Man is a most complex simple creature: see what he weaves, and how base his reasons for doing so.
Qi takes one of the dumplings with her fingers and shoves it in her mouth, murmuring her approval. She gestures you to follow her to the carpark.
"The Red Stampede was contracted to escort a certain item to the Indian borders. But right before the guards left Beijing, our folks were ambushed. Intelligence and after-action reports suggests that they were agents of the Nine Unknown."
"My fellows of the Stampede are right now turning over every rock that they can find. And I was given instructions to retrieve the item and deliver it, as promised."
"My findings show that the Nine Unknown's agents have brought the item here, before taking it a one-way trip to Nepal. We are to infiltrate the area, steal the item, and rendezvous with the Stampede, completing the contract."
Qi opens the trunk of her sedan, taking out a revolver and a gun-belt. She checks the weapon, replaces it in the holster, and straps the belt around her waist.
"Missions like these need three, a vanguard, a middle guard, and a rear-guard. These positions are interchangeable. What is important is that if one of us goes down, someone else can cover with suppressive measures, and the other can drag them to safety."
She gestures to the open trunk, stocked with all kinds of firearms and archery weapons.
Man is a most complex simple creature: see what he weaves, and how base his reasons for doing so.
You all seat yourselves in the van as Qi drives. The weapons you take rather uncomfortable. From the corner of your eye, you see Qi stroking the gunbelt and holster tied to her hip, smirking to herself.
As night falls, you start to fall asleep. You dream. You dream of strange things. Of monsters trying to eat you, of your friends and family dying. Everything that could be wrong, is wrong. You grow feverish, and feel yourself start to thrash even out of the dream.
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
"Do we know what this item looks like?" he asks.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead