Friday, February 03, 2006

TGIF and the hit

He stands at the intersection, in the shadow of the streetlamp. A cigarette, you assume a Morley, hangs from his lips, wisps of smoke rise into the night.

You presume he is waiting for something, or watching, or just having a break from whatever it is he does.

Suddenly a shot rings out in the neighborhood. The figure doesn’t even flinch. One last puff on the cigarette and he drops it to the ground, snuffs it out with his polished shoes.

A few minutes later you catch the sound of hurried feet. Another figure, equally as dark, appears under the streetlight. A few quiet words are exchanged, and then the two depart into the darkness as though nothing in the world was the matter.


Sam was a Regenemorph, and not from this world. The men who wanted him wanted him for only one reason; to kill him. The tests they had performed on him were over, he proved invalid.

But life, any life, has a need to continue, even at the risk of greater evils unleashed. Sam was no exception. And despite his best efforts to evade his pursuers, they were still able to track him.

On his body somewhere there must be an implant. But he was alone, would receive no help from his world and could trust none in this one. He was left to die, or live as he could.

The closet door was only two thin sheets of plywood painted blue. He could hear the apartment door gently forced open. He stopped breathing, his senses on high alert. Two quiet steps, then his trap was sprung.

The twang of a bolt, then a muffled grunt, satisfied Sam that his trap had connected with human flesh. Another groan was followed by a meaty thump to the apartment floor. Sam waited another minute, pushed open the closet door, and looked out.

On the floor a figure lay sprawled. He had purposefully left the lights off and so couldn’t quite make out who this person was. It may have been the one following him, or somebody else. Three steps farther into the room and Sam realized his mistake.

It was his landlord. And the instant he realized it his enemy appeared, surrounded by the stark light of naked bulbs from the hallway.

“Thought you could evade us, did you?” said the enemy. He held up a gun, its barrel leveled at his head.

Sam had only one second to act. He shifted his brain down into his chest just as the blast of the gun took off the top of his head. Crashing to the floor, Sam spasmed and appeared to die.

The enemy walked across the room. Sam’s one remaining eye, half open and clouding with blood, could make out the Nike swirl on the enemies shoes. Sam stopped his heart and pinched the arteries to his major organs. He could survive ten minutes this way, no more.

Reaching down the enemy took a knife to the back of Sam’s neck and sliced deep. After a moment of carving the enemy removed a small metallic chip, held it out towards the hall light, then took out a small glass vial and placed it within.

It was several minutes before Sam restarted his heart. He was injured, but not beyond hope. His enemy had departed.

That’s how I found him, and how I know his story. He has recovered mostly, due largely to his own regenerative powers and less to my unskilled abilities.


Several years have gone by now since then. I’ve never heard from him or of him again. The only reason I thought about it at all today was, under the streetlight on my corner, I saw a smoking man.

I double locked my door. The last time I looked out the window the man was gone. But now the back of my next is itchy, and my neighbor must be restless because I can hear him walking about.

It’s three in the morning.

I wait behind my locked door for dawn.

I will not sleep this night. I have nowhere to go.

The End


Written in ten minutes it was.

Mr. Muse is having fun today.

And to top it all of it's Friday too!

What could be better?

(And yes, way too much X-Files watching lately . . .)

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