Frostbite ⇨ Phan

one

W A R N I N G:
this chapter contains:
-mentions of drugs
-death
-murder

:phil:

:;:

    THE COLD, FROSTY AIR made its way into my lungs, chills running up and down my spine. As I walked, the snow crunched beneath my boots, my feet dipping into their icy grasps. My tattered jacket had failed its mission of keeping me warm; instead it was merely a shelter for the snow to pile on.

    I huffed, climbing up the cement staircase, car alarms hissing in the background. As I neared the top, the smell of smoke, marijuana, and other drugs filled my nostrils, immediately making me step back to regain composure. Albeit the smell I had grown used to, just the unbearable thought that I was apart of their crew, that was the thought I disliked the most.

    But I was called here for a reason, and it must have been an important one. I was one of the best hitman the company had, with bragging rights. The Boss only used me if it was an important mission, or if others had failed their job. He knew I could do any task I was given, so he only gave me the hard ones, or the ones that needed stealthiness and subtlety; a trait I possessed, and most of the other 'employees' lacked.

    So when I got a phone call from the Boss' assistant, I was a little shocked, but, nonetheless, I accepted.

    I walked up the final steps, ignoring the odour that seeped from the doors, and filled my throat. As I opened the door, the strength of the scents tripled, and I avoided the rest of my 'co-workers', focusing directly on the big metal door that lead to the Boss' office.

    Next to his office was his assistant, Beatrice, who was recently hired, due to the last one 'quitting', but we all knew what actually happened. In this company, of you were to run away, or as we call it 'quitting', one of our hitman would be assigned to follow you until you were terminated.

    "Hey, Phil," Beatrice purred, her voice low and sensual. I refrained myself from laughing at her forwardness. "How've you been? I've heard that the Boss has a very important mission for you."

    "Is that so?" I smirked and acted as if I didn't pick up her overbearing amounts of flirtation oozing my way. "Well, I'd better go see what he has in store! Nice chat, Bea!" I waved her off, turning to face the door, slowly knocking.

    "Come in!" a deep voice bellowed from behind it, slightly vibrating my body.

    I pressed my fingers on the latch of the door, fresh air hitting my face, the wave of toxic chemicals, and other drugs washing away rapidly. The Boss sat in-front of me, a couple yards away, a window of bulletproof glass behind him.

    Our company was inside of an abandoned grocery store, far out of our town where no one drove past, or knew of. That, of course, excluded us hitman and a few of our clients, but only the ones that the Boss trusted. The company was similar to the boss; the two didn't have a name. Everyone knew them as 'the Company' and 'the Boss'. It grew old eventually, but there wasn't much we could do about it.

    "Close the door, boy!" he hissed, his deep voice echoing through the room, blowing out a candle an a nearby shelf. "I don't want to smell whatever those bloody goons are smoking today."

    I instantly listen, the door slamming shut, the Boss' tea dripping slightly over his mug. "Now, I summoned you here for a reason, and it wasn't to keep your head in the clouds, Philip!" he boomed.

    "Of course, Sir." I abided, walking over to the chair that sat across from him, and waited for further instruction.

    "You may sit," he said, his words hollow and dull. "Now, Philip, as you know, you are one of the best we have here at this company. I trust you as much as I would a family member, you are like a son to me. But this mission I am about to send you on...it seems rather difficult, even someone with your level of training."

    He sighed, almost as if he knew what was about to occur. "So, Philip, I shall send you in a team." at that moment anger filled my guts, thinking that the man I've known since he took me in at the age of thirteen, didn't think I could handle this mission.

    But, I kept on a mask, hiding my betrayal and rage, keeping calm, and replying with my intentions clear; to negotiate, "Sir, with all due respect, I feel like you aren't thinking this through." I spoke, my voice firm, yet slight hints of anger slipping through.

    He furrowed his eyebrows, a look of confusion sprawled across his face. "What makes you say that? Could it be you believe you can handle this mission on your own?" he pondered.

    I nodded my head, a confident look on my face, and the anger slowly fading away. "Yes, Sir. Give me one chance. I promise you won't regret it." I began to beg, but not excessively.

    Silence filled the room, a mere pen drop could be heard from the quiet. The voices of my co-workers clearly distinguishable in the faint background. The Boss was thinking this through, changing his plan- something he rarely did. I held my impatience, swallowing it until it was fully repressed. This moment I wished the Boss wasn't as good as he was at wearing a poker face, but every few seconds I could tell what he was thinking.

    "Okay, Philip, let's make a deal," he began, his words sinking into me like pen ink. "I will let you work on your own. You will have one month to track down your target, and succeed at killing him. However, if you fail, you shall be revoked from this mission, and be replaced by a team. How does that sound?" he stuck his hand out.

    Without a second's hesitation, I shook it, no regrets in my mind. "You won't regret it, Sir." I said, hiding my excitement and happiness. It was a flaw I had. Through all these years of being a hitman, I've been told that your happiness will wipe away slowly, or quickly for some. But after nearly a decade of having this job, I've never let go of my happiness. Some people have told me they're jealous, others have said that I was a sick person; killing without mercy, and still I was able to keep a smile on my face.

    But after awhile, my happiness did seem to drift away, but I felt like it was still in reach. Some sinking feeling told me it wouldn't be like that for long. Yet another feeling told me that something was about to happen; something was right around the corner. That something would bring my happiness back for good. But that feeling was probably just my loneliness and my imagination hoping for something to happen.

    "I hope I won't," the Boss said, pushing my thoughts away from me. He reached out in a file cabinet, pulling out a paper with the intitials D.H. written on it in black ink. "Now, let me tell you about your target, Daniel Howell."