The empty shell hit the floor and so did the body. She slumped back in exertion and reloaded the death stick keeping her eyes on the body the whole time, blood had started to pool across the concrete floor in front of her steel toe capped boots. Time to move on. She pulled up her trousers and used it the body of the man as ramp over the blood pool and jumped off his shattered ribcage with a crunch.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall 17:56:38. Picking up the pace she vaulted a rusting barrel dropping the shotgun and favouring a lightweight handgun. It slipped from the shoulder holster with ease and the flick of a wrist practiced many times before. Sprinting in boots was not a good idea incase of a sprain, that could be dealt with later, with the clock running she didn't give two shits.

17:57:04

Fuck. Eyes back on the space ahead she turned a corner stopping herself on a wall with a hand and putting two bullets in the head of the next figure; no time to check

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Life. Staring into the same eyes of the regular passengers on the train. Grey uninterested pale things ever so slightly reflective but that came back was dead. Is this what we taught and died for? In his mind all we got out of all that death and misery was extended existence....

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The monkey swung through the jungle, the banana grease on his hands loosening his grip; making him fall and land in a rock. Death. Le fin.

(Not my writing)

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Pigeons are curious things aren't they? One would walk around for hours and the flock of pigeons would follow you the entire time, and all you would need do would be to hold a slice of bread. Quante things pigeons, stupid also, I have seen many fly into lampposts or buildings in shortsighted stupidity. Vile things. We call them sky rats for their traits the two share, they eat human leftovers and have been known to fight with each other over a female, an injured pigeon is a dead pigeon and a dead pigeon is the best pigeon.

But doves my good friends! Oooooooh doves, we are magnificent creatures of the sky, not just in beauty but in legend as well, we are a spoken of highly in every context whether we mean love, prosperity, promise or celebration. No matter what, the sight of a dove brings joy, we are brilliant creatures and intelligent too, pigeons oft pretend they are as graceful

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The blade pressed up against the jugular, it moved as he swallowed and first blood was drawn, it ran down his neck and stained the beige collar. The man shuddered as he saw his fate if he didn't comply, reaching forward he opened the briefcase with the thumb scanner and lifted the lid.

Light streamed out of the container blinding the man in his last seconds. The knife was cleaned on his sleeve and then sheathed in the black leather holster, making an enjoyable squeak as it slid into place above its upper thigh. It closed the lid and took the briefcase by the handle. Reaching down it picked the once man, now corpse up by the ear and finished of the job the knife had done and severed his head with a quick yank to loosen the body which fell back into place in the chair.

Heads are proof of a kill after all, it put the head in a cooler to preserve it and made off, both hands full. The cooler was now full and would need emptying and the drop off, it required more money for fuel anyway. The journey took maybe 5 days by car with regular stops and refuels. it had best begin.

It threw open the book at dropped the two items in the back, this skin was irritating to it, nothing compared to its "natural" skin, this was sticking on the inside and made it feel inferior, it's exoskeleton itched when beneath it, as good as a gift it was, it had drawbacks to it. A burden also.

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Gasps echoed around the crowd as the rasping sound of a sword being drawn filled the air; peasants had a habit of shiting themselves when facing steel, this one was no different. The mans head hit the floor with a dull thump and bloody fountained over the people near him, gasps turned screams filled her ears. One bandit down two to go. More blood. Less screams. Finally silence, they probably formed some kind of thought process and decided that antagonising the lady with the sharp sword wasn't a good idea. It wasn't.

Tabitha is what most called her, but she had gone by different as a child, the path of a Templar knight was hard and especially for a woman, shieldmaiden is the usual term but being a lady gave her a different title as little as it was actually used. After her sword was clean moved up to the fort gates again, spitting as she did; politics would have no place in her job anymore, killing the opposition was the best way to succeed if that is what God willed,