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Both Sides by Wiley Kimball
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Both Sides Ch. 1
Date: 25 June 2004, 4:46 AM
Both Sides Ch. 1
2156 hours, Local Time
January 12, 2518
Central District, Tokyo, Japan.
Earth, Third planet in the Sol System.
Perfect night, thought Richard Mitchell. He was standing on the 189th floor of a Tokyo hotel. He slid open the glass door, and stepped onto the balcony, gazing at the impressive Tokyo skyline.
Since the 21st century, Tokyo had slowly grown in size, first expanding outward. It took up a sizeable portion of Japan. Realizing that they would literally run out of space, the Mayor of Tokyo decided to expand UP instead of out. Now, Tokyo had some of the tallest buildings on the planet, the central government tower was almost five kilometers in height, and it stood in the center of the grand city. Tokyo was also the cleanest city on Earth; it gleamed brilliant white. During a clear day it could be seen from over 100 kilometers away. From space, it was a brilliant star on the planets surface. With three different road levels, it was also immensely complex; visitors were very easily lost in its endless canyons. It had a huge seafood export, yet relied on imports for everything else.
Richard peered over the railing into the depths. The ground was almost a kilometer below him, and he saw the cars on the second of the elevated roads 100 feet beneath. He looked up, and saw the third and final level another 500 feet above. The lights of the many buildings illuminated the city for as far as he could see down both sides of the "canyon", that is, the area between him and the building across the street.
He glanced at his watch: 2157. Three minutes until execution. He expected this operation to go as smooth as butter. The target was not very well defended, and he knew exactly where he was going to be. Twenty stories below him was the Tokyo Honey nightclub. That's where his target would be in exactly three minutes. He heard a beep on his COM and clicked once to tell the caller that the line was secure.
"I'm in, ready in two minutes, thirty seconds. Out." The voice coming through his earpiece was female, with a slight American accent.
Mitchell turned and strode back into the suite, grabbing a large duffle bag. He unzipped it and reached inside, pulling out the pieces of equipment one-by-one. Firstly, he pulled out his M6B .40 caliber pistol. He pulled back the slide and made a visual inspection to ensure that it was intact. He then slipped an eighteen shot clip into the receiver and hit the slide catch. He screwed a silencer onto it, and then clipped a scope to the top. He flipped it over, and put a laser sight on the bottom. Setting the weapon down he pulled out his night/thermal vision headset. It had taken him several years to find a military-grade one like this. He put it on, adjusted it so it would fit, then pushed it onto his forehead. Reaching inside he pulled out a smoke grenade, a tear gas grenade, and a flashbang. Strapping all three to his belt, he then strapped the holster for his pistol to his shoulder. Donning his coat, which came down to his ankles, he flipped the Kevlar collar up to afford some protection to his neck and head. He then reached in and pulled the last piece of equipment out of the bag, and checked to make sure it wasn't damaged. The grappling hook, with a 100-foot cable on a winch, had a magnetic locking system guaranteed to support 300lbs. Richard walked back to the balcony, reached over, and attached the magnet to the underside of the railing. He pulled out his binoculars, and checked his target: the flagpole right above the nightclub. He then looked at his watch: it read 2159 and thirty seconds. He watched as the seconds ticked by. At forty seconds, he clipped the cable to his belt. At forty-five, he pulled himself up to a sitting position on the railing. Fifty. He double-checked everything. Fifty-five. Fifty-six. Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty. It was exactly 2200. Somewhere in the power district, a switch flipped. Power went out in the 59th district.
Richard saw everything go dark, pushed the goggles onto his eyes, turned them on, and looked at his target one last time. He then swung his legs over the railing and plummeted towards the ground. Watching the ground race up at him, he tightened his grip on the cable as he fell, slowing his descent. Keeping his eye on the pole, he rotated so his feet were pointed down. He tensed up, and tightened his grip. He came to a near stop just above the pole, and dropped onto it. Balance on the pole, he tied the cable to the base of it, turned, and leaped onto the edge of the building. He carefully slid over to a window, another hotel room he had rented, opened the window, and ducked inside. In the power district, the same switch was flipped again, and power was restored for the 59th district. In the main control, guards burst in just in time to see a black shape slip into the ventilation, leaving four knocked-out personnel in its wake.
Richard took off his goggles and placed them on the bed, checked his pistol and grenades once again, and opened the door, stepping into the hallway. The core of the building was hollow, letting four elevators run up and down. Mitchell got in line for the next "down" elevator. He let everyone else get on, then waited until it went down and came back up. He then stepped in and keyed the elevator. When he got out, he saw he was on the 169th floor. Perfect, right where he wanted to be. Glancing at his watch, he saw it read 2205. Exactly on time. He then walked over to the inside entrance of the nightclub, nodded and slipped a large cash card to the bouncer, who opened the door, and walked into the noisy club. His target was in here somewhere, and he intended to find him. The club smelled of smoke, booze, and various other things, most of which were probably illegal. Lighted by neon lights, an incredibly annoying dance beat blared over the speakers, which shook the whole floor. He walked over to the bar, and ordered himself a drink. Once he got it, he turned on his stool and surveyed the floor. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses, he engaged the zoom mode as he searched the crowd. His vision settled on a large, black man in an expensive suit. Mitchell pulled up the file on his target on the lenses of his glasses, and read it once again.
Subject: Marcus Anderson
Age: 31
Height: 6' 3"
Aliases: Markus Andreckson, Andy Malatav.
Danger level: moderate
Current bounty: 10.5 million UN Marks alive, 10.2 million dead.
Wanted for: Racketeering, arms dealing, murder, conspiracy to commit murder, murder for hire, larceny, grand larceny, grand theft auto, grand theft boat, grand theft truck, grand theft aircraft, money laundering, fraud, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to commit murder, rape, vehicular manslaughter, vehicular murder. (Not a very nice guy, watch yourself Mitch.)
Profile: Anal-retentive mouth-breather. Heavy smoker/drinker. Extremely volatile temper. Wouldn't want to be caught in an elevator with him. -Chloe
Included was a picture. It was nothing but a grainy surveillance pic, but it was enough. He made a positive I.D., and then moved in. He strode up to his target, and saw his two bodyguards. He engaged the thermal mode on his glasses, and saw each of them had an AZ-130 5.72mm personal defense weapon hidden under their jackets. This might be tricky. He hadn't anticipated for them to be so heavily armed. Anderson was seated at a booth, looking at the "scenery". Mitchell watched and waited for him to get up, heading towards the bathroom. He followed him at a distance, preparing to make his move, and then the plan hit a snag.
The large man reached out and grabbed a woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties. He put his hand over her mouth and dragged her into the bathroom. Mitchell shouldered his way through the crowd, and reached the door to the bathroom. He pulled his foot back, and kicked the door right off of its hinges. He drew his pistol and went inside. Anderson was straddling the woman, who looked at Mitchell and yelled.
"Help me! Oh my God help!" She was hysterical.
Mitchell raised the pistol, thumbed the laser sight, and put the red dot right on Anderson's forehead. "Good evening, Mr. Anderson" He said. "You are under arrest. Get off of her and put your hands up. Now."
"And what if I don't" he sneered back.
"In case you haven't realized, this is a real gun. It shoots what we call "bullets". I'm going to count to three. If you aren't off her by the time I finish counting, I'm going to blow the contents of your head all over this room. It doesn't matter to me if you're alive or dead when I drag your ass outta here; the only difference is 300,000 marks. Not a big one. Now, you want to get off of her?"
"Burn in Hell, cowboy punk!"
"One."
"Hah! I don't think you have the balls to do it!"
Mitchell fired a shot that passed half of an inch from Anderson's ear. "Two," he said calmly.
Anderson's confidence melted. "Alright! Give me a minute!"
"Get your sorry ass up, and face that wall."
He stood up, and did as he was told.
"And pull your pants up." Richard said.
Anderson grumbled, complied, followed by a string of curses, and was about to say something else when the back of Mitchell's pistol slammed into the base of his skull. He hit the ground like a sack of instacrete. Richard walked over to the woman, who was shaking, and helped her up. "You alright?" He asked.
"Yes, thank you! Thank you!"
"You should get out of here. Call the police. This guy's name is Marcus Anderson. It'll just be another charge for him to get locked away for." He told her; full well knowing the police wouldn't be locking him away anywhere but the morgue when his client got done with him.
"He called you a cowboy...what's that mean? What are you?"
He spun his pistol like the cowboys of old, holstering it. He gave her a dashing smile. "Just a humble bounty hunter, Ma'am."
To be continued...
Both Sides Ch. 1(Redux)
Date: 28 January 2005, 2:57 AM
Both Sides Ch. 1(Redux)
2156 hours, Local Time
January 12, 2518
Central District, Tokyo, Japan.
Earth, Third planet in the Sol System.
Perfect night, thought Richard Mitchell. He was standing on the 189th floor of a Tokyo hotel. He slid open the glass door, and stepped onto the balcony, gazing at the impressive Tokyo skyline.
Since the 21st century, Tokyo had slowly grown in size, first expanding outward. It took up a sizeable portion of Japan. Realizing that they would literally run out of space, the Mayor of Tokyo decided to expand UP instead of out. Now, Tokyo had some of the tallest buildings on the planet, the central government tower was almost five kilometers in height, and it stood in the center of the grand city. Tokyo was also the cleanest city on Earth; it gleamed brilliant white. During a clear day it could be seen from over one hundred kilometers away. From space, it was a brilliant star on the planets surface. With three different road levels, it was also immensely complex; visitors were very easily lost in its endless canyons.
Richard peered over the railing into the depths. The ground was almost a kilometer below him, and he saw the cars on the second of the elevated roads one hundred feet beneath. He looked up, and saw the third and final level another 500 feet above. The lights of the many buildings illuminated the city for as far as he could see down both sides of the "canyon", that is, the area between him and the building across the street.
He glanced at his watch: 2157. Three minutes until execution. He expected this operation to go as smooth as butter. The target was not very well defended, and he knew exactly where he was going to be. Twenty stories below him was the Tokyo Honey nightclub. That's where his target would be in exactly three minutes. He heard a beep on his COM and clicked once to tell the caller that the line was secure.
"I'm in, ready in two minutes, thirty seconds. Out." The voice coming through his earpiece was female, with a slight American accent.
Mitchell turned and strode back into the suite, grabbing a large duffle bag. He unzipped it and reached inside, pulling out the pieces of equipment one-by-one. Firstly, he pulled out his M6B .40 caliber pistol. He pulled back the slide and made a visual inspection to ensure that it was intact. He then slipped an eighteen shot clip into the receiver and hit the slide catch. He screwed a silencer onto it, and then clipped a scope to the top. He flipped it over, and put a laser sight on the bottom. Setting the weapon down he pulled out his night/thermal vision headset. It had taken him several years to find a military-grade one like this. He put it on, adjusted it so it would fit, then pushed it onto his forehead. Reaching inside he pulled out a smoke grenade, a tear gas grenade, and a flashbang. Strapping all three to his belt, he then strapped the holster for his pistol to his shoulder. Donning his coat, which came down to his ankles, he flipped the Kevlar collar up to afford some protection to his neck and head. He then reached in and pulled the last piece of equipment out of the bag, and checked to make sure it wasn't damaged. The grappling hook, with a 100-foot cable on a winch, had a magnetic locking system guaranteed to support 300lbs. Richard walked back to the balcony, reached over, and attached the magnet to the underside. He pulled out his binoculars, and checked his target: the flagpole right above the nightclub. He then looked at his watch: it read 2159 and thirty seconds. He watched as the seconds ticked by. At forty seconds, he clipped the cable to his belt. At forty-five, he pulled himself up to a sitting position on the railing. Fifty. He double-checked everything. Fifty-five. Fifty-six. Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty. It was exactly 2200. Somewhere in the power district, a switch flipped. Power went out in the 59th district.
Richard saw everything go dark, pushed the goggles onto his eyes, turned them on, and looked at his target one last time. He then swung his legs over the railing and plummeted towards the ground. Watching the ground race up at him, he tightened his grip on the cable as he fell, slowing his descent. Keeping his eye on the pole, he rotated so his feet were pointed down. He tensed up, and tightened his grip. He came to a near stop just above the pole, and dropped onto it. Balance on the pole, he tied the cable to the base of it, turned, and leaped onto the edge of the building. He carefully slid over to a window, another hotel room he had rented, opened the window, and ducked inside. In the power district, the same switch was flipped again, and power was restored for the 59th district. In the main control, guards burst in just in time to see a black shape slip into the ventilation, leaving four knocked-out personnel in its wake.
Richard took off his goggles and placed them on the bed, checked his pistol and grenades once again, and opened the door, stepping into the hallway. The core of the building was hollow, letting four elevators run up and down. Mitchell got in line for the next "down" elevator. He let everyone else get on, then waited until it went down and came back up. He then stepped in and keyed the elevator. When he got out, he saw he was on the 169th floor. Perfect, right where he wanted to be. Glancing at his watch, he saw it read 2205. Exactly on time. He then walked over to the inside entrance of the nightclub, nodded and slipped a large cash card to the bouncer, who opened the door, and walked into the noisy club. His target was in here somewhere, and he intended to find him. The club smelled of smoke, booze, and various other things, most of which were probably illegal. Lighted by neon lights, an incredibly annoying dance beat blared over the speakers, which shook the whole floor. He walked over to the bar, and ordered himself a drink. Once he got it, he turned on his stool and surveyed the floor. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses, he engaged the zoom mode as he searched the crowd. His vision settled on a large, black man in an expensive suit. Mitchell pulled up the file on his target on the lenses of his glasses, and read it once again.
Subject: Marcus Anderson
Age: 31
Height: 6' 3"
Aliases: Markus Andreckson, Andy Malatav.
Danger level: moderate
Current bounty: 10.5 million UN Marks alive, 10.2 million dead.
Wanted for: Racketeering, arms dealing, murder, conspiracy to commit murder, murder for hire, larceny, grand larceny, grand theft auto, grand theft boat, grand theft truck, grand theft aircraft, money laundering, fraud, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to commit murder, rape, vehicular manslaughter, vehicular murder. (Not a very nice guy, watch yourself Mitch.)
Profile: Anal-retentive mouth-breather. Heavy smoker/drinker. Extremely volatile temper. Wouldn't want to be caught in an elevator with him. -Chloe
Included was a picture. It was nothing but a grainy surveillance pic, but it was enough. He made a positive I.D., and then moved in. He strode up to his target, and saw his two bodyguards. He engaged the thermal mode on his glasses, and saw each of them had an AZ-130 5.72mm personal defense weapon hidden under their jackets. This might be tricky. He hadn't anticipated for them to be so heavily armed. Anderson was seated at a booth, looking at the "scenery". Mitchell watched and waited for him to get up, heading towards the bathroom. He followed him at a distance, preparing to make his move.
He slid his pistol out of its holster, keeping it under his coat as he pulled the slide back and chambered a round. Anderson entered the bathroom, and Mitchell closed in after him. Waiting a few seconds, he opened the door and walked in calmly. Anderson was at one of the sinks, his back to Mitchell. Pure vanilla. He made to walk past Marcus, and right behind him he made his move.
His right arm came up and around in one smooth motion. He centered the pistol in the back of Anderson's head, and shot him three times at point-blank range. Without a sound Anderson fell forward, crashed his head into the mirror, and fell to the side. Total execution time: four seconds. Doesn't get any easier than that.
He heard his com. unit click on, and the frantic voice of Chloe blared in his ear before he had even signaled the line was clear.
"Mitch! Status report on the target! Now!"
"Bagged him. Three shots to the back of the head. Quick. Quiet."
"Oh, shit..."
"What, Chloe, what's wrong?"
"New Intel on our guy. You just bagged a Lieutenant in the Russian Mafia."
To Be Continued...
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