Clang!
Blood mist clings to the air as the world's deadliest gunman, Zenji, reloads without blinking. His boots sliding across shattered glass, bullet shells ringing like death bells in the empty hallway of the Valderno Syndicate's private fortress.
"Target's on the roof," came the voice in his earpiece—calm, clinical.
"I know," he mutters, voice low, eyes locked on the spiral staircase ahead. "They're not getting away this time."
Every breath was calculated. Every step screamed lethal intent. His name was only whispered in the underground—the Ghost Trigger. A phantom. A legend. A man who never missed and never failed.
And tonight's mission isn't any different.
Though he is fifty-nine, almost sixty, he was no less of an assassin than he was at his prime.
Just a bit slow.
With each slow step, I ascend the staircase. Gunfire erupts as he sets foot on the roof. He rolls, changing his AK-47 to a pistol, tossing it to the side; the barrel of his silenced pistol sweeps the air like a reaper's scythe.
Three guards drop, their bodies hitting the floor.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
"Three down." He whispers into the earpieces. "How many more are there left?" He kept his eyes on the obstacles of wooden boards, stone, bags of cement, and pieces of furniture that they felt out on the roof.
'Poor choice of coverage.'
"Three more." The man on the other side of the earpiece says.
"Are any of them at range with your sniper?" He inquires, one of them peeking out from a piece of board, and shoots, forcing him to dodge.
"Yeah!" A shot rings out, and the one shooting at him drops.
"Nice shot," he says, darting toward the boards. He slams his back against the wooden surface and peeks around the edge.
Bang!
A bullet sinks into the board, close to his eyes.
'Geez, that was close.' He tucks back his head, wiping away the sweat forming on his forehead. 'My last mission, and I'm sweating. That's something new'.
Sliding past the board, he raises his gun to head level and fires. Bullets rip through the man's legs, climb up his torso, and burst through his skull.
Afterwards, he ducks low, shrinking behind the turntable for cover.
"Where's the next one?"
"Up ahead." He answers.
"Then why don't you kill him?" He says, wondering if the man he had been working with for years is finally losing it or not.
"This is your last mission, right?"
"Yes, it is." He replies. "Oh." He finally caught on. "Then that kill is mine." A smirk curls his lips, and he runs out, bullets rushing towards him at a speed he can't comprehend, but he maneuvers his way around them.
'Though it isn't giving me the thrill Zereth Cain once gave me. This moment…is." He slides under a desk, then leaps over a fallen shelf resting on a hand on the bag of cement and jumps over, stopping behind him. 'Simply impeccable.'
"Shit!" the man snarls, scrambling for his gun. But his body jerks violently to the left, out of his control. Zenji doesn't even flinch as the bullet hits his left ear.
Clatter!
Zenji kicks away the gun, causing it to land on the floor. "Don't even try."
"P…Please.. S..Spare me." He pleads, backing away to the bags of powdered cement. "I'll do anything…"
"How about you die?" He points his gun at his head and, without a second to spare—
BANG!!
"..."
"You're…truly…one evil man." His partner says, worry in his tone.
"Evil? No." He wipes away the blood from his chin. "Brutally cold and handsome? Yes."
He scoffs. "Fifty-nine years old, sixty by tomorrow, and still so cocky."
"Age only brings more confidence." He retorts, sliding the pistol into its holder.
"But I thought they said it makes you less confident." He remarks.
"Well, Axel. I'm not one of those mundane hags, am I? My mind works differently from theirs."
"That might be true. Well, congratulations on your final mission."
"Thank you." He grins.
.
.
.
"You have outdone yourself yet again." Scarface congratulates him.
The surrounding men clad in black around the desk jump up in cheers. Their face lit up with the completion of yet another one of Zenji's great feats. But sadly for them, it is his last. The age of retirement is finally upon him.
"Thank you, sir." He bows.
Scarface's smile drops, becoming more serious. If the dimly light warehouse wasn't dark enough, just the look on Scarface brought it down past its limits.
"Now, Kenji." His light tone becomes serious. "What do you plan on doing now that you're free and retired?" Scarface inquires.
"I plan on finding a lovely woman. Young or old, it doesn't matter, and live in a beachside house." He smiles just thinking about it, but a bitterness is left in his mouth just thinking about living the life he had lived for almost fifty years.
Silence washes through the crowd, all of their faces becoming hard to read, even for a world-class hitman like himself. Then, like a volcano, it explodes. Their hands flaring into the air, their steps colliding together as they all rush to embrace him.
"No! Don't go!"
"That's a wonderful retirement plan!!"
"Can't you stay another year?"
Zenji is taken aback but is already used to it by now, though he remains quiet, waiting for something, eyes locked onto scarface for his reaction.
"HE FINALLY YOU'VE MATURED!!" Scarface joins, tears streaming down his face. "YOU NO LONGER NEED GUIDANCE!!"
'Typical.' He shakes his head. 'Though the man is like 70. He still looks so youthful. And yet, he remains the same immature old man when it comes to me.'
"Yes." He smiles, despite all of them suffocating him.