Welcome to the New Déjà Vu

 

The igloo exploded. First came the flash, which shattered the darkness, and then the ear-splitting bang that quickly followed. Next came the shards of broken ice and melted snow, that splattered across the frosted landscape– dotting it with ash. A small vibration then traveled through the ground underneath, upsetting the resting snow on tree branches and igloos alike. A scream was next to disrupt the silence. It pierced the night, shrill and high, and called forth a gunshot that silenced it. The only thing that was screaming now, was the sirens in the distance.

I laughed and reloaded.

Standing up, and brushing the snow off my gear, I shuffled back through the undergrowth into the forest. Trudging slowly through the falling snow, I tried not to think of the lives I had  just ended. Granted, it was the “betterment of society”, but how could flags on coffins and muttering a faux prayer make up for the dead bodies and broken hearts?

I shrugged it off and chuckled. My conscience would have to wait. I started humming a tune, just to keep my mind busy, and continued trekking  through the relentless blizzard. After fifteen minutes of hiking, I managed to make it to the outskirts of the very vacant plaza. There, I removed my snow gear and clothed myself with a  damp, silk tuxedo– which also included a fine fur top hat, and a coal black cane. Scanning the plaza, I took note of the dimmed pet shop  the vibrant stage, and the candle lit pizza parlor. They were draped in snow and decorated in Christmas lights, and rustling with activity  Following prior instruction, I made my way towards the pizza parlor. Taking measured steps; ones not too rushed and not too tedious, I gripped the handle on the parlor’s door and swung it open.

Entering casually and throwing on a complacent smile, I proceeded in examining the contents of the restaurant. The air smelled of pizza mixed with various assorted spices, and was occupied by both the chattering of those dining, and the jazzy Christmas carols being played by a band on stage.

I made my way to the bar, on the right side of the room, and sat next to a gentleman in a suit and tie. He sat, sipping a drink and smoking whilst talking to others. He was wearing a gold watch, and seemed to pay little or no attention to me, cracking jokes and discussing a business of sorts with those around us. I sat and ordered a vodka martini– shaken not stirred, just to mimic 007, and also to denote my participation in dark (black) operations as well.

Finally, after quite some time, the man turned to me.

“J22?” he asked.

“At your service. You?” I replied.

“T87”

“T87? Never heard of you.”

“Now you have. Anyway, how was your business trip?”

“Quite successful, we had a blast. Especially at the parties and meetings. Too bad all who arrived were delayed by a snowstorm. Other than me, of course.”

“Very well. I was told your next trip will be to the CPAC offices above the local coffee shop. We have a reporter you need to… deal with.”

“Alright. How will I know who he is?”

“Well, he is an Associate Producer, was assigned not too long ago, and often writes philosophy and stories for the paper.” He said, sliding me a newspaper with a name circled on it. I scanned the article, and nodded my head.

He nodded back, and then we both rose and shook hands.

Time for another snowstorm. 

***

 I entered the coffee shop in a holiday sweater-vest, and some black slacks, sipping hot cocoa. I strolled by the counter, and by the couples whispering and reading, while the cashier was busy brewing coffee. I nodded towards him, and he gave a half-wave back. I then headed for the stairs, and climbed up them, rather briefly. There, I was met with the receptionist desk. Greeting her, I explained to her that I was scheduled for an appointment with the Associate Producer. She checked my fake ID, logged my entering, asked me to wait in the lobby. I made my way, past the mancala boards, and sat on a sofa. There, I reviewed my plan.

  1. Enter CPAC.
  2. Have an appointment with the target.
  3. Speak with him, present my case and ask that he take it.
  4. If not, kill him.
  5. If yes, leave gracefully.
  6. If extermination is needed, do so silently, and use window as escape route.
  7. Remove disguise, make-up, clothing and head to dance club for an alibi, I will be met by a female agent who will… cover me.
  8. Make way into boiler room and from there escape to plaza.
  9. T87 will be met in the pizza parlor once more for further instruction.

After reviewing it a three times, taking a deep breath, and tracing the weapon concealed at my hip, my (fake) name was called and I was led into the CPAC offices. I waltzed right in and sat down on a stool, facing  a desk and chair to which my target sat at.

“Oh, you must be Mr. Burke.” He said to me.

“Yes, yes I am, and you are Mr. Kelly, I presume?”

“That is correct, but please, call me Joee.”

“Alright, ‘Joee’, I’d like to discuss the brewing of a current situation.”

“Ah yes, the assault on the DRACP’s president. We’ve been looking into that as well, it really is an interes-”

“No,” I interrupted, “not that situation. The one concerning this forming ‘Hawkeye’ scandal.”

He looked at me a few moments, as the seriousness of my words took effect. He seemed to be deciding something, but I couldn’t tell what. He exposed a bit of confusion and fear, trying to figure out how I even knew the existence of such a scandal. I took this as a signal to keep speaking.

“My employers do not wish for you to expose this scandal, seeing as it might be detrimental to ourselves and to the community as well. Therefore, we are asking you not write about it.”

“Then may I speak of it?” He replied, curtly.

“Allow me to clarify; you will not speak of it, you will not write about it, you will not explain it or express it or even think about it. If you don’t do so, we will force you to.”

He smirked. That was a change in behavior, contrasted to his former bewilderment. I gripped the gun on my thigh. We locked eyes.

“Mr. Burke, are you threatening me?”

“No, simply making a promise. If you try anything stupid, you will lose your pulse.”

“Not if you lose yours first.” And with that, he ripped a pistol from inside his jacket and started firing at me. He squeezed off four bullets before I fit the floor and retrieved the weapon from my hip. Three of the bullets had missed, however the last planted itself into my shoulder. This was not going according to plan.

I rolled behind my stool and used it as a shield whilst firing back at him. I managed to shoot up his desk pretty well, but as for his actual body, I was missing horribly. The pain in my shoulder was overwhelming. I’d been shot before, but this was different. The bullet had completely shattered my bone, and was still lodged inside it.

He continued to fire until my foot had also taken a bullet, as well as the leg above it. I returned fire, but I was bleeding, and the entire room smelled of gunfire and smoke. I could hear commotion in the halls, some screaming, and a siren in the distance. Fuck. We continued to shoot at each other, his firing overpowering mine. My body was going into shock. I had to get the hell out of there. After around maybe 24 bullets from him, he was out of ammunition. We sat in silence for a few moments.

“I want to get the truth out, Mr. Burke. They have a right to know what you’ve done, and what your entire company does. Yes, we know about them. We have files, we have posts, we have documents all about your company. This may come as a shock to you, but the biggest intelligence agency, or spy agency, or whatever the hell you want to call it, is CPAC itself. You all see us as some writers club, or some neutral third party, but in reality, all we do is take intelligence and expose it for all to see. We assassinate people with our pens, not our guns.

However, that does not mean I can’t use one.”

He then charged me, with a chair and gun in hand. Because of the silence, I assumed he though I was out of ammo, which I wasn’t. This, he learned the hard way.

The End (of Part One?)

I ended it here because I was bored of typing. I may write a second part, but not many people read this, and it is pretty bad, since I made it all up as I went. Oh well, tell me what you think. I may add more clarification just because none of you really know what the hell was going on. Oh well. Comment, please.

-Joee

One Response

  1. reality in cpac^

    Like

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