminating evidence. He didn't appreciate people being sent after him. After all, he was the assassin.

After staying out of sight in the house for around 3 minutes, the assassin decided it would be safe enough to exit. As he approached the well worn door, he took a moment to ponder the implications of being seen; there would almost definitely be added resistance once the kill was complete, and when his assailant returned to Mensuta with the news he had gotten away, he would certainly be on his guard. Of course, none of this made any difference. He had gotten away with much worse before. His targets were generally heavily armoured guards. Mensuta would just be another body in his never-ending chain of blood.

As he edged open the door, he was greeted by the familiar scent of pollution and drunken I love eating my dirty socksneys. He gazed around, cautious of his surroundings. Across the road, just outside a busy pub, stood the man.
"You're a feisty one" He wheezed. The assassin began to walk backwards, and the man followed suit, matching every step with perfect timing.
"And you just won't let up" The assassin replied spitefully.
"No, no I will not."
"Well, I'm sure that truck will convince you otherwise."
Milliseconds later, there came a scream and a crash of steel. The assassin laughed mercilessly. He always had an ace up his sleeve, whether it was guiding someone into the path of an unwitting truck driver, or having them step on a pressure plate, ultimately leading to a nearby oil tanker exploding. The second was admittedly more elaborate, but still equally as effective.

He sprinted at full speed, the wind clipping at his heels. Nothing could stop him now, which, considering the situation, was a blessing. There would be mere seconds before Mensuta would leave the restaurant, and he would have to be there there the moment he left. With the nearest building in his sights, the assassin leapt towards the wall, using the cracks in the brickwork to propel him vertically. As he reached the roof, he used all of his strength to force himself to the top. He readied himself, back in a kneeling position; it allowed for a stronger dive, and helped keep him hidden.

At the same time, the target sat inside a posh restaurant, enjoying a portion of cheesecake. His full name was Teuril Mensuta, and he was a well respected businessman. Unfortunately, Teuril tended to do as he willed, regardless of who he offended. Little did he know that this meal would be his last, and as he exited the restaurant, the assassins plan commenced.

The door to the restaurant swung open and he reacted instantly. Standing, he proceeded to jump from the top of the building, snatching a small, slender H&K USP from his trouser pocket and shooting once. The bullet hit with perfect accuracy to the forehead.
Of the wrong man.

The assassin landed softly on the floor, distributing his weight.
"Denzel Avens. I should have know it." Teuril said, his voice tainted with hatred.
"What is your problem with me?" He asked, never breaking eye contact. Denzel found it hard to match this, but still spoke softly and calmly.
"I know what your doing Mensuta. I know all about your plans to bring back the Celands." Teuril glared at him.
"What's your point?" He whispered after what felt like an eternity to Denzel.
"The point is," Denzel replied, raising his pistol, "That you aren't going to see tomorrow."
Another bullet was fired, and the now silent and still corpse of Teuril Mensuta dropped to the floor.

Denzel inhaled deeply. Despite the street being empty, he was worried about being caught. Nothing else tonight had gone particularly well, so police interception was highly expected. His suspicions were confirmed before he had time to think. Police sirens wailed as 14 cars pulled around, ensnaring him. He laughed at the thought of being apprehended by such feeble forces.
"Sir, put your hands behind your head and get down on your knees. You're under arrest for suspected murder and criminal damage." Shouted a police from the nearest car. Denzel simply looked at him.
"Don't try to control me." Replied Denzel, outraged. One of the police made to hit him with his baton, but he was forced into submission when Denzel lodged his foot deep into the policeman's stomach.
"GET HIM!" Commanded another officer, carrying a large riot shield in front of him. Denzel simply smiled.
"Good night boys." He finished, still grinning. The guards advanced at full speed, but he was more than prepared. Taking one forceful jump, he caught the bar of an above lamppost. 10 seconds later, he was gone, a feather on the wind, impossible to catch.