This is a beginning of what will probably(eventually) become a larger story. Tell me your thoughts!
Running in Shadows
The slow drip of water falling from an old rusty pipe and dropping into a shallow pool echoed menacingly down the metal coridoor. Scyve looked at the clock conveniantly placed on the back of his gun. It was well past midnight, and still the informant hadn’t shown.
He lowered his pistol and replaced it with a cigarette. The small blaze of his match lit his face in an orange glow, greatly contrasting the rest of his dark surroundings. He was in part of the city’s underworks. Dark passages of machinery stretched for miles in the bowels of the city. It was a seldom traveled road where few people came-just the way the mercenary liked it.
The slow drum of the motors hummed rythmically as Scyve blew a breath of smoke into the air. It swirled about in a bluish haze, reflecting off the pale walls and the few windows that shown through the ceiling, sucking in the faintest light of the night sky.
Scyve’s dark figure blended in well with the shadows. Only by the glow of his cigarette would one know he was even present. His dark hair hung down to his eyes, complimenting his equally dark orbs. His features were rough and scarred, with his ever present shadow of a beard lining his face.
He took one last puff of his cigarette, then pressed it against the cement wall. The butt sizzled for a second, then the orange glow faded, and all that was left was darkness. Scyve flicked the remaining piece into a small puddle on the ground. It landed without a sound, as several small ripples burst forth from its position.
He looked at his clock again, now starting to become agitated, though still not impatient. He was a hired killer, and patience was his blood.
It wasn’t much longer that the lining of a shadow formed at the end of the hallway. It moved slowly at first, stopping every few paces, until its full form stretched out over the cold hard ground.
Scyve waited for the figure to finally emerge before he spoke.
“You’re late,” came his rough voice, slicing through the humming of machinery like a knife through flesh.
“My apologies sir,” begged the squirmy little man, as he hastily splashed his way through several puddles, trying to get a better look at the man behind the voice.
“I don’t need your apologies,” replied Scyve cooly, as he reached for another cigarette. “What I need is information.”
“And information you will get,” he offered, trying to please the mysterious stranger. Scyve’s face momentarily lit up as his match burst forth in flame.
“So tell me then,” he said sarcastically, eyes fixed only on his cigarette, “What information has the great Hasha Luhle that is valuable enough to clear his debt?”
The little man shifted uncomfortably in his position, unnerved by the mercenaries calmness. “He might know where one would find a certain someone,” he said, trying to sound important enough to gain an edge in the conversation.
“Who?” stated Scyve bluntly, who had long ago become tired of the way Luhle’s flunkies had always tried to play games in their conversations.
“Pax,” responded the messenger proudly, expecting Scyve to now become the nervous one. But Scyve was unphased, in fact, his eyes narrowed and looked coldly at the now uncomfortable man.
“What can you tell me about him?” he asked after blowing a puff of smoke in his direction. The skittish man, thinking he had gained the advantage in the conversation, replied arrogantly.
“One of our informants has located him on one of the moons. Ginikosha to be exact,”replied the messenger, who, given direct instructions from Luhle, felt he was in the right position, carried on with the well rehearsed plan. “But we’re going to need your word, that by receiving this information, you hereby clear all debts of Hasha Luhle.”
Too arrogantly.
“Well there’s just one problem with that,” replied the mercenary as he put his cigarette out. “Who’s going to give Luhle the news?”
The messenger shifted again, as his eyes widened at the strange reply of the hired killer. “I...I am,” he stammered.
“Well that’s going to be mighty to do hard now isn’t it,” he replied calmly, slowly bringing his hand to his hip.
“W...Why’s that?” squeeked the now scared chronie, taking a step back.
“Because you’re dead.”
The man managed to shoot Scyve a horrified look before a string of bullets dropped him to the floor.
Scyve lowered his silent gun back to his waist, and stepped over the lifeless body, drowning in a pool of its own blood.
“Three weeks ago I killed Pax,” whispered Scyve under his breath. “When will Luhle learn?” The mercenary walked down the corridor and dissapeared into the shadows.
It was time to pay Hasha Luhle a visit.
