Post by Titus Vere on Sept 16, 2010 22:40:20 GMT -6
A person’s home told you what you needed to know about them. The reporter’s apartment was small, but full of expensive looking things. It was also lacking anything but the most basic security systems, something Titus easily overrode in less than thirty seconds. That gave him plenty of time to search the apartment for any recording or listening devices. He found two in his sweep, both on the inside of rather expensive sculptures, but set off a small EMP device, just in case there were a few more cleverly hidden ones in the apartment. The reporter hadn’t been very choosy in accepting gifts from strangers, but that was the least of his sins.
Titus found the reporter sound asleep in his bed. He approached carefully, even though it was clear that the reporter had no idea that he was enjoying the last moment of peace he would ever have. Sloppiness could not be tolerated, not even when there was every reason to believe he could get away with it.
The assassin waited for the right moment. The reporter shifted in his sleep and started to come to, finally aware of the presence in his room. Titus let him open his eyes and stare blearily up at Titus, “wha?”
“Digeo sends his regards.” Titus told him, and struck like a snake, hitting the man hard enough to stun him out even before he could fully digest the words. The body twitched momentarily, and then slumped. Titus moved quickly, picking up the body and carrying it to the bathroom. His tools were already laid out there, along with the chemicals he would need to make a clean disposal of the body.
However, there was something else to do first, something not in his usual M.O. Titus strung the man up from the ceiling, and arranged a tray below his dangling head. He made sure to secure the man’s hands to his sides so he wouldn’t be able to trash about. The reporter began to come back to his senses, groaning a little as his face became red.
The bathroom was the perfect place to do this. Not only would it be easy to clean up, but the bathroom was insulated and would muffle any strange sounds. Titus shut the door, and blocked up the bottom as a precaution.
“Oh god.” The reporter seemed to finally grasp his situation, “Oh no, oh god! Please, no!”
“The time for begging has passed.” Titus selected a knife from his set of tools, checking to make sure the blade was appropriately sharp for his task. “Your inquiries have been deemed dangerous to us, and your life was forfeit approximately two hours ago.” He paused, and added, “And you have ruined my evening, so I am not in the mood for mercy.”
“I’m sorry, please, please I’m so sorry.” The reporter squirmed, but all he could do was sway back and forth from where he hung. Titus reached out a hand and stopped him, guiding him so his head was overtop the tray. “Please! I’ll leave the planet! I’ll go anywhere, anywhere!! Please! I’ll give you whatever you want!!”
“You already are.” Titus assured the hysterical reporter, and slit his throat. The man choked as he began to bleed out. The tray in the tub caught the bulk of the blood, and Titus held him still to minimize any extra spillage. The struggling was over relatively quickly, and then Titus let him drain away, turning his attention to the supplies he had brought.
Occasionally, it was required that Titus bring physical proof back from his assignments. Of course, this was often something rather grotesque, like a head or hands, or perhaps some other bodily feature. In this case, he was to dispose of the body and leave no trace. But he had promised to cook for Elijah, and he would be a fool to waste what he was freely given. So the containment chamber that usually held limbs would serve to hold the blood tonight. It would keep it cool and prevent it from clotting until Titus could return home and begin to determine how best to use it.
Titus picked up the tray and poured the blood into the opaque storage unit, and then sealed the lid shut. He could feel a little of the heat leaking through the storage unit, and he set it aside. Titus took off his shirt and fetched the bone saw, and set about the rest of his night’s work.
Dismembering bodies was a task most assassins found to be demeaning and grotesque. It was often said that the thing that separated the assassins from the bounty hunters was that assassins were too professional to take any enjoyment from the actual kill, only from the planning and the hunt, while bounty hunters often enjoyed the kill most of all. Titus disagreed. After all, he rather enjoyed the kill, and the occasional afterwards disposal, as well as planning and executing a tricky hit. Perhaps sawing through bones at three in the morning was not the most glamorous part of his profession, but Titus didn’t mind. It sometimes reminded him of his culinary school training. There was very little difference between butchering an animal and a human, other than that the human was often far fresher than the animals he had practiced on had been.
Once in pieces, Titus put a dissolving plug into the tub and drew the body parts a chemical bath. He had to place a mask on to prevent from damaging his lungs or eyes as the harsh chemicals ate away the flesh and bone, and left behind a sort of meat slurry. Titus waited and watched to ensure that the bulk of the body dissolved. The plug was eaten away at as well, and after forty-five minutes, the first bit of the slurry started to drain down the tub. Titus washed the tub out once it passed, and then began to clean, making sure to remove any and all traces of blood, or that he had been there.
He repacked the tools and chemicals, and left the bathroom. The reporter’s body was gone, and if the night staff at the Guild were doing their job, the reporter’s records would be equally purged. He was already a non-entity, and by tomorrow, he wouldn’t exist at all. It was hard to cry foul play when there was no victim and no records to back up his existence. Being a Code White meant that he had no close family or friends to cry foul or demand to know what had happened to the unfortunate gentleman. No one would miss him, except perhaps other reporters, and they would take this as the warning it was: do not look into what he was looking into.
Titus made another sweep of the apartment, slowly and carefully removing anything that made the apartment look or feel personal. Clothing, possessions, photo cards, furniture and any other item were gathered up, rendered into manageable pieces, and placed into the incinerator chutes.
By the time Titus finished the rather long job, the sun was rising, and he was tired. He checked the containment chamber to make sure the blood was still unclotted and cooled, and then left with all his items intact. It was a long journey home, but he felt rather excited, even after all the long hard work. In two days time, he would see Elijah again. That gave him just enough time to experiment with the blood and see if he couldn’t find something perhaps more appetizing and a bit unique to woo Elijah with.
Titus found the reporter sound asleep in his bed. He approached carefully, even though it was clear that the reporter had no idea that he was enjoying the last moment of peace he would ever have. Sloppiness could not be tolerated, not even when there was every reason to believe he could get away with it.
The assassin waited for the right moment. The reporter shifted in his sleep and started to come to, finally aware of the presence in his room. Titus let him open his eyes and stare blearily up at Titus, “wha?”
“Digeo sends his regards.” Titus told him, and struck like a snake, hitting the man hard enough to stun him out even before he could fully digest the words. The body twitched momentarily, and then slumped. Titus moved quickly, picking up the body and carrying it to the bathroom. His tools were already laid out there, along with the chemicals he would need to make a clean disposal of the body.
However, there was something else to do first, something not in his usual M.O. Titus strung the man up from the ceiling, and arranged a tray below his dangling head. He made sure to secure the man’s hands to his sides so he wouldn’t be able to trash about. The reporter began to come back to his senses, groaning a little as his face became red.
The bathroom was the perfect place to do this. Not only would it be easy to clean up, but the bathroom was insulated and would muffle any strange sounds. Titus shut the door, and blocked up the bottom as a precaution.
“Oh god.” The reporter seemed to finally grasp his situation, “Oh no, oh god! Please, no!”
“The time for begging has passed.” Titus selected a knife from his set of tools, checking to make sure the blade was appropriately sharp for his task. “Your inquiries have been deemed dangerous to us, and your life was forfeit approximately two hours ago.” He paused, and added, “And you have ruined my evening, so I am not in the mood for mercy.”
“I’m sorry, please, please I’m so sorry.” The reporter squirmed, but all he could do was sway back and forth from where he hung. Titus reached out a hand and stopped him, guiding him so his head was overtop the tray. “Please! I’ll leave the planet! I’ll go anywhere, anywhere!! Please! I’ll give you whatever you want!!”
“You already are.” Titus assured the hysterical reporter, and slit his throat. The man choked as he began to bleed out. The tray in the tub caught the bulk of the blood, and Titus held him still to minimize any extra spillage. The struggling was over relatively quickly, and then Titus let him drain away, turning his attention to the supplies he had brought.
Occasionally, it was required that Titus bring physical proof back from his assignments. Of course, this was often something rather grotesque, like a head or hands, or perhaps some other bodily feature. In this case, he was to dispose of the body and leave no trace. But he had promised to cook for Elijah, and he would be a fool to waste what he was freely given. So the containment chamber that usually held limbs would serve to hold the blood tonight. It would keep it cool and prevent it from clotting until Titus could return home and begin to determine how best to use it.
Titus picked up the tray and poured the blood into the opaque storage unit, and then sealed the lid shut. He could feel a little of the heat leaking through the storage unit, and he set it aside. Titus took off his shirt and fetched the bone saw, and set about the rest of his night’s work.
Dismembering bodies was a task most assassins found to be demeaning and grotesque. It was often said that the thing that separated the assassins from the bounty hunters was that assassins were too professional to take any enjoyment from the actual kill, only from the planning and the hunt, while bounty hunters often enjoyed the kill most of all. Titus disagreed. After all, he rather enjoyed the kill, and the occasional afterwards disposal, as well as planning and executing a tricky hit. Perhaps sawing through bones at three in the morning was not the most glamorous part of his profession, but Titus didn’t mind. It sometimes reminded him of his culinary school training. There was very little difference between butchering an animal and a human, other than that the human was often far fresher than the animals he had practiced on had been.
Once in pieces, Titus put a dissolving plug into the tub and drew the body parts a chemical bath. He had to place a mask on to prevent from damaging his lungs or eyes as the harsh chemicals ate away the flesh and bone, and left behind a sort of meat slurry. Titus waited and watched to ensure that the bulk of the body dissolved. The plug was eaten away at as well, and after forty-five minutes, the first bit of the slurry started to drain down the tub. Titus washed the tub out once it passed, and then began to clean, making sure to remove any and all traces of blood, or that he had been there.
He repacked the tools and chemicals, and left the bathroom. The reporter’s body was gone, and if the night staff at the Guild were doing their job, the reporter’s records would be equally purged. He was already a non-entity, and by tomorrow, he wouldn’t exist at all. It was hard to cry foul play when there was no victim and no records to back up his existence. Being a Code White meant that he had no close family or friends to cry foul or demand to know what had happened to the unfortunate gentleman. No one would miss him, except perhaps other reporters, and they would take this as the warning it was: do not look into what he was looking into.
Titus made another sweep of the apartment, slowly and carefully removing anything that made the apartment look or feel personal. Clothing, possessions, photo cards, furniture and any other item were gathered up, rendered into manageable pieces, and placed into the incinerator chutes.
By the time Titus finished the rather long job, the sun was rising, and he was tired. He checked the containment chamber to make sure the blood was still unclotted and cooled, and then left with all his items intact. It was a long journey home, but he felt rather excited, even after all the long hard work. In two days time, he would see Elijah again. That gave him just enough time to experiment with the blood and see if he couldn’t find something perhaps more appetizing and a bit unique to woo Elijah with.