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Post by Shamino Warhen Ph.D on Nov 24, 2008 6:17:14 GMT 1
"I don't quite get what you want from me..."
Shamino sat in his office chair, as he did every evening. His papers were stacked, his laptop opened and set to mute. His guitar, slightly dusty on the wall behind him, still managed to reflect the room back at the man sitting in the chair opposite of its owner. "We want you back, Shamino. We want you home" The mans French accent made it impossible for the two men by the deck-entrance door to understand. But Shamino nodded along to the words. "You went inactive. We didn't follow. You took over your fathers assets, we didn't take a penny. You moved- we never inquired. Now we hear of an incident in Chinatown in San Francisco- two dozen gang members dead, several civilians dead and injured, and several hundred thousand dollars of damage to private and public property- and we can't be quiet anymore."
"Uh... Huh."
They regarded each other a moment, the balding man and the unshaven Swede. "You want me to reenlist to active duty?"
"To put it nicely, yes." The balding Frenchman nodded briskly.
"And to put it bluntly, Andre?"
"You have twenty four hours to give me your decision. If it's a yes, you get sixty days to remove your assets from the United States... If you say no- I'll be back here tomorrow regardless. With... Coworkers."
"Is that a threat?" Shamino inquired, leaning back in the chair and propping his feet up beside the laptop. The man, by the name of Andre, patted Shamino's foot gently.
"Yes, it is. A threat well backed up, as well." Andre leaned forward, Parisian French dripping from his French-born, silver tongue. "You were a very promising unit in the anti-terrorism team, even as a child. Should you make your skills... Less noticeable to the public eye, there is a prestigious future for you. The economy is going to hell, the stocks you are invested in are plummeting... We have a permanent future for you, in the EU."
Shamino replied crudely. He opened a small silver case, removing a Djarum black from its inner walls and sparking the smoke using his table lighter. He exhaled sharply through the nose. "I enjoy it here. Life is simpler. You grow up, you get beaten into the ground. Then, you get back up, and take what was stolen from you- with interest. This continues until you're the one that gets beaten down for taking something that doesn't belong to you. That has yet to happen... So I can say with confidence that I enjoy where I am, and do not even consider going back to killing pimps and old KGB agents for you."
"I am sorry you feel that way..." Andre stood, lifting his coat from the chair and slipping into it, doing up the golden buttons and adjusting the similar cufflinks. With a tired smile, Andre leaned over and extended a hand. Shamino took it and held it briefly.
"I'm sorry you assumed this young pup would go back to an abusive master." Shamino said, gesturing to the two men by the door. They opened it and stepped onto the chilly deck, awaiting the Frenchman.
"I'm so sorry you assume this abusive master will let their prize-winning pup run." Andre gave a curt bow of his head, Shamino gave it back with a tense smile. The door closed, and Shamino pivoted on his foot, slamming his fist into the wall behind him, cracking the wallpaper and indenting his bony knuckles.
"What's the plan?" Alex said as he entered through the lounge door, pressing a button on the table top lighter and turning off the microphone, while also removing the ear piece from the left side of his cranium.
"Give all the employees their farewell packages. The business was failing anyways- if Andre knows anything, it's money."
"We still have enough assets to retire, you know." Alex suggested, unbuttoning his trench coat and shoving his hands into his pockets.
"We also have enough assets to disappear. Which is the idea. If we have to- take care of the ship, remove the employees, and liquefy the assets. Take ten percent and go home, Alex." Shamino closed the laptop, resting his hands on the carbon fiber top. "Go home."
"This is home, Warhen." Alex shook his head, opening his coat through his pockets to reveal several shining pistols. "And I love what I do. Where ever you go, I'm coming with you."
"I'll skip the emotional man-hug and just thank you." Shamino turned around, raising his guitar off of the wall and staring at the back of it. "Prepare the ship. We have until morning."
"Andre said twenty four hours..."
"He knew my answer before he landed in the country with his men. They'll be better than me- just as young, but more experienced. Dozens of kills under their belt, from Romania to Iraq." Shamino raised the guitar onto its rack, and removed his Five-SeveN from his back holster, cocking the slide back and staring down at the round in the chamber. "We're talking SAS on crack, here."
"Okay, okay..." Alex raised his hands in his pockets, raising his coat further to reveal the buttstock of an AK-101 on his back. "So it'll be a challenge instead of easy. I understand, so, where do we start?"
"By sending the people on the ship home, and turning this thing into a warzone." Shamino rested the pistol onto his table, and slammed his fist into the laptop, cracking it in half. "And we'll do it Varron style..."
"Which is?" Alex stepped forward, inclining his head towards Shamino's mouth.
"With a fist full of steel, and one bullet at a time."
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Post by Shamino Warhen Ph.D on Dec 15, 2008 5:19:27 GMT 1
Shamino sat on a lawn chair overseeing the parking lot in the dockyard. His gloved hand raised an iced drink to his lips, and he drank. The wind cut into the two men that stood behind Shamino in their broad-shouldered suits, both of them showing discomfort and gripping their sub machine guns with the occasional shiver. Shamino stood then, glass in hand, draping the white-fur coat over his shoulders further. He sighed, resting his free hand on the balcony edge to view closely the several dozen Mercedes Benz SUV's arriving to fill up the parking lot. "Wow." He adjusted his spectacles, pushing off of the ledge and setting his drink back down into the lawn chair. "They weren't fucking around, were they... That's about a hundred men."
The two men stared down at their guns, then back up to their employer. "Yeah." Shamino nodded. "About a hundred. But relax, and watch."
Shamino slipped his arms through the sleeves of his coat, then removed a small black detonator, pressing the button twice. Two idly parked Chevrolet trucks exploded, extended cab and all, and took with them at least half a dozen of the SUV's. "Now it's closer to the eighties mark. How many of there are of you?"
"Twenty of us tonight, Mr. Warhen."
"Ah... well."
He leaned over the deck, pressing the button once more as men in black camouflage ran swiftly along the ramp to the ship. The ramp went up in flame, as did a dozen foreigners. A hail of gunfire caused Shamino to step swiftly back from the balcony's railing. "Well. Tell the men downstairs to toss the ramp then, I suppose. Head on inside, i'll be fine here."
The two men left briefly (Too briefly, to Shamino) into the warmth of the ship. Shamino followed suit into his office, gripping off of a painting his .357 Magnum. From a camera he removed a suspiciously useless bipod, and then from an airsoft gun lying on his work desk he removed a rather sophisticated scope. Mixing the two, he set the six shooter onto the steel railings of his balcony, and placed six shots. Six oncoming men in black dropped to the floor, lifeless. He stepped back, weapon and bipod and all, from their line of sight to casually slip in six more rounds. "Three men managed to get onto the floor below you."
Shamino pressed his cheek against his right shoulder, mumbling into his radio as he removed something from his inner coat "Oh yes? Below me?"
"Mmhmm." The mono-voice of Alex chimed through the small ear piece. "Should be below you any moment now."
Shamino leaned over the balcony, firing several blind bursts towards the hallway beneath him, and heard twin screams of agony and a combined weight of fourhundred pounds drop to the floor. "Alrighty." Shamino replied, unloading the rest of the Micro-Uzi towards the trucks, managing to kill one and wound two. "How is it looking downstairs?"
"They have a lot of fire power. I think I see an RPG."
"Oh yeah? An RPG?"
"Just two of them. We'll sink for at least an hour before we drown."
"Not too terrible then." Shamino commented, replacing the magazine in the submachine gun and releasing another long burst of automatic fire towards the onslaught of ant-sized commandos in black. He threw the micro uzi towards the water, and raised back up his magnum, quickly finding and dispensing the men with the rocket propelled grenades. "Time to leave, I think."
He made his way down the stairs to the neck deck, shedding his fur jacket and tossing the bi-pod from the pistol. He was forced to fire several shots at a single target from a small window before making the kill. He tossed the magnum angrily through the window and removed his 1911 variant. "How is the main floor?"
"Terrible. I'm bailing. See you at the place." Alex's voice vanished from Shamino's ear, and so he removed the radio and crushed it under his boot. He heard a shotgun blast and a cry for medical attention at the foot of the steps below.
"They fell for the tripwire shotgun? Really?" Shamino peered down the stairs to see a single man in black rolling on the floor, gripping where his knee should be. "Lets make a quiet exit." He mumbled to himself, affixing a silencer to the .45 slugger and placing two in the dying mans chest. Peering around the corner, he swiftly moved towards the lifeboats on the starboard side. He exited to the balcony, shutting the door just as half a dozen men walked into the hallway with guns riddling the carpeted walls with bullets.
Shamino turned the corner to find a commando cutting each life raft. As he came to the last one, Shamino silently stepped up to him, swiftly kicking his foot down and breaking the mans ankle. Upon hearing the door which was his exit, become an entrance, he grabbed the screaming man in a chokehold and used him to take the next hail of gunfire. From his less-than-optimal position behind the weighted corpse, he took several desperate pot shots before throwing the body towards the men and hopping across the railing to the life boat, taking a combat knife across it and making the fifty foot plunge into the icy waters of the bay. He started the engine mid air, and slammed painfully onto the floor as the boat hit water. Shamino made several pot shots into the air as the boat automatically drove forward with a fully cranked motor.
Shamino awoke to find himself slamming against wooden docks across the bay. He flew forward several feet, and managed to lift himself onto the dock as the ship continued to drive with all force into the stronger wood. Shooting the handle of the engine, it turned enough to cause the boat a sudden change of direction towards the pacific. Just then, his cell phone went off.
"Mr. Warhen." Shamino mumbled into the mouthpiece, turning around to take a look at his ship.
"Mr. Warhen, you have a beautiful guitar..."
"Ah. Andre. I didn't know you were a player." Shamino retorted, scratching his temple with his still luke-warm silencer.
"I know enough to know that it really doesn't need a lionclaw cover on the back, seeing as how it's not a tremolo system." Andre's voice was that of mild amusement. "Why is it there?"
"Oh. This is why." Shamino fished the detonator out of its lair within his clothes, and pressed the button.
And nothing happened.
"The explosive in it was removed thirty seconds ago. But a nice try. Fool me thrice, shame on me..."
"Then shame on you." Shamino said, switching the signal and pressing the button once more. The laptop atop of his desk exploded instantly, turning the office into a small flare on the horizon. Wearily, Shamino holstered his weapon and vanished into the metro before he could even hear the sirens.
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Post by Shamino Warhen Ph.D on Dec 25, 2008 6:04:13 GMT 1
He stepped off of the bus half a block from his residence downtown. Looking up at the skyscraper, he rubbed his chin in thought. He side stepped into an alleyway upon hearing sirens behind him, and returned back to the sidewalk after checking the amount of ammunition for his sidearm. He opted to enter through the parking lot, primarily to check on his vehicle. As the icy rain began to pour down, he found shelter in the even damper underground. He fished his key out of a wet dress pant pocket, and double pressed the unlock key. No explosion.
"Good." He mumbled, stepping into the vehicle. His thumb, milimeters away from the big, red, begging 'Start' button, stopped instantly. "That's funny..." He whispered, opening his glove box to remove a swiss army knife. Popping open a blade, he cut surgically along the dashboard, removing a plastic portion beside the start button. He ripped at several wires, and yanked out a small detonator that was pressure sensitive to his ignition. "Very good..." He nodded, tossing the wires out and slipping the plastic panel back into its place. He smacked it harshly, the plastic forced back into place- at least for now.
Shamino popped the trunk, opening the false flooring and removing his desperation weapons. "Oh god..." He picked up the .45 Caliber submachine gun, slamming his fist against the safety to set it to full auto. "I really hope there's no one up there."
He stepped into the elevator, twisting his house key and looking up to the camera. "If you're up there. You've got my girlfriend. And if you've got my girlfriend, I'm going to have to give into your demands and start killing for you again- if we're even at that point anymore. Maybe you just want me dead since I killed a diplomat. Maybe you want me dead because I blew up a bunch of fancy SUV's. Maybe you want me dead because you could deem me a terrorist..."
The door opened and Shamino was met with a view of his home, in pristine condition, 108" Projector displaying Mission Impossible II in clarity. On his couch sat Jesse, and to each side of her was a man dressed in black. "Put the gun down, or we shoot her." Said the man on a left, with a heavy nordic accent.
"Tell it to me straight. I'm dead either way, aren't I?" Shamino asked, the Swedish rolling off of his tongue like honey. Parched, his silver tongue licked his upper lip. The man raised a brow, cheeks turning pink slightly.
"Those are the orders..." The man replied. The other one clearly unable to comprehend the language.
"Then I beg of you... Let me get to know the man that is going to kill me..."
The finger upon the trigger relaxed, and the man's gun lowered several inches to point at Jesse's shoulder. His partner turned to look, and that is when Shamino removed a silenced pistol from his back holster and placed a bullet in each of their heads. He bit his lower lip, praying a muscle spasm didn't shoot his girlfriend in the leg. It didn't.
"Shamino... Thank God." Jesse stood, running towards her boyfriend. He raised his weapon to her, firing a .45ACP round through her shoulder- clean through the flesh- into the chest of a quickly descending man from the second floor. She screamed, falling and sliding along the floor towards Shamino. He looked up, firing at a fourth man moving towards the steps.
"How many of them are there?" He asked, looking down at the bloody 5'2 teen.
"F...Five"
"Oh Christ."
He dropped to the floor, pointing his weapon towards the hallway beside his kitchen. Moments passed. The door to his bathroom opened, a man zipped his fly as he entered the kitchen, and dropped to the floor after a hail of silenced gunfire ripped his Louis Vuitton sunglasses from his face.
"Shamino..." Jesse whispered, tears welling against the corners of her eyes. "God, please, tell me what's going on..."
Shamino stood, dusting off his already dirty, wet, and slightly bloody suit. A magazine, empty, dropped to the floor where he once lay. He took his spare from his belt, slamming it into the weapon and pulling back the slide to place another .45 round into the chamber. "Tell me, what do I have to do?" Jesse asked, getting onto her knees, clutching her hands to her chest. "Where do you want us to go? Should I call Jen? My brother wants me to know if we ever had to make an emergency---"
Shamino moved into the kitchen, grabbing himself a small bottle of bourbon and lazily pouring a drink into a dirty shot glass, spilling the expensive liquor along the table. "Shamino, love, what... What do I do?"
As he took the shot with his right, he also took the shot with his left. His left finger pressed the trigger and placed a bullet into Jesse's chest. She gasped, blood leaking quickly from the wound. He fired again, still drinking, into her neck- blood spitting from her ruptured artery. Finally, he squeezed the trigger again, planting the final round into her forehead. She dropped to the floor lifelessly, blood spilling into the seams of the tiled floor. "Fuck." He mumbled, looking to the man behind Jesse's corpse. "I missed."
"Yeah." Said the man in black, lifting up Shamino's .45 submachine gun. "And you left your gun on the table."
"I left one of my guns on the table." Shamino agreed, placing his pistol down on the kitchen table. "And it's quite the mistake, you're right. I wanted to make sure my girlfriend was alright."
"Yeah, and now she's dead..."
"It's twice as hard to become anonymous if there's two."
"So you get rid of your... Excess baggage?"
"A hundred and fifteen pounds, and five foot two of excess baggage." Shamino's hand swepped along the counter, picking up the shot glass and whipping it at the man. He ducked lightly, and Shamino opened the bottom cupboard with his foot. He grabbed a micro-shotgun from above the waste bin, and prayed it was loaded. It was. He fired a one handed shot towards the temporary owner of his sub machinegun- the shotgun flying out of his hand from the recoil. His assailant dropped to his knees, and began his automatic discharge of 25, .45ACP rounds. Shamino dropped behind the counter, fishing desperately for another weapon. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, why do I not stash more guns where I store my food!?" He screamed wildly. Opening his recycling bin, he sighed. "Are you serious...?"
He stood, raising his hands into the air. "I'm all out of guns."
"Good." The man said, heaving breath as he threw the sub machinegun to the side. "I'm outta bullets."
"Oh. Oh i'm not out of bullets." Shamino lowered his left arm, derringer slipping out of his sleeve and firing a .32 round into the mans chest. He flew onto his back, rolled to the left, and began to crawl towards the elevator. "Jesus Christ. You fuckers don't die?"
Shamino walked back towards the shotgun, raising it from the ground and loading another shell, pumping the previous one out to the floor. Quietly, he walked towards the man in black, firing a blank-point shot into his back. The back exploded in pink and red tissue matter.
He dropped the shotgun, stumbling back until he rested against the kitchen counter. "Whew..."
"What a mess.
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Post by Shamino Warhen Ph.D on Dec 28, 2008 6:36:56 GMT 1
Six. Tedious. Hours.
Up the elevator, down the elevator. Gallons of ammonia and thirty yards of Shamwow. But by sunrise, Shamino's penthouse was perfectly blood, bullet, and body free. He had removed all the bodies by hotwiring a Chevy 350 Van in the parking garage that was used for maintenance, and placed them all on the opposite end of the bay. The police arrived shortly after dawn, and Shamino greeted them with bloodshot eyes. His excuse was being up all night, rearranging the home and adding new paintings (to cover the bullet holes). They questioned him, brought up insurance details, and gave him a copy of the paper.
"You don't seem too shaken up about the ship, Mr. Warhen."
"Well, officer- the ship was a piece of shit when I bought it, it was a bitch to fix, and I was barely making a profit. The most important and relieving part is that nobody got hurt." Shamino placed a coffee into the detectives hands. He sipped the coffee, eyes raised slightly at the flavour, and set it back down onto the kitchen counter table. He placed his hand against the counter ledge, his thumb brushing against a hidden derringer. He moved his hand quickly.
"Actually. We dragged a few dozen bodies out of the lake."
"...My ship was closed that evening, nobody was there that was on my staff."
"...They may of been on the ship."
"So you're trying to tell me a bunch of thieves blew up my ship?"
Silence for a few moments. The detective picked his coffee up once more, and gestured towards the sugar. Shamino slid the container across the counter, into the officers hand. "We don't know right now. We just came by to let you know your multi-million piece of insured property has exploded, and people died from it. Where were you again, last night?"
"Redoing my home. The girlfriend moved out and I can finally rearrange it the way I want."
"Ah... Sorry to hear about the girlfriend."
"It happens." Shamino commented calmly. "It... Happens."
"We'll be giving you updates as the week goes on. If anyone else shows up- direct them to me." The officer raised his thumb up to highlight his face. "Just call me Roy."
"Thanks Roy." Shamino extended a hand while his other one adjusted his night robe. "I'm just kind of in shock about the whole thing."
"Mmhmm. Also, I don't see why you need a derringer in the cracks between your counters. They're illegal in this state- you know." Roy placed the coffee down on the counter. "Anyone else in the force tries to investigate you, talk to me, okay?"
"Yeah..." Shamino's eyes narrowed, analyzing the mans features. "I will... Take care, Roy."
Roy slipped into the elevator, giving a two fingered salute as the doors closed. Shamino removed the derringer from the cracks, checking the contents- two .25 caliber rounds. He sniffed the air- the gunshot residue was wiped clean, and he had sprayed the place with as many cleaning chemicals as possible....
Maybe too many...
"Alex?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
Shamino sighed in relief, holding his phone up to his ear as he made another coffee. Pouring milk and sugar into the coffee together, he continued the conversation. "A detective stopped by. No last name- called himself Roy."
"Roy was a rookie on the force back when you were doing street fights at Varron. I sold out a massive coke dealer to him when he just hit detective- he was awarded more silver than a god damned antique's roadshow. He'll take care of you- I promise."
"You saved my ass yet again Alex. He's good. Spotted a derringer and everything."
"He also knows about the multiple homicide that happened in your house. He's a good cop- but he owes me. I just burned all my favors with him to keep your ass out of the ATF's sights."
"We have to leave the city. I need to get out of the country, actually." Shamino raised the coffee close to his lips, blowing air against it before taking a sip. He placed it down quickly, licking his lips to remove the burning sensation from his tongue.
"We'll talk about that at the old bar- where we had that little shootout?"
"Sure, i'll be there in an hour." Shamino tossed the phone onto the counter, placing his face into his palm and sighing.
Oh God, Jesse...
Why didn't I just shoot her in the head in the first place? What a waste of ammunition.
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