11: Run

São Paulo, Brazil, 2002

8:00 AM

The target has woken up.

10:00 AM

The target has moved to the kitchen.

11:00 AM

The target has moved back to the bedroom.

2:00 PM

The target has moved back to the kitchen.

5:00 PM

The target tried playing some golf.

7:00 PM

The target his back in the kitchen.

9:00 PM

The target has moved back to the bedroom.

11:00 PM

The target has fallen asleep.

This is what I have been observing for the past 4 days. My target for the assassination, Carlos Mendes, the corrupt senator. Initially, I had assumed his seclusion was due to his cautious nature, perhaps fearing for his life, but I couldn't have been more mistaken. Mendes was simply indolent. His daily activities consisted of little more than shifting from one room to another.

Physically, Mendes was a short, rotund man, with an appearance befitting a sweet old man, but his actions painted an entirely different picture. He was far from the harmless façade he projected. In fact, Mendes was one of the most sinister individuals I had encountered. There seemed to be no criminal activity he hadn't dabbled in or profited from. His illicit enterprises ranged from pickpocket rings to human trafficking. He embodied the very essence of malevolence, a loathsome and repugnant figure.

I had spent four days tracking and monitoring Senator Mendes in hopes of identifying the potential mutant bodyguard he had hired for his protection, which was the only plausible explanation for the mission's hard difficulty rating designated by the system. Assassinating Mendes himself wouldn't pose much of a challenge for me. Despite his mansion being heavily guarded by a battalion of bodyguards, slipping past them undetected was a mere walk in the park for someone of my skills.

However, my extended surveillance yielded no sign of any supernatural or mutant third party working for Mendes. The man seemed utterly oblivious to the peril looming over him. Regardless, I couldn't afford to wait any longer. Mendes was scheduled to depart for Europe the next day, making it increasingly difficult to eliminate him. Whatever adversary lay in wait for me, I had to be ready to adapt on the fly.

I secured my trusty companion, a Japanese katana, to my back. The blade, with its elegant craftsmanship, bore intricate etchings that glistened in the faint light, a testament to the swordsmith's masterful skill. Its sheath was adorned with symbols of ancient Japanese artistry, and the hilt was wrapped in deep crimson silk, providing both an aesthetic and functional touch. My katana was a deadly work of art, a reflection of both beauty and precision.

A shorter sword was fastened at my waist, a practical weapon for close encounters. Its polished blade gleamed like liquid silver. Holstered at my ankle was a concealed firearm, compact and deadly.

My attire remained the same as when I had left Japan. I wore a sleek and impeccably tailored three-piece suit, black as the night, with subtle red accents and my trademark red mask.

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a silvery glow upon the sprawling mansion of Carlos Mendes. Surrounded by manicured lawns and ornate gates, the estate exuded an air of opulence. My approach was methodical, each step a dance with the shadows as I navigated the intricate web of security measures.

The perimeter was guarded by a combination of CCTV cameras and motion sensors, but I had studied their patterns meticulously during my days of observation. With swift and deliberate movements, I bypassed their watchful eyes, blending into the darkness like a phantom.

Scaling the perimeter wall with cat-like agility, I found myself within the estate's grounds. The lush garden provided cover, and the gentle breeze carried the faint scent of exotic flowers. My senses heightened, attuned to every sound and rustle in the night.

As I approached the mansion, the windows glowed softly from within. My katana rested comfortably on my back, a silent companion ready for action. The security at the front entrance was tight, but I had no intention of taking the direct route.

Locating a discreet entrance at the rear, I effortlessly picked the lock. The door swung open, revealing a dimly lit corridor. The air within carried a faint scent of aged wood and subtle hints of expensive perfume.

Moving with silent grace, I explored the mansion's intricate layout. The grandeur of the interior contrasted sharply with the shadows I inhabited. Rooms adorned with priceless artifacts whispered tales of Mendes' ill-gotten wealth.

Encountering a security keypad, I relied on my expertise in technology to disable it. The code revealed itself through a subtle play of lights. The path to Mendes' inner sanctum unfolded, and I walked inside.

Peering into the dimly lit bedroom where Carlos Mendes lay in restless slumber. The soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminated the decadence of his surroundings—an oversized canopy bed draped in silk, walls adorned with gilded frames housing portraits of his ill-gotten achievements.

As I surveyed the room, my senses attuned to the faint sounds of Mendes' snores, I noticed the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Moving with the grace of a phantom, I approached the bed. Mendes stirred in his sleep.

With a deft motion, the katana slid free from its scabbard, catching the moonlight that filtered through the curtains. The blade gleamed with a cold brilliance, an extension of the justice that loomed over the sleeping figure.

As the blade descended with silent precision, I felt the air shift behind me. Instinctively, I stopped my blade midway, shifting my weight to the side. With reflexes honed through relentless training, I deflected the object hurtling towards me. It clattered against the wall, revealing itself to be a concealed throwing knife.

In the dimness of the room, a figure emerged from the shadows. I saw a woman emerge from the darkness, her piercing green eyes staring right into me. She wore a form-fitting bodysuit in a striking shade of red that accentuated the athleticism beneath. Red gloves and boots completed her ensemble, creating a visual tapestry that blended danger with allure. In her hands, she wielded dual sai, their pronged blades glinting in the dim light. Each movement spoke of a well-honed skill, and her raven-black hair seemed to blend into the darkness.

Our eyes locked in a silent exchange, and without a word, the dance of combat began. I wasted no time, swiftly closing the distance between us. I swung my sword in a wide arc, aiming for her midsection, but she ducked with a dancer's grace, evading the lethal edge by inches. "I knew someone was on tail but I didn't expect it to be Gorgon's little runt." The woman snickered.

In response, she countered with a series of swift strikes using her dual sai. Each movement was deliberate, showcasing her mastery of the weapons. I parried the blows with my sword, the clash of metal resonating in the room.

The woman knew who I was or at least the fact that I was affiliated with gorgon. This put me at a disadvantage as I had no clue who the woman. Her attire suggested she was a hand member. Perhaps an assassin sent by the other heads as a protection for Mendes. Which is probably why Mendes was ready to cross Gorgon.

The confined space became an arena of acrobatics and precision. I aimed a high kick at her, but she responded with a nimble jump, effortlessly avoiding the attack. In the midst of the battle, the red-clad assassin displayed agility that rivalled my own. "What's wrong?? Can't catch me?" she taunted again as she stabbed towards my eyes.

Our movements were a blur of calculated strikes and evasions. I feinted left, and she gracefully sidestepped, attempting to disarm me with a quick swipe of her sai. The dance continued, a deadly choreography of blades and limbs.

As the fight intensified, the room echoed with the clash of weapons. I aimed a low sweep, attempting to unbalance her, but she somersaulted backward, landing with a cat-like grace. The dual sai whirred through the air as she retaliated with a rapid assault, and I deftly maneuvered to avoid each strike.

The battle reached a crescendo, the ebb and flow of combat. It was a silent struggle, punctuated only by the rhythmic sounds of blades meeting and the occasional thud as a kick or punch found its mark.

What surprised me more than sudden appearance of the assassin was the senators ability to sleep. Even throughout the constant clanging of metal around him the man continued being lost in sleep. I had tried shifting my position towards the senator to quickly finish my job but the red woman had successfully thwarted my attempts and successfully locked me in this place.

In the heat of the confrontation, I couldn't help but marvel at the skill of my opponent. The red assassin was a formidable opponent, matching my every move with precision and finesse. Yet, determination fueled my actions as I pressed on, seeking an opening in her defenses.

It wasn't before I found the opening I was looking for. I executed a feint towards the right. The ruse played out as planned, coaxing the assassin into a defensive response that left her vulnerable. Exploiting the newfound opening, I delivered a swift and forceful kick to her waist. While the assassin seemed to be able to keep up with my martial skills she wasn't a match for my strength as the kicked knocked the air out of her body and propelling her through the air. She sailed across the room and hit the bookshelf knocking several books down.

This finally seemed to have woken the Senator up. As he got up confused by the loud noise. As his eyes finally focused on me. The presence of a masked man in his room have might scared him a lot. As he opened to scream I swiftly took out my handgun and sent a shot which stuck him right between his eyes killing him. I purposely chose not to silence the pistol as I could use the commotion to help my escape. As the man lay dead I looked to my right where the assassin lay. I might have underestimated my physical capabilities as the strike might have done more than knock some air out of her body. The woman lay sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from her mouth. Her eyes locked onto mine, a determined intensity despite her vulnerable position. In a strained whisper, she managed to utter, "Run!"

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