Smoke {MJ SLASHFICTION}

Chapter 1

Delicate feet pivoted upon the dank bricks above the city of New York.

During the murky afternoon, the view of City Hall Park had been somewhat obscured by fog and now the crowds of people gathering outside of the podium seemed much less like people and more like ants, swarming beneath the dark and gloomy waves of cotton overhead that threatened more rain. It was hard to see out, but who better to see through the mist than Smoke himself.

He continued to pace along the roof with great care, finally resting in a crouched position against a grubby, busted vent. As he breathed in the smell of burning fat from the kitchen that was somewhere in the building beneath him he placed a hand over his balaclava and tried not to choke up and blow the mission.

"Oh what a beautiful morning." He whispered sarcastically to himself under his breath.

"Agent Smoke." buzzed the minuscule device wrapped around his left ear. It had to be clipped and adjusted having had no room to sit among the prominent curve of piercings that dotted the rim around his right ear.

"Yes." Came the dry-throated response.

"Do you have eyes on the spider?"

Smoke was already peering through a tiny lens, down into the cloudy atmosphere and locked eyes on the stage and pedestal.

"Affirmative."

"Then you know what to do." The sound cut from the earpiece. Yet again the man atop the roof was left alone with his thoughts although in this moment he refused to truly think. Instead he recalled information from his memory about the angle, the timing. The target.

He waited it out in the bitter cold and rubbed his hands together in hopes that it would fend of the brutal atmosphere of January in New York.

New year, new strain of winter.

The thought flitted across his mind quicker than it vanished. There was no room to think of anything else other than the mission now. Through the air came a roar and it was clear that said target had arrived. The vice president.

To give a speech the world would never forget.

Smoke leaned up and took as deep a breath he could without wanting to throw up from the smell of his surroundings.

"Fate don't fail me now." he muttered to himself. He knelt and began to set up. Below were many cars, surrounding the area with security guards and police. The man in question greeted the people with bold authority and a wide smile that even Smoke could glean from his squatted position above them all.

Time itself seemed to slow around him when the vice president approached the podium and raised a hand to the people.

Smoke already knew what would fall from his lips. He'd been well informed of the treachery the president's lapdog had been engaging in. He'd turned his back on the presidency, flirted in the arms of treason. Now he was about to go to bed with it.

He was about to call the president out in a spur of deranged courage.

It was always a code red situation when Smoke was called in to handle things. He was the man behind many high-profile situations. He was always the last resort.

Smoke knew that this particular case wasn't just an act of political retribution, it was act to level all future calamities before they dared to occur. This was to set an example. Scandals in The White House, no matter how accurate in their portrayal, were never supposed to reach the eyes or ears of the public.