Death by Midnight

Fiction Apr 14, 2020

12.01 AM, Le Coudray -Montceaux Paris, France

"I am salvation. I am revenge. Soon, a fallen empire shall rise again. Being reborn in its former glory which it so cherished;
I am damnation. I am balance. I am the assassin. I am the Angel of Death"

Soft winds crept from the open balcony window into room 305 of the little motel inn. The Angel of Death sat patiently on the chair facing a blank wall.

"Kein gnade (no mercy)." He muttered to himself.

He glanced at the wall clock .The ceaseless ticking of the clock broke the deadly silence of the room. It was not yet time; he would have to be patient.

The saturnine atmosphere of the room was shrouded by the clouds of smoke released by the cigar in the hands of the Angel of the Death.
He heard a pair of muffled steps on the stairs outside his room. Taking a deep puff, he smiled.

Surprisingly, his prey had arrived at his doorstep. From a drawer, he removed a Luger and took his position near the side of the door, his back pressing against the wall. Before the person outside knocked, the Angel of Death opened the door from inside. The wooden door creaked swung inwards thus hiding the assassin (Angel of Death)

The silence resumed once again, compounded with the slight creaking of the door on its unoiled hinges. The man stepped in, his footsteps heavily weighted on the wooden floor. The man gazed at the white veils outside the balcony, fluttering under the influence of the breezy mistrals in the obscure light of the evanescent moon thus showing his back to the Angel of Death.

The assassin smiled, firing a round of three shots. The bullets pierced the man's skin, forming three red circles of blood. The man wobbled and was collapsing on the floor when the assassin caught him by the waist and lowered him on the ground - a clean kill.

"Agent Samuels, we meet again." Said the assassin addressing the almost dead man on the floor who coughed up blood.

"Although you betrayed the cause, I hope you rest in happiness, brother." This incantation of the assassin was broken by Agent Samuels who stammered with whatever energy he had left in his consciousness,

"You'll...never...succeed."

Unfazed, the assassin picked up Agent Samuels by his bloodstained collar and landed a punch on his face.

More blood.

He continued, "Rest in happiness, brother. For even in death you have served your cause with honour."

He fired another round of three - this time on the dead man’s torso and completed the ritual. While doing so, he heard a few more muffled footsteps.

"Wolves always hunt in packs." He told himself.

Suddenly a flurry of bullets pierced through the wooden door. The assassin flattened himself on the ground to dodge the bullets but one grazed his arm. His white shirtsleeve got soaked in blood. He instantaneously ran towards the door, aligning himself to the wall beside it. Another round of bullets went through the door.

He reloaded his gun and placed the nozzle in one of the holes made by the bullets and fired. He heard a yelp, followed by the crepitate sound of the body falling on the floor. He opened the door in wild fury and landed a kick on the dying man’s jaw, which broke with a snap. “Where’s your back up!?” He asked him.

No answer.

Another kick but this one was to the ribs. The victim howled in agony and weakly pointed towards the balcony. At the same time, a shot rang out from the outside of the veiled balcony and jammed into the wall, narrowly missing the assassin’s head. He quickly rounded himself up against the opposite wall this hiding himself from the sniper.

Ignoring the searing pain in his wounded shooting arm, he darted up the steps to reach the top of the motel. The unlit outskirts of this Parisian suburb were truly a shame to any shooter with its shadowy streets that casted abstruse shadows on the walls of shops and buildings alike.

He scanned the horizon and spotted the obscure shadow of a man on the building opposite the motel he stood on. It seemed as if the sniper too, had viewed the assassin because the moment the assassin ducked under the parapet for cover, another shot rang out.

Despite being armed with an inferior weapon, the assassin was as confident as he ever would have been.

Levelling his pistol to the parapet’s top, he aimed - and fired.

The shot rang out in the deadly silence of the black night. It hit the sniper, whose body fell from the top onto the street with a loud resonating thud.
The assassin smiled. His work here was done.

He went back to his room and tended to his gaping wound. After stacking the two dead corpses on the bed and changing into clean clothes, he carried his suitcase out of the room and proceeded to the reception. He handed over the room keys to the receptionist, Ms. Bernard, who said, “I hope you had a pleasant stay Mr. Faust.” To which Mr. Shai Faust replied, “Just remember to clean the sheets which are now red because of the wine I spilled on it”.

His mind was filled with the humorous thought of the housekeeping woman gagging at the sight of the mangled corpses he had left on the bed.

"Your ride is waiting for you sir. Do enjoy the fireworks on your way to Lyon.” Said Ms. Bernard. He thanked her and knew in his mind, that there was going to be more than just firework explosions tonight.

He hopped into the black van that was waiting for him. He was greeted by his trusted driver, Floyd.

Muttering a silent prayer in his mind he told Floyd, “This is our 70th and final mission together. You are a piece of a puzzle that the master is creating. I'm afraid your time has come my friend.” Another shot rang out.

Floyd mustered whatever energy he had left and screamed, “Why Faust, why!!”

The assassin recanted his tale, “ You see, Floyd, my name is not Shai. My full name is Shai Dolors Faust - a mere anagram of the true master with who’s name I serve. You think I’m a rebel but I believe that a rebel has no purpose. I have one, making me a revolutionary just like the former holder of my true name.

His empire shall revive tonight when I take down the headquarters of Interpol tonight. Oh yes, Interpol is going down. I am salvation and revenge. I am the Angel of Death.

I serve by my master’s name - Adolf Alois Hitler.”

Two more shots rang out and the van sped into the black of the night.

– Shiv Khakhar

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