Point Blank

Alexander Pierce was a veteran in the fields of assassinations. Halting a beating heart was his forte. Flinching before a kill was an imperfection that he himself did not tolerate. Light on his feet but lethal in his methods, Pierce was a force to be reckoned with. Mere seconds ago, he had fired multiple shots at a measly wooden door that cooperated well with him. The sound of the slugs penetrating flesh was like music to Pierce’s ears. He imagined his victim being eviscerated by the bullet and smiled smugly, satisfied. “Target removed.” Pierce jabbed swiftly into his pager to the man at the top. Ten minutes ago, he had been forewarned about the complications that he might encounter on this thrilling excursion. He was utterly chagrinned at the ease of purging his target. He strode into basement of a dilapidated train station with his usual confident demeanor. Apart from the unembellished surroundings, the basement was filled with specialised personnel. Pierce knocked twice on the door and stepped inside. He was met with a breeze of cool air-conditioning. The man at the table was standing with his back facing him. Pierce spoke first. “I am disappointed at the ease of the mission that I was assigned to.” The man’s stillness was unnerving. Sensing that something was amiss, Pierce decided to change the topic. “What’s next?” “Remove that target that I assigned you to.” The man’s raspy voice seemed to echo through the soundproof room. “But…” Pierce furrowed his brows, as beads of perspiration began to drip down his face. Hadn’t he just exterminated the target? “He’s not dead. Relocate the target, and get the job done. Cleanly.” His back still unturned, the man spoke with authority, firm and unwavering. “And watch your back.” Pierce wanted to ask the man if he was questioning his ability but thought better of it. After all, the message was clear. Rid the target. It was all he ever lived for anyways. He managed a grunt of affirmation and made his exit. Timothy Carr stood motionless in the soundproof room. He wondered if the man he had employed to hunt down his son was competent enough for the job. “Veteran assassin,” Timothy read off Pierce’s profile. He smirked, amazed at the tinge of worry for his son that crept up at him. He shook it off, well aware that his son was more than capable of negotiating with death, and emerging with a great bargain. He peered at his tracking device and the red dot glared back, blinking steadily. In fact, it was on the move, and Timothy knew, it was on the move with a motive to kill. Looking up, he took a deep breath. ​Timothy Carr was not expecting the return of Alexander Pierce.