The Compassionate Assassin

by Matt Cowper

  She supposed someone could be hiding inside the boats or within the bowels of the plant, but she doubted it. She'd been here for hours, as soon as she'd left the movie, and no one had come or gone except this mystery man.

  It was now two fifteen in the morning. She'd let the man wait, hoping he'd become impatient and make a mistake. But the man appeared as serene as if he was in his own home relaxing.

  The more she watched him, the angrier she became. Part of it was professional jealousy. She'd been the ice-cold assassin, unruffled by any situation, but now she was...something else. Part of it was the knowledge that she was watching a sociopath, someone who would do anything to maintain their position of power.

  Deathrain knew that people considered her a sociopath, or a psychopath, or whatever word they wanted to use to describe a professional killer. She supposed that was only fair. She'd killed a lot of people. She'd killed Metalhead....

  Putting the binoculars in a pouch, she rose from her rooftop perch and slithered down a fire escape. The mystery man clearly wasn't going to give anything away, no matter how long she stared at him or she reconnoitered the area.

  Time to find out what this was all about.

  Sticking to the shadows, she approached the man from behind, her footsteps as light as a kitten's. Still, when she was about thirty yards away, the man cocked his head, then turned around slowly.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said.

  Deathrain stopped and stared at him. Did he have super-hearing, or was he just well-trained in stealth? If he wasn't a superhuman, where'd he learn his skills? Had he been a special forces operative? A member of the Superhuman Support Squad?

  The man stared back with that smile, like Deathrain had told a joke that was only mildly amusing. Or rather, that she was the joke. Grinding her teeth, she marched towards the man, her eyes never leaving his.

  “You came alone?” she shot at him.

  “I did. But why ask? You've scouted out the area, haven't you? You even made me wait, hoping I'd do something that would blare out my duplicity like an announcement over a loudspeaker. But I didn't.”

  So goddamn confident. Deathrain was glad she was wearing her black leather mask. It hid the murderous expression that was surely on her face.

  “So I'm here,” she said. “What's the job, specifically?”

  “Don't be so hasty. Let me look at you.” He walked around her, staring at her gear, at her body, like she was some prostitute on display. “Thin. Fit. Erect carriage. Outfit utilitarian. High-end weapons, but still not overdone. Attractive and lethal. The sort of woman a man would love to bed, even if doing so resulted in him suffering much.”

  “Cut the bullshit,” she snapped. “You're not paying me to fuck you.”

  The man stopped circling her, but didn't stop staring. “Can I not take a few moments to appreciate you? Few have met you and survived. I'd like to relish this moment.”

  “Relishing is over. Either get to the point, or I'm out.”

  The man smirked and shook his head. “I don't believe you. I think you're too intrigued – and too desperate – to storm away in a huff. Still, I don't want to irritate you too much – that would be rude.”

  Deathrain was about to comment on the hypocrisy of his statement, but the man continued.

  “This job is simple: I want you to kill a superhero named Auspice, and I want it done quickly.”

  She waited for more, but the man just stared at her, his eyes like slimy, covetous fingers crawling over her.

  “That's it?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you want him dead?”

  “I already told you this over the phone. He is meddling in my affairs, and other efforts to dispose of him have failed.”

  “Who else has tried to take him down?”

  “You don't need to know.”

  “I do. That's important intel. If I know how others failed, I can form a plan that ensures success.”

  “A valid point – but I will still not tell you. That would reveal more about my operations than I care to divulge.” With a swift movement, he stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You're an expert killer with a healing factor. You are more than capable of dealing with Auspice.”

  Deathrain jerked away, her hand moving towards a pistol. His touch...she hadn't felt any special effect, like superpowers, being used on her.

  Still, his touch brought to mind torment, depravity, and death...

  ...did she like it?

  “Touch me again, and you lose the hand,” she snarled – not very convincingly, she thought.

  The man raised his arms in appeasement, but that damned smile made it obvious he wasn't concerned about losing his hand or anything else. “My apologies. I didn't know a simple comradely touch could rile you up so much. Has something...bad happened to you? Someone treated you foully? Violated you?”

  Many people had mistreated her, but she sure as hell wasn't going to confide in this bastard.

  Then again, maybe she would confide in him – after she'd beaten him to a pulp and had a gun pressed to his temple.

  It would be the last thing he heard before she killed him.

  This man needed to die. She was uncertain about many things in her life, but this wasn't one of them.

  But what about the money? The professional assassin took over, and again she calculated just how lucrative this contract was. By killing this one superhero, she wouldn't have to kill others. It was, actually, compassionate, if you got right down to it. It was ten times her normal fee. One life balanced against ten.

  (But what about Metalhead?)

  And while she loathed this man already, wanted him dead, there was also...something else. He wanted her badly, he'd practically admitted it, but once he had her, he'd destroy her.

  Would she mind that?

  She'd had plenty of stormy relationships in dark, war-torn places, or in places supposedly civilized, but no less depraved. Relationships with men she knew she shouldn't even befriend, much less bed. But, what the hell, a girl needed to have fun once in a while....

  Damn these conflicting emotions!

  “Deathrain?” the man said, his gaze now as intense as a spotlight. “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” she said, “and if you expected me to actually answer, you're a fucking idiot.”

  A vicious smile. “So feisty. But that feistiness hides much anguish and doubt.”

  “Stop with the––”

  Again he held up his hands. “Fine. As stimulating as an all-night argument with you would surely be, I have other matters to attend to. You know your target, you know the bounty. If you agree to these terms, I will immediately transfer that twenty percent you so greedily requested. Once Auspice is confirmed dead by your hand, I will pay the balance. Any other questions?”

  Deathrain glared at him for a long moment. “No. That twenty percent was for me to think the job over, not for––”

  “We both know you're going to take the job.”

  Deathrain said nothing.

  The man nodded, then turned and walked away, like he'd given an order to a secretary and was now heading back to his corner office. “Good. Have a pleasant night, Deathrain. And happy hunting.”

  “Wait. I do have one question.”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “Who are you?”

  The man chuckled. “That's a very philosophical question, one I do not wish to delve into. But I think you really want to know what my name is. However, that is also a complicated question. For the purposes of our interaction, though, you can call me Kain.”

  With that, he continued at a brisk but unhurried pace, never looking back.

  She watched him until he'd reached an alleyway by an old brick building. He stepped into the shadows, and was gone. Again, she wondered if he was a superhuman or simply a master of stealth and recon.

  She crossed her bare arms against her chest. The night had suddenl
y gotten a lot colder.

  Chapter Six

  The superhero known as Auspice was turning out to be an interesting person to research – mostly because he was so sterling and hard-working he appeared hopelessly naive.

  Deathrain sat on her couch, laptop set on the coffee table, and perused through another news story involving the hero. The headline read “MASKED AVENGER THWARTS CHILD TRAFFICKING RING,” and the article was filled with florid prose about Auspice's incredible good deed. (The online article also had numerous ads for wrinkle cream, home mortgages, and organic tofu sprinkled through the layout, but advertising paid the bills.)

  The article had a full-color photo of the superhero standing by one of the children he'd rescued. The kid, dressed in a striped shirt, his hair as disorderly as Deathrain's own, looked up at his savior in awe. Auspice looked back down at the kid, smiling benevolently. His costume was white spandex, with red boots, gloves, and utility belt. His mask covered everything save for his eyes and lips. He was muscular, but not a roided-up bodybuilder or one of those superhumans with bodies the size of dump trucks.

  Most of the articles she'd read were like this: breathless accounts of his wondrous feats. Auspice was always saving people from burning buildings, tackling burglars, stopping bank robberies, even saving kitties from trees – literally. She'd read two stories where Auspice had appeared and saved a stubborn feline for a worried owner.

  To make him even more perfect, he'd never given an interview, only tossed out a few words to whoever happened to be standing nearby before leaving the scene dramatically. A man not out to hog the spotlight. A man who just wanted to do a good job.

  Or so pretty much everyone thought. Deathrain suspected otherwise. Plenty superheroes had skeletons in their closets. In fact, Deathrain knew of several caped crusaders whose secret misdeeds made her own questionable actions look positively noble by comparison.

  Auspice was also a newcomer, which raised plenty of red flags just on its own. He'd only been active for about four months. He didn't have a partner, and didn't belong to a superteam. He'd undeniably done great things, but his personality, his wants, his desires – and most importantly for Deathrain, his weaknesses – were unknown.

  Who was he? What was he? Was he really a new superhero, or an old superhero who'd repackaged himself?

  And what were his powers?

  Deathrain had read dozens of articles and reports, and watched dozens of Yaytube videos that bystanders had shot of him in action, but she still didn't fully understand his power set.

  Auspice beat up thugs and gangsters with ease, though he didn't utilize any fighting style Deathrain was familiar with. His movements appeared natural, like a superior athlete that happened to have an innate jumpshot.

  But while a natural athletic ability would be useful against common goons, it only went so far against supervillains.

  Auspice hadn't fought many supervillains in his brief career, and those he'd gone toe-to-toe with hadn't been world-threatening madmen. Still, he'd clashed with Spider Monkey and Wrapper, and they were both rated Class B. Auspice had defeated them handily, which should mean he was at least a Class A, or perhaps only an intelligent and unusually effective Class B.

  With him being so new, Deathrain suspected he was a Class A. If he was less than that, then either he'd trained for months before making his debut, or he was after all a repackaged superhero.

  The footage of his brawls with Spider Monkey and Wrapper were both illustrative and perplexing.

  Try as she might, Deathrain couldn't find much difference between his movements when he fought thugs and his movements when he fought supervillains. He dodged nearly everything that was thrown at him, be it punches, kicks, projectiles, or debris, and his own blows were unerring.

  Maybe the answer was in his name. Auspice meant omen, portent, or in its plural form, “kindly patronage and guidance.” Perhaps he was telepathic or clairvoyant, and could anticipate his opponent's moves. Perhaps he had a sixth sense that warned him of danger, like that one spider-based superhero.

  Deathrain now understood why he'd been so difficult for Kain to kill.

  For her part, she was not about to jump headlong into battle with such a potentially powerful opponent, no matter how much Kain was paying her.

  With her healing factor, she could possibly survive a close-quarters fight, but she probably wouldn't be able to truly injure Auspice. Long-range options were also questionable: a sniper rifle shot was always prudent, no matter the target, but if Auspice's powers had unlimited range, then no bullet would ever hit him.

  More research was needed...a lot more...and then she needed to get eyes on the target, to decide if he was truly the threat she thought he was...and finally, to decide if she wanted to kill him or not....

  A knock on her apartment door. Deathrain jumped up, pulling a pistol out from under the sofa cushion. She leveled it at the door, ready to perforate whoever entered.

  But a cheerful voice sounded from the other side: “Emily? You home?”

  Vera. Her neighbor. Deathrain sighed and lowered the gun. She was too wound up. Too engrossed with Auspice. Too unnerved – and seduced – by Kain....

  “Yeah, I'm here,” she called out. “Gimme a minute to, uh, get organized.”

  She hastily shut down the laptop, then returned the pistol to its spot under the cushion. Then she realized that having a guest reach under the cushion, for whatever reason, and pull out a loaded handgun might make a poor impression. She jogged to her room and placed the gun in her nightstand, locking the drawer.

  After checking the peephole to make sure it really was Vera, she opened the door. As she did so, a large mass stepped into view from a few feet down the hall – a man dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. Deathrain tensed up, but Vera and the man were both smiling.

  “Howdy, neighbor!” Vera said. “You busy right now? We thought we'd swing by before you went to work.”

  “Uh – OK?” She eyed the man. Tall, well-built, with a lantern jaw, the hint of a beard, and a shaved head. His demeanor was relaxed, but Deathrain suspected he knew how to handle himself – at least by normal human standards. Probably one of those MMA enthusiasts.

  “Who's he?” she asked.

  “This is my friend Nolan,” Vera replied. “I thought you two should meet.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Nolan said, grinning.

  “Uh....”

  “Can we come in? Hang out?” Vera asked.

  She should decline. Learning Auspice's secrets – and finding out just what she was going to do about him and Kain – was more important than loafing with people she barely knew.

  Especially since Vera was obviously trying to set her up with this Nolan character....

  But she opened the door and motioned inside. “Sure.”

  Nolan and Vera entered, and Nolan glanced around, getting the feel of the place. Though she'd been inside only once, Vera already appeared to know it better than her own apartment. She glanced at the furniture and the few paintings hanging from the walls like she'd seen them a thousand times.

  “Excuse us a second, Nolan,” Deathrain said, giving the man the sweetest smile she could muster. “I need to speak with Vera for a moment.”

  “No problem.” His voice was deep but cordial. Far different from Kain's....

  Deathrain grabbed Vera by the arm and half-dragged her into the kitchen. Vera grinned, apparently knowing why she was being dragged and not minding a bit.

  “Why is he here?” Deathrain asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Vera replied innocently.

  “You know what I mean. You're trying to set me up.”

  “Hm. Maybe. So what?”

  “I told you I wasn't interested in a relationship.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship? They suck. I'm not in one. I told you that, remember? But you don't need to be an official couple to have some wild, rejuvenating sex.”

  “Vera....”

  �
�Don't 'Vera' me. That hunk of man out there is single and ready to mingle. And no, I haven't screwed him. I wouldn't give you sloppy seconds. He's just a friend of a friend. When I told him a spunky, lonely woman lived in this building––”

  “I'm not lonely.”

  “Oh, I know you're not.” She winked. “I just told him you were. It increases your appeal. Guys love to swoop in and fill the void in some woman's life. In more ways than one....”

  Deathrain glared at her jovial friend – was she a friend? Or still an acquaintance? Regardless, getting involved in these shenanigans after her dark meeting with Kain, and after her intense meditations on Auspice, had her thrown for a loop.

  Closing her eyes, she counted to five. When she opened them, Vera was almost rolling on the floor with glee. Causing her neighbor so much good-natured trouble had clearly made her day.

  “Fine,” Deathrain said. “I'll talk with the guy. Five minutes. That's the limit. If he's a blockhead or a creep, out he goes – and you too.”

  “That's fair,” Vera said, clapping her hands together. “I'll busy myself here in the kitchen, making snacks or coffee or whatever. You go out there and be wooed by that stud.”

  Vera opened cabinet doors, banged around plates and pans, and peered into the fridge. She made a lot of noise, and moved around quite a bit, but didn't seem to be accomplishing much – probably by design.

  Sighing, Deathrain returned to the living room, where Nolan was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, fingers tapping the armrest. Now he did look like Kain had looked last night: not bored, only expectant.

  She needed to stop thinking about that demon....

  “What's up?” Nolan asked.

  “Uh – not too much. You?”

  “Just wondering if you're susceptible to a lame pickup line,” Nolan said, grinning. “Tell me so I know how to proceed.”

  Deathrain found herself smiling back. Some would call his comment hokey, but it had a sort of anti-humor, an irony to it, that she appreciated.

  She found herself sitting down beside him – but not too close.