Omnibus: Volume I

ARABIA: Assassin

Now, let me explain. The following I wrote for the international week of languages, in my school's creative writing competition. I had to write a story using certain words, such as harem, but I kinda like the dystopia I created. This is one of my longer pieces, and I enjoyed writing it. And, yes, the Assassin was based off Ezio from Assassin's Creed.

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Arabia - Southern Quarter - New Washington

Area Code: +3-0-ARB-NW

Date: 2135

The Assassin's cold eyes panned across the Arabian rooftops, through a wooden bordered window. His eyes were a striking yellow, with flecks of brown, but to any observer they would have been hidden by the shadow of the man's hood. It was pointed at one end, aligned with the nose, and it was brown. It was the dusty brown of mud and dust, designed to camouflage itself into its urban surroundings like a chameleon would to its natural habitat.

The hood had a rim with Hebrew words written on, connected to a similarly brown top that was Italian in style, originating from around the 15th century. Over the top, the Assassin wore an armoured vest, with intricate carvings. This was a mud brown, with a weapons sash going from a shoulder plate on his left and down to his right hip. It was full of aerodynamic knives, used for throwing. The knife edge in them was a dull blue, which would light up and shine like a star when thrown. On his bottom half, the assassin wore slightly loose dust-brown trousers, tucked into New-Age combat boots. Attached to his right leg was a gun holster, in which a Type-R '74 SP-Three, reminiscent of the Third World War, was placed.

The Assassin regarded the rooftops with a certain interest. They were much as you would expect the top of slums to be, but they had a certain technological twist. Here and there were rotating antennae, on others were radio beacons.

These were the subject of the Assassin's interest, because he needed them for a 'project'; he had piggybacked carrier signals, which would only return if they were given certain ID signatures. Effectively, using triangulation, they were a homing beacon. He then knew from this data the whereabouts of his tracker which he had previously slipped into his target's left-cheek pocket.

He sighed, dejectedly; he didn't like what he was about to do. Out of one of his many pockets, he produced a lemon sherbet – courtesy of the British Secret Service. He sucked on it gently, musing over his next kill. He got up from his sofa, the mattress of his makeshift seat creaking into shape. He took one final look over the rooftops of New Washington, an American settlement during the war, and with a hard set grimace, set off.

His target was a tariff collector by the name of Zwiss. He had annoyed a wealthy businessman who had a price put on his head. The first person to bring the head of Zwiss to the businessman, Mr Adel, would get paid the money. Unfortunately for the businessman, he wasn't going to get out of this alive. The Guild which the Assassin belonged to, had a Sultan as its master, who wanted a message delivered to the businessman, and more importantly, to the rest of the world.

The message was, quite simply: 'We are here. We will find you, and we will kill you, if we want to. So stay off our radar. Mr Adel came into our sights, and now we have disposed of him.'

The Assassin thought about every move he needed to make to kill his target: would he shoot him from afar, or get up close and use knives? The Assassin knew he needed the head, so he decided for the latter as he ran across the safari which was the rooftops, climbing and running, a free spirit in the dystopian world.

His tracker presently bleeped in a communicator in his ear. The Assassin stopped, and hit the deck, his every move precise and calculated. He was on the roof of a harem's chambers, the harem of Zwiss' family to be precise. The Assassin cursed himself for his carelessness and distraction, and inched forward to look over the lip of the gutter.

He sighed, then seeing that no one was inside, and was about to slip in, before having the thought that in the law of New Washington, he wasn't allowed in the harem's private space. He continued regardless, thinking that it didn't quite matter anymore. He quickly slipped out of the room, into a central space. He was on a balcony, overlooking a courtyard with a child and a tutor doing, he thought, algebra? He frowned at this, not knowing that Zwiss had a family; he had his job however.

He lowered himself down and ran stealthily to a hedge. He hid along its great expanse of green. It was dark now, and orange lights illuminated the patio. He quickly searched for a way out of the courtyard, and found an arch leading to a smaller grassy area. He slipped through it, and was greeted by a strange sight: Zwiss was sitting waiting for him, sipping some French wine. When he spoke, it was the calm, unwavering voice of someone who had been waiting for this.

'I've been expecting you.' His voice was soft, full of fatherly love and care. When the Assassin said nothing, he continued, his eyebrows raised for a short while.

'Not a talker are you? Okay. Look, if you want money, I've got it. If you want anything else, I'm sure I can find a way to accommodate your needs.'

Again, the Assassin said nothing, but frowned and glanced over to the Harlem's room. Zwiss smiled, chuckling softly to himself, and it was then the Assassin properly looked at his target, thoroughly discouraged in the guild unless for recognition purposes. Zwiss had a calm way about him, his every move controlled, his every word precise, but also a softness which shone like a beacon from his heart. He had wavy brown hair, relaxed blue eyes and despite having sharp, pronounced features, he managed to still look welcoming. He wore a twenty first century dinner attire, with a bow tie undone at his neck. He looked directly into the Assassin's eyes as he spoke, like he had nothing to fear.

'That's my brother's harem,' he said, as softly as he did before, but with the hint of amusement. 'He... likes that sort of thing. I tell Rashaad, my son, to stay away from it.'

As he said that, a cloud of darkness spread across his face, his eyes wavering. The Assassin tilted his head to one side, and Zwiss sighed.

'His mother died in childbirth. I'm all he has now.' A short pause accompanied this. 'Look, I'll cut to it. I don't mind dying for what I have done in the past, but not until my son is grown up and understands why. How much did he offer you?' When the Assassin spoke, his voice was hard and gravelly.

'15,000 for the head, another 35,000 for the rest'

'I can pay you that. 50,000 right?' Zwiss got out a wad of cash, and picked out fifty notes: 'Here.'

The Assassin took it, and said nothing, stepping back, and bowed his head slightly. Zwiss spoke again.

'Can you do one thing for me? Protect me. Until my son comes of age. Not for my sake, to see him grow up, but for his; he's already lost one parent, he shouldn't lose another. I know you Guild members are moral characters, so can you do that? Please?'

As he said that, his heart seemed to open up to the Assassin, imploring him to agree. The Assassin considered the proposal. What he would normally call 'Zero', where he kills the target, was now close to not happening. The Assassin thought for a moment, his whole body still, before saying in a normal voice with no hint of death in it:

'We have a...disagreement...with Mr. Adel, so we will... deal with him. We were going to do it anyway, so there will be no stain on you character. For tonight, however, I will stay,'

With that, the Assassin turned and was gone into the night, the only suggestion that he had been there, a faint blue glow. It seemed to just hang there, and as Zwiss watched the swirling glow, it dissipated with a breath of wind. Zwiss smiled, and stood up. He glided over to the arch, his footsteps concealed. He watched his son, a smile on his face, but it was not the smile of a man who has just got his way. As Zwiss watched, his son looked up at his tutor, with a confused frown on his face.

Zwiss had the smile of a man who was happy to see his son.