Picnic

The breeze was a nice contrast to the warmth of the sun on my face. My body ached, and barely responded when I tried to sit up. A gentle hand pressed me back down, and that was when I noticed the smell of grass and the tang of the sea in the air. A finger traced along my brow, and I was able to force my eyes open. 

"Did you enjoy your nap?"

"I seldom nap." I managed to reply more gruffly than I intended. 

The brunette leaning over me smiled wryly. 

"You just were. Wait here, I'll get you a lemonade."

She lifted my head from her lap, setting it down gently, and with a parting smile that gave a shine to her blue eyes, dashed away before I could get another word out. 

I'm not much of a lemonade guy. Not that I'd turn one down from a pretty gal, though I normally liked to be introduced first. Towards that end, I closed my eyes and started tensing muscle groups, getting some feeling back in my limbs. A minute later and I was able to sit up. 

I haven't been to a picnic in the park since I was a kid. Not counting that outing with that green eye'd lass over a year ago. You'd think I'd learn one of these days. Then again, nothing ventured...

There were other blankets spread out among the vast lawn, most occupied by families with a few couples scattered about. A game of soccer was in session down towards the tree line. A walkway led from there up to the top of the hill I was seated on. The hill that my mysterious companion dashed over.

I got to my feet and stretched, my jaw cracking from a yawn. Looking around, I didn't see any vendors or a snack bar. None were in evidence at the too of the hill either. Just a row of houses, beyond which lay the beach. The houses were separated from the park by a wide cobblestone street with bike lanes stretching out to the horizon. 

There was something familiar about this park. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt certain it didn't exist on the Southern California coast. If not there, then where could I have seen it? 

Movement from one of the houses caught my eye, as did the red shorts she had on. The white blouse she wore hung loosely on her frame, but not quite looking oversized. She closed the sliding glass door behind her and pranced across the cobblestones on her red canvas shoes. She somehow managed not to spill the drink she carried in her hand. She stopped right before me, held up the cup, and dropped two straws into it with a coy smile. 

She took my hand, leading me to a bench along the path. I sat next to her, taking a sip when she offered, and wondering where to start my questioning. Then she started singing. 

I listened a moment or two. Then I joined in. I didn't figure her for a Lostprophets fan at first glance, but she knew one of my favorite songs. I felt a little melancholy upon hearing it, but we sang until the end. 

She reached for my hand, giving my fingers a squeeze before rising from the bench. I heard my name, but after a glance around, saw no one else and started after her. I heard it again, more clearly this time. I reached out to her, but felt myself being drawn away from my body. 

I opened my eyes to darkness. And my little brother once again plagued by stomach issues and a panic attack. The doctor says it's nothing, but he doesn't have to live with it. 

I briefly consider making plans for an outing for the beach this weekend. However the new place isn't quite finished just yet, and a bit further away from everything than I would like. 

But there's still tomorrow, forget the sorrow...

Stiltwalker

The sudden stop set my teeth rattling. Any landing you can walk away from is all well and good, I'd just as soon use a parachute instead of these drop pods. My gear managed to come through the trip all right, but I'll never get used to the mask gripping my face like an over eager calamari.

The waypoint clicked on in my HUD, and all I have to do is follow the arrow. I readied my rifle, and took a peek down the hall. The whole block should be abandoned, but a drop pod crashing through an apartment building would draw attention. The last thing I need right now, I thought as I let the muzzle of my silenced pistol lead the way.

The stairwell was clear; so clear even the stairs had vacated. That left either the fire escape or the elevator shaft. I wasn't about to hang my bum out the window for some sentry with a sense of humor.

It took a second to pry the elevator doors open, another to secure the magnetic clamp, and five more to hook the line to my belt. The mask switched to light amplification in the darkness of the shaft, and I started walking carefully down the side.

I was halfway to the bottom when lights suddenly flashed on, blinding me before the filter kicked in. A sudden buzzing from overhead announced that power had returned to the elevator motors, and I looked up to see the car approach from the top floor.

No time for finesse, I slipped the tension on the line, falling fast. Not fast enough, the car crushed the clamp that was secured to the shaft, and my line was stuck, snapping me up a few feet at the sudden stop. Not thinking, I drew my knife and cut the cord, falling the rest of the way down.

The fall wasn't enough to kill me, but I couldn't put any weight on my right leg without it screaming at me. And the elevator was still coming. I dragged myself over to an access hatch, but found it locked. With no time to use my picks, I pressed the muzzle of my gun against the lock and fired, shattering the suppressor, but opening the hatch, giving me enough time for another graceful spill ten feet into the basement before the elevator stopped at the ground floor.

Footsteps came to me from above, and I listened to them exit through the lobby. In the meantime, I found the splint collars in my pack and secured one around my thigh and another around my calf. The nano-fiber sheath did the rest, better than a knee brace. Going from the biometric feed my mask received from the splints it was just a mild sprain and some mirco fractures. Nothing some painkillers and a shot back at the base wouldn't cure. Until then...

I got to my feet and limped over to a service door. Most of the buildings were interconnected. The line I needed led directly to an abandoned metro station, and once there I found the four wheeler left behind by the last team. It had a low charge, just enough to get me there. Getting back will have to be improvised.

It failed on me five blocks from the waypoint. I was tempted to shoot it just to put it out of it's misery. That was when I remembered the damaged suppressor. Unscrewing it from the barrel, I tossed it aside and hoped I wouldn't need it later. Not that I planned on doing any shooting with a handgun today.

My leg had stiffened up on me when I got to the next metro station. Intel was right for once, the place was still abandoned. I massaged my leg a moment and climbed up onto the platform, my mask casting the place in an odd light from visual enhancement.

The sound meter spiked on my HUD, and I brought my sidearm up, sweeping the area. Nothing. I didn't hear a thing, but my mask did. Must be getting skittish in my old age.

The stairs led me up to a brick wall, the station having been sealed off decades before. Nothing I wasn't prepared for, though I'm always jittery about using the spray can. I'm always jittery about using something that can eat through a steel girder in half a minute. Particularly in a place this structuraly unsound.

Making sure my gloves were well sealed, I held the can up, sweeping in a circular pattern as I sprayed. I didn't breath until I was a good twenty feet away even though tech said minimum safe distance was three feet. In twenty seconds I saw daylight, and a pile of red brick dust on the floor. I gingerly stepped through the opening and climbed up the stairs to the street.

Or at least to the storm drain. Even so, the roar of the crowd had an almost physical force as I peeked through the grating to the stage set in the middle of the street, right in front of Federal Hall. The crowd was separated from the stage by a hundred feet, leaving my view clear in spite of being underground. From there, I could see plenty.

The crowd was kept in check by security agents, their uniforms a sky blue shirt with Navy trousers. They looked more like mall cops than ex-military private security contractors. A conscious effort to make them look less imposing to the TV cameras, mayhaps? The protestors didn't seem any less angry at their presence, but the most they did was shout and wave signs.

Then she appeared, and the crowd went wild once more. Senator Danielle Cramer, the latest politico to push for a "restructured" network. And to think she was once a major CEO for a telecommunications company. I voted for the other guy when she shared an anecdote about changing the passwords on her webs. But personal bias doesn't matter when I'm on the job.

I set the scope on my rifle, letting the mask do most of the work. Satellite feed shows the rooftops clear of threats, I just had to keep an eye on things until the end of the speech. Then things were going to get interesting.

It was almost lost in the noise in the crowd, but the quick tapping of footsteps met my ears, and I turned in time to take a kick in the side. The carbon fiber spring blade had more punch than a mule, granting my otherwise slim assailant enough force to send me against the far wall.

I reached for my sidearm, and hesitated, nearly earning a spring blade in my face as she followed up with another kick, puncturing the wall. A gunshot this soon would be noticed, especially with my suppressor gone, I thought as I tumbled away. My leg gave out on me, dropping me to a knee as I drew a knife.

I guessed her to be about five six, not counting the spring stilts. She couldn't have been ninety pounds, but her suit was skin tight, showing every curve and ripple to it's full effect. Right down to the shape of her knickers and cybernetic enhancements. Including artificial muscle fibers molded to her legs.

She leaped at me, and I dodged the kick, but only just, grasping her leg. I hated throwing her against the wall, but at least I didn't have to look at her with a visor covering her face. She recovered fast, and I ducked another kick to slash at a tendon. My blade glanced along her boot, missing it's mark, and I was sent backward with the next kick.

I couldn't take much more of this, especially with a bum leg. I pressed the button on my blade, hearing it charge with a piercing whine. At her next attack, I caught her leg once more, bruising a rib from her kick, and jammed the blade into her thigh. She screamed. She did so again when I pulled the trigger in the ring on my blade.

It didn't have too big a charge, but it was enough to overload her cybernetics. It wasn't too pleasant for me either, but my mask was shielded. Aside from a few muscle spasms, I was none the worse for what was already worn.

With the grasshopper down, I crawled over to my rifle, and lifted it, peering through the scope at the Senator. She was at the end of her speech, and my mask fed me current satellite data on wind speed and direction. I aimed a little above her right eyebrow, and as she turned, fired.

It was a tight shot, but a window behind her rippled, and a new hole appeared right where that thermal scan said he was. From this angle, my shot hit an assassin lying in wait on the third floor of the office building a block away from the Senator. Why they wouldn't allow me to approach and engage up close is beyond me, but I had a feeling the answer may lie with grasshopper here.

As I said, she was thin, covered from neck to toe in a white body sheathe that left little to the imagination. The only bit of color was the brilliant red hair that trailed from behind her visor, drawn back in a tight braid. Aside from the artificial muscle fibers, my mask picked up micro filaments that traced along her skin. They met at a control unit at the base of her neck, and I was surprised by the logo there. I brought up the images from the crowd and compared it to the security logo. It was a match.

I filed those away for later and examined the data port on the control unit. Feeling her data might come in handy, I stashed her card in a belt pouch and pressed the catch on her visor. It fell away, clattering on the ground, and I suddenly felt a little self-conscious. 

Her skin had a sickly pallor, making her freckles and the subtle pink of her lips stand out. A side effect from her enhancements? Going by her blue eyes that peeked from between her half-closed lids, and the aforementioned freckles, she certainly wasn't an albino. She couldn't have been older than twenty-five. She might have been as young as eighteen.

She had a pulse and was still breathing. I set her down as gently as possible and packed up my gear. I tried to stifle a question, but it came to mind unbidden. Why? Irrelevant. The fact that she's young and pretty has no bearing on the life that brought her to this point. She made her choices, maybe right maybe wrong. It would be disrespectful to feel remorse for my actions, chivalry be damned.

 I left a GPS marker for an extraction team anyway. Maybe they can make her an offer. Saving souls is beyond my pay grade, but anything is possible. Hobbling back to the rail station, I started the long walk to the dust off site, seeing no light at the end of my tunnel.

The Black Skull Returns

The suit I was wearing was worth more than my last paycheck, twice over. The jacket was cut a little loose for my tastes, a necessity for this job. My gear was tucked into a pouch under my waistcoat, and the looser fit would hide the bulge in the small of my back.
The papers got me through the door, an engraved invitation I didn't bother to read for an event I didn't know about what. Just that evening dresses, tuxedos and elaborate masks were in abundance. I pulled out my own mask, specially modified for this job. The matte silicone was topped with a thin ceramic covering, giving the mask a sheen like obsidian. I tried to suppress the sharp intake of breath as it clung to my face. I'll never get used to that.
Velvet ropes lead the way to the ballroom, and I was stopped cold on the way by a stunning sight. Her hair was worn up, leaving her neck bare save for the clasp of a necklace and the halter strap of her dress. Her shoulders and back were also naked, her spine leading a scintillating trail to a criss cross of white ribbons in the small of her back. As I passed, I saw that the bodice of her dress hung daringly low. It was highlighted by a necklace of glass crystals set in silver.
Though of the same material, the necklace didn't quite suit her mask. The silver wire glided along the ridge of her nose, lining it in a slight beak. It swept up, under and around her deep brown eyes with a wing like shape, the tips curling past the corners of her eyes around crystals. As it was silver wire, it did little to disguise her features, but did much to highlight her lovely eyes.
Which then looked right at me.
I looked away and marched on, cursing myself for the indiscretion. I was supposed to be invisible, and stopping to gawk at the ladies isn't helping. I didn't look back as I entered the ballroom and swept my eyes over the crowd looking for the target. Or tried to. My mask's satellite connection proved spotty, and the facial recognition software failed as a result. A glance into the corners of the room told me why: signal jammers were set up. Not uncommon for these kinds of parties, where cell phone use was restricted to outside the event area. I reached to scratch my ear and clicked off the external connection.
As I looked around, I figured the party would make facial recognition useless anyways, and started wondering what intel genius planned this op. Maybe I should have read the papers. I pulled them from my jacket pocket and started with the invitation: An Evening Incognito: A Romantic Rendezvous to help fund the fight against cancer. Right. Because cancer fears Zorro.
There was a photograph of the target, an average looking white guy with more salt than pepper in his hair, and a smile that looked more bleached than a Hollywood blond. He made a presidential bid once. It was a testament to the voting public that it never went anywhere, and he gave it up almost as soon as he started. But then he started selling secrets to the Chinese. And when your company has several exclusive contracts with the government, that can't be tolerated. Of course, we don't have any hard evidence. Yet.
I folded the photograph and tucked it back into my pocket, scanning the crowd once more. I declined an invitation to dance from an attractive blond in a black lace mask, with a dress to match her emerald eyes, and she went back into the crowd to look for a new partner. When I felt the bare spot on my wrist where my watch was, I changed my mind and decided to take her up on that dance.
I passed by the target on my way to her, recognizing the industrial strength gel that shaped his hair, and a plan quickly formed in my mind as I tapped her partner's shoulder and cut in. With the surprised look in her eyes, I was afraid she might refuse, but my wink seemed to defuse her fear. With my hand on her waist, I lead her around the dance floor near my target and whispered instructions into her ear. She was hesitant, but I said she could keep the watch, and whatever spoils she could get from him so long as she did as I asked.
She nodded, and after savoring another minute or two of dancing with her, I set her loose. His partner had just ran off to the ladies room when she ran into him. She flashes a coy smile, and batted her eye lashes at him. Poor sap never stood a chance.
I watched them take a turn around the dance floor, and as the song came to a close, she whispered in his ear. He flashed her a grin that could have sold a million used cars and followed her through the double doors on the far end of the ballroom that lead to a balcony. After a minute, she came out alone, missing the sash from her dress, but using both hands to keep the clasp on her small clutch purse from popping open. We traded smiles, and I walked through the doors while she made her way to the exit.
He was standing by the railing, blindfolded with a long white sash. He was reaching up to his face when I pulled out a bundle of cord from under my vest, grabbed his wrists, and bound them around his neck, drawing tight enough to prevent more than a few startled gasps. Taking out a flashlight from my pocket, I clicked it three times into the air and a harness dropped down from the roof.
I buckled him in as he was gasping from the lack of air, and tugged on the rope. We were then hauled up onto the roof where the team was waiting. They asked, and I told them we were going with option five. One of the black clad soldiers whistled. Must have been a new guy. They dragged him onto the helicopter, and one of them pulled off his blindfold handing the sash to me. They were all masked, it wouldn't matter if he saw them.
Draping the sash around my neck like a scarf, I grabbed the cable and they lowered me back down towards the balcony. I was twenty feet up when the doors below opened, and I flashed a signal with my light for them to stop. Beneath me was the woman in white with the silver mask, and following after her was a guy in a white tuxedo. He had a Zorro styled mask in hand, and they were talking animatedly. The wind only allowed me to hear snippets of what was being said, but with how her arms were waving, I could tell it was an argument.
He pointed a finger toward the balcony doors, then back to her. She replied by ripping the necklace from her throat and throwing it at his feet. The tinkling of the glass crystal breaking was clear even from my perch above them. He shouted a vulgar epithet at her, picked up the remains of the necklace and stormed back inside as she turned and leaned against the railing. I spent a minute or two admiring the moonlight reflected against her shoulders when the cord above me gave a violent start, and I was sent plummeting the rest of the way down.
In my report, I'll say I landed as gracefully as a jungle cat. For the moment, I was sprawled against the floor, with what I was pretty sure was a decent sized cut on my chin. I heard a voice ask if I was alright, and I explained that I had tripped. She gave me a dubious look that seemed awkward with the tears fresh on her face. As I got up, she pointed out I was bleeding. I looked up at her and pointed out the same, seeing blood seeping from the scratches around her throat from when she ripped off the necklace. She started to reach for her neck, but I stopped her, drawing a clean handkerchief from my pocket. It wouldn't do to stain her gloves, after all.
I asked her permission, and she hesitated. I insisted I wasn't a vampire, which got a laugh out of her at least, and I applied light pressure with my handkerchief over the scratches. As I tended to her, she drew a tissue from her purse and dabbed it against the cut under my chin. With the bleeding stopped, I said she should probably go back inside.
She didn't want to face everyone out there with the scratches on her neck. Thinking a moment, I took the sash from around my shoulders and handed it to her. She tied it loosely around her throat, covering the scratches, and letting the sash trail down her back. She gave me one more smile before facing the doors and taking a breath. She held her head high as she entered. I hope the night improves for her.
As I reentered the ballroom, I kept my head down and walked to the exit. I met the target as he came out of the elevator. He looked bleary eyed, as if he had woken up from a nap, his hair tousled, and a distinct smudge of lipstick against his collar. I pointed it out to him, and he snapped awake, making a dash for the restroom. He IS a married man, after all. Though with the type of stuff the interrogation team uses, he might be dreaming of that blond later.
Knowing myself, I might be dreaming of silver mask. Whoever she is.

Moose and Squirrel

It was a cool night, unusual for this time of year. The shops were closed, and with the lights out I could make out a decent smattering of stars above me. The surf crashed onto the beach, and pulled out again in it's regular beat, echoing from somewhere beyond my sight. I walked out in the opposite direction, between two rows of darkened storefronts.
The buzzing from my phone jolted me out of my idle daze, and I fumbled for a moment inside my pocket for it. The gruff voice I found on the other end wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world to hear, but it got the message across. I was supposed to think like a thief for this job. Easy enough. Most likely scenario was a quick smash and grab, but the alarm sticker on the window of the jewelry store made that unlikely, especially after closing. All the jewels would be in the safe, which would take too long to crack conventionally. Explosives would make too much noise too.
Start with the point of entry. I walked around, casting a glance down the pier to the security booth to ensure the guard posted was still dozing. Then I checked for handholds, finding a giant lobster on the restaurant next door very accommodating. Once on the roof, a quick glance revealed another point of entry, a glass skylight, wired of course, with the alarm box hidden under a panel by the latch. I knew that because she traced her fingers over the glass and then the panel before clicking it open and entering a code.
Slender, bare fingers. Unusual for someone in this line of work, but she seemed careful. I ducked behind an air conditioning unit when she glanced around, and satisfied she was alone, climbed down through the skylight. She was hanging from the edge, and swung her feet, building up momentum for a jump. When she let go, she landed on a desk at the far side of the room. Impressive.
But she didn't know that the owner had shut the internal security off earlier in the day. When she went into the back room, I jumped down the skylight after her. I knew how to land, having practice at being a sneak, and made minimal noise, hoping to get the drop on her. Soft steps, and I was at the door, edging it carefully open.
She was knelt down in front of the safe and I finally had a good look at her. Lithe, a little too willowy for my tastes, and the boyish haircut didn't suit her. I didn't go for blondes either, but she had skill. She traced a finger around the front panel of the safe, and after a moment stripped off her dark denim jacket. It was then that my hunch was confirmed.
The scarring on her shoulder was partially covered up by a tattoo, a circuit board angel wing. It didn't cover the thin line trailing down her arm, and into the palm of her left hand. Her right index finger was the one doing the tracing, and I'd bet my hat it had a magnetic implant. What came next was new to me.
She pressed her left palm over the digital control pad on the safe and with a squeeze of her fingers, it started to beep. There was a faint vibration on her skin, and another beep from her hand had it stop. She entered a set of numbers into the keypad on the safe, and it popped open. Empty.
"It was emptied earlier today. The owner was concerned by the recent thefts and had wanted his security tested. Guess it needs work."
She whirled around at my words, and pulled out a small handgun. I already had a knife out, but just twirled the blade between my fingers.
"Let me guess, some kind of ultrasound implant? The magnet was pretty basic, using it to trace the wiring on the security system was clever, but THAT," I gestured to her hand with the point of my knife, "I wasn't expecting."
She cocked an eyebrow, and raised the gun up to my face. I shook my head.
"You're obviously a pro, so you know better. Come on. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. Someone like you must have an interesting story." I offered.
"Are you serious?" She asked, incredulous. With a sexy accent like that, of course I was serious, and nodded.
"I'll even throw in some donuts." I smiled, hoping to be charming. She returned the smile, and lowered her weapon.
"Vhy not?"
I turned and unlocked the rear door for us. Mistake. I felt the handle of her gun crash into the back of my skull and my vision went red as I fell to my knees. Foot steps clattered beside me, and I made a blind grab. I heard her fall, and then a splash as something small hit the water. I pulled her back by what felt like her ankle, dodging a kick as my sight came back.
She struck at me again with her foot and I caught it, quickly standing. That caught her off guard, enough so for me to drag her back inside. I didn't want to hurt her, but my arms were getting tired with the bucking wheel barrow maneuver. I was still able to tie together the loose laces of her shoes around her ankles, tangling her up until I found a pair of industrial strength zip ties.
It took fifteen minutes for the cops to arrive, and I made sure to give them a copy of the stores security feed. She had called me all manner of names, some in a language I didn't understand, but before they hauled her off, I had one last thing to say to her.
"Say moose and squirrel. Just once."
She glared at me. And in the purest American Midwestern accent, said "Moose and squirrel" followed by another string of vulgarities. The cops laughed. I shrugged, and waved as they drove off in the squad car. Coffee would have been better. And as the sun came into my eyes, I had to admit, I knew she was faking the accent the whole time.

The Black Skull

My footsteps echoed in the cloisters, beating a regular march as I walked through the courtyard. The place was a testament to it's Spanish roots, yet more gothic elements garnished the rooftops of the church.  Across the stones on the ground and past the aisle of the cloisters was a balcony.
Drawing the rifle from it's sling around my shoulders, I opened the bi-pod and propped it up against the railing. The church, more of a cathedral really, sat atop a sea cliff, overlooking a town that seemed as old as the hills. Or at east the 30's. Paint was faded and cracked, the flat roofs were dotted with cubicles made of chicken wire and fiberglass sheeting, radio antennas popped up every hundred yards or so. Cobble stone walks and archways were scattered sparsely throughout the town, vestigial remnants of it's previous life.
None of the sights were as striking as the crowd that formed up on the sidewalks. It seemed all the towns inhabitants were packed along the streets, lining a path that lead to a newer cathedral at the edge of town. Each street corner had the path further marked by police cars while outriders on motorcycles, which seemed to be old Yamahas from the 1980s, flanked the limousines streaming towards the gleaming church.
It looked almost like a wedding procession, save for the colorful little flags attached to the limos. And as the cars drove on, I saw a figure in white riding atop a customized truck that looked very different from anyone's ideal bride.
Motion stirred up on the surrounding rooftops, and I could see men in navy hoodies come up and sneak their way to the edge. Some were carrying rifles, Ak's by the looks of it. One or two started assembling rocket propelled grenade launchers. They were well beyond my range, so I just took in the show as black clad soldiers popped up from their hiding spots on the roof, surprising them. I expected a fight, but each of the hooded ones surrendered without resistance. No shots fired. That may well be my job.
As the figure in white approached my spot, I reached into my satchel and pulled out the mask. It had a black, non-reflective matte finish on the outside, but inside was shiny and slick, with ribbed striations leading to sharp metal tips at the edges. It had a particularly skeletal appearance that made the facehugger-like interior all the more foreboding. I hesitated, exhaled, and pressed it on. It stuck to my face like a suction cup, the lower edge grasping the top of my nose like a breath strip from hell. I could feel it pulse as the metal extensions slipped from their sheathes to slide along my scalp. They met behind my head and magnetically locked together, forming a slender cage that flexed and pulled tight against my skull.
The lenses flicked to life, and I read off the status messages and biometric information it collected, letting the sensors calibrate to my eyes. I blinked twice, and they displayed the town, marking the radio towers, highlighting the police, the black clad soldiers and their captives, even the limos. And the truck following behind with it's shielded occupant.
I lifted my rifle and checked the ammo. Each bullet had a second stage which included a plasma charge that burned hot enough to melt through a few inches of solid steel instantly. Just a little something to weaken the armor for the high density round that would come behind it. Seems like overkill for this type of mission. Somebody's playing a game, and I'm not sure I like it when the mission planners are feeling clever.
I set the rifle atop the railing, checking the scope. Standard optics this time. A bit old fashioned, especially with the bolt action, but the mask's HUD more than makes up for it. It highlighted the truck and the rider, encased in his polymer bubble, giving his benediction towards the kneeling masses as he passed. So far so good.
My HUD light up red along the edge, and I passed my scope over the crowd. It was hooked up to a satellite with a long range spectrometer. It picked up something, but I didn't bother checking the stats. Just the flash that was picked up by the mask's sensors as they were briefly illuminated by an infrared laser, coming from from a small window at the base of a building. Must have lead into a cellar or basement. I check the info from the satellite, seeing it found trace amounts of explosives and propellants. Another RPG.
At that range, the shooter would most likely blow out his ear drums if he doesn't burn himself to a crisp from the blast. Taking my aim, I had a different outcome in mind for him, but had only seconds before his target passed. I pulled the trigger and saw the blast mid-range from the second stage. The plasma charge burned through a corner of the polymer shield protecting the man in white, and the secondary round fell through the hole left behind. The lack of an explosion probably meant my aim was true. I clicked the radio twice, and watched as a few moments later, more black clad soldiers came through the crowd to investigate the building.
The man in white was a few blocks down, nearly to the cathedral, when they emerged with another captive in a blue hood. He was missing an arm, but seemed alive as they had the stump wrapped, and an ambulance on the way. I continued scanning the crowd, but my mask didn't pick up any further threats. I used my scope to watch the man in white disembark from his bubble. He stumbled a bit as he caught sight of the hole in the corner, giving a quick glance around before he shrugged and raised his eyes to heaven a moment before continuing on into the church. I'm surprised he hadn't noticed sooner.
My job done, I started disassembling the rifle. I was halfway through when a shot sent chips of stone flying from the railing of the balcony, and I jumped over to the corner by the entrance. I didn't have a sidearm on hand. Stupid. I did have my blades. I drew a pair of throwing daggers from my belt, prepared to at least make a stand should he decide to come through, though I hated giving away the initiative.
A shout came through the doorway, and I heard the sounds of a struggle from the other side. It may have been a trap, but I peeked anyway, seeing my assailant struggling with a Padre. The dude looked old, but he had leaped onto the back of the gunman, and held on fast as if at a rodeo. I came through readying a blade, but didn't have a clear shot from the struggle. The gunman threw the priest aside, but he got up, placing himself between us, arms outstretched, before I could throw a knife.
My attacker was another guy in a blue hoodie. There must have been a sale. Before I could consider the ramifications of a 'refer a terrorist friend' discount, the Padre spoke up. They traded heated words, in Spanish. Not the first time, I kicked myself for letting parental prejudice influence my choice in studies. I was starting to consider what angles I should take to throw a blade around the Padre when the gun in the blue guy's hand started trembling.
The Padre continued speaking, gentler, and held out his hand. Blue hoodie just stood there, the gun in his hand still up, but the muzzle was dropping. When the Padre took it from him, the gunman collapsed onto his knees. Seeing nothing else to do, I sheathed my knives and walked back to the balcony to pack up my rifle.
When I returned, the hood was off, and the Padre had a consoling hand atop the guy's head. He couldn't have been more than seventeen. He certainly wasn't old enough to grow a proper mustache. A wayward soul. My hand grasped the radio. I should call it in, have a team down to collect him. My thumb traced the top of the device, pressed itself against the knob there. And with a faint click, turned it off.
I walked passed the Padre and his penitent, through the courtyard, and the door on the other side. It led right to the altar, empty since the crowd was over at the newer one. Yet still well maintained, judging by the gleam off the marble flooring, and the lit candles by the door. I stopped halfway through, and was compelled to look up, past the altar and to the effigy that hung above it. My HUD was blank, there was nothing there for it to read.
I grasped the mask, my fingers pressing the release buttons against my face, through the silicone. The metal cage retracted, scratching lightly against my scalp as it's sharp tips slipped back into their sheathes, the lenses going blank as it turned off. Unmasked, I took another look above the altar. There was nothing there for the sensors to read. I didn't have sensors.
I bowed my head, slipped the mask into my satchel, and walked out the door and into the sun.

Westward Bound: Finale

My old town would have done the execution in public, most likely at the water tower, using it as a platform. They do things differently in the big city. I could see the scaffold over the walls, but I had to strain to hear the voices over the din of urban life. 
The buggies that droned by weren't as bad as a youth that rode up on a gas powered bike. He pulled up to the sidewalk, lifting his goggles up to his cap, and brushed off his riding breeches with a gauntleted hand. A funny getup, even for a city boy. 
As I sipped at my coffee, I looked across the room at the lady in the faded blue dress. There was a rough quality to her beauty, made all the more striking by the look in her eyes as she gazed intently out the window. I was just there reading the paper, looking up jobs in the area. Her hand sometimes strayed to stroke the rifle bag resting against her chair. I looked back to the classifieds when her eyes drifted my way, but I could still see her hand return to her tea cup out of the corner of my eye. 
I wasn't keeping an eye on her. A grown woman can make her own choices, vengeance included, and she didn't need no babysitter. I had troubles of my own, like a hotel bill that's starting to eat away at that reward money. Still, my conscience would rest easier with those robbers hung and her going back east, or wherever she came from. 
Another buggy came up and stopped against the wall across the street. Her brown eyes flashed my way and we traded a look as two men jumped out, one running and another fiddling in the back before racing after him. I was looking back at her when thunder rent the shop window, sending glass and splinters into the side of my face. The table absorbed the worst of it, and the lady had fallen back in her chair, staring stunned across the street. 
The buggy was gone, in it's place a molten heap and a hole in the wall large enough for an elephant to pass through. Shots rang out, and a second and third vehicle came up as the gang passed through the wall and hopped in, leaving the carnage behind. 
I got up first, lifting her to her feet. As soon as she was squared, she reached down to her bag, pulling out her rifle and dashed for the street. I could see her take aim, and followed her out only to hear her feral scream as they turned a corner and out of sight. I turned around, looking for a horse, but instead saw the kid's bike. 
Thinking back to the few I've seen in town, I flipped the switch, kicked the starter, and opened the throttle. It jumped before I could squeeze the brake, and that got her attention. She jumped behind me on the seat, and we set off after them faster than the kid in the goggles could run after us. 
We must have made a ridiculous sight on that thing, and our posture was anything but proper as she pressed herself tightly against me, her rifle slung along her back. Niceties were a secondary concern as we rounded the corner and caught up to them a few blocks down. She loosed an arm from around my middle, and I could hear her work the lever action on her rifle one handed. I kept it steady as she braced it against the handlebars and pulled the trigger. 
The rear buggy swerved as a tire blew out, having it crash against another parked against the curb. I kept going. The police were coming up quickly, and the one she wanted was riding in the lead. 
It rushed past the other vehicles on the road, and I had to keep a tight grip to steer through the resulting commotion. Finally, after a clear stretch, I got into position and she took her aim at a rear tire. I saw a face turn around, and I swerved throwing off her shot as I dodged one from the robber. 
I tried to regain a position behind, but had to swerve a few more times to dodge. As he stopped to reload, I got back into place. Instead of resting the rifle atop the handlebars as before, I felt her other arm release me. I fought the temptation to turn around. I could still feel her behind me on the bike, and see the rifle barrel swaying past the brim of my hat. Looking ahead, I saw him peek back up, and the silvery glint of his six shooter.
With the crack of the rifle, I felt her fall down into the seat, her arm grasping me desperately as she fought to hang on. Up ahead, the gang leader had disappeared, and the buggy swerved sharply to the side and through a store window. I slowed, stopping at the store front. She jumped off, and I followed, drawing the Bowie knife from my belt. 
Her rifle was up, and I saw the merchant running after a man out the back, possibly the driver. I looked back, about to tell her, but she had set the rifle aside, looking into the back seat of the buggy. 
A neat hole was in the center of his forehead. She stared at the lifeless eyes for another minute, and I made a move toward her, sheathing my blade. That was when she flipped the rifle around, grasping the barrel like a club and swung with a scream more akin to a roar. I have little doubt she would have caved his skull completely if she connected. Instead, I absorbed the blow with an arm under her shoulders, pulling her away. 
Her weapon clattered on the ground, and she started shivering. My other arm went around her on it's own accord, and she clung to me tightly as she drew in a ragged breath. 
"It's over," I told her. She cried into my shoulder. And as the local constabulary came up that was all I could think of to say. "It's over."

Once again, I found myself at the train station. I ended up a hotel detective once more, but found myself doing odd jobs now and again. I reread the note, seeing the name of the music teacher I was supposed to pick up. Ms. Findlay. A fine name, for a dowdy old spinster. 
I felt my eyes flicker when they caught a glimpse of a faded blue dress. She met my gaze and walked over to me, and I doffed my hat as she neared. 
"Are you following me?" She asked in an even tone. I replied likewise.
"Just making a pickup. I hope you aren't going to be picking any more fights." 
She laughed, shaking her head. Then she lowered it, along with her eyes.
"There's nothing to fight for anymore. Not anymore. I don't even know where I'll go." she said softly. 
"You'll find your way." I told her, failing to hide the rueful smile on my lips. 
She didn't bother hiding hers as she held her gloved hand out to me. I took her fingers in mine, and thinking back to a European gent that still owes me a fiver, placed a respectful kiss on her knuckles. 
"Good luck." I said, meaning it sincerely. 
Her smile faltered a moment, and I thought I saw a glimmer of a tear in her eye as she turned and boarded the train. Must have been the sun. 
As the locomotive steamed out of the station, I followed it with my eyes until it faded from view. I didn't have much longer to wait for the next train to arrive, and raised the placard the hotel clerk had given me with Miss Findlay's name on it. 
As the passengers stepped off of the train, I scanned the faces, wondering which frail bag of old bones was the one I was looking for. 
"Excuse me?" 
Just two words, yet the one that came to my mind was melodic. As my eyes met hers, I found myself looking at the sky once more, and judging by how her face lit up, it seems she remembered me. Her lips formed a small O for a moment, then she smiled, it's brightness a stark contrast to the black dress she wore. 
"Ms. Findlay?" I asked, not quite believing it. It was the girl from the train robbery. 
"Yes, sir. Moira Findlay. I assume you were sent from the school to fetch me."
I nodded. Then gave her a short bow, and lifted her bag. 
"Right this way, Ms. Findlay. Your carriage awaits."

I was still figuring what I should say next when I felt myself pulled away and into the blinding light of the sun pouring through my window. 

Midnight Blues

Sleep evades me, especially when I am exhausted. Unused to rising before the dawn, yet when the time comes for rest my mind refuses to idle. Costume ideas, storylines, a potential birthday getaway to San Diego or San Francisco, even designs for a PVC pipe rifle stock for my camera stir within me. I keep vigil, using my prayers as a mantra to calm my thoughts until I drift into darkness. 
There's a coolness to the wind, and I find myself breathing more freely as the salty air fills my nostrils. I see a few faint stars through the clouds, which were themselves illuminated by the full moon. I move on, my boots falling heavily upon the planks of the pier, a dull thud with each step. Nice night for a song, but the blues bar at the far end of the pier was nearly drowned out by the waves. 
Fishermen were idling along the rail, lines swaying with the tide. One man was showing his son one of the gigantic crabs that sometimes come up with the moon. I chuckled at the sight of the kid poking a curious finger at it and jerking it back at the slightest twitch of a claw. With the size of that crab, I nearly wished for a crowbar. 
I turned the collar up on my coat as I passed a couple cuddling while they gazed at the waves. Not a sight I needed right now, especially as the breeze had tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. Just like she used to. As much as I wished to do something with it, I should probably just get a haircut. Or maybe invest in a new hat. 
As I walked along, I threw a few coins into an open instrument case and Satchmo blew a tune on his horn in appreciation. I lifted my fist, flicking up a thumb. I may be listening to a lot of Bond lately, but this will always remain true: Brass kicks ass. 
The smell of orange chicken, fried rice, and roast duck drew me over to a Chinese food stand. I may not be Catholic, strictly speaking, but I keep some practices out of respect. Like giving up Panda Express for Lent. I patted my wallet through my pocket, but kept on walking. Until I caught the eye of the girl at the Hot Dog On A Stick stand. Never hurts to smile at a pretty girl, but again, not what I needed tonight. I moved along. 
I continued until I reached the end of the pier, but the Blues bar had fallen silent. Satchmo kept playing, his horn crooning at me from where I left him. With nowhere else to go, I leaned against the railing, watching the waves, and a sea lion lounging out on a buoy. What was I looking for? And as I rubbed a hand against the stubble on my face, I wondered, why the hell am I wearing a pea coat? I hate pea coats. 

I opened my eyes and reached over for my iPod. I was out for half an hour. 

Meh. It's not like I need to get up early anyways...