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Corruptor: Prologue

       Last updated: Friday, August 13, 2010 02:27 EDT



    He knew, without a shadow of a doubt in his mind, that the young girl was trouble from the moment he laid eyes upon her.

    There was no obvious reason for his gut to scream a warning at him as she entered the shadowy entrance to one of the ruined buildings across the street. Instinct warned him to keep his head low behind the partially destroyed brick wall he had taken cover behind minutes before. He knew who she was, knew of her reputation. That combined with the continuous warnings which erupted from his churning, roiling stomach set his nerves on edge.

    He rested the butt of the rifle on his shoulder and leaned against the fallen wall, the muzzle of the weapon pointed at the doorway of the opposite building. He knew from her profile that she was sometimes careless about her patterns of movement. It was a reasonable deduction that she would use the same entrance upon her leaving the building.

    He looked around to ensure that the girl was alone. He recalled that she often worked with others, a few close friends she had recruited to help her become the scourge she was. She was a bane to his kind, and he was determined to put an end to her reign of terror.

    Being rewarded handsomely for it was a nice bonus, he thought with a vicious grin.

    A breeze swept down the deserted, ruined streets. He coughed slightly as dust from the wall was kicked up and tickled the back of his throat. His eyes watered as he felt the tickling sensation slide further down his esophagus. He rubbed his chest with a gloved hand and grimaced at the amount of noise he made. He focused back on the old building, but the girl had not reappeared. His grimace melted away as he thought he spotted her shadow moving across the third floor window. He peered through the scope mounted on top of the rifle, but she had moved too quickly. There was no way for him to get a clean shot. He would have to wait.

    Overhead, he could feel the sun slip behind the clouds as the temperature around him dropped slightly. He shivered and wondered if the weather was going to change. He had anticipated clear skies and sun and had packed accordingly. Adverse weather would not only ruin the perfect view of the building his target was in, but would also make him very uncomfortable. He frowned in annoyance as a few drops of rain struck the ground around him.

    “Perfect”, he growled under his breath. “This is why I am the best, little girl.” He exhaled slowly and checked the front door of the building again. His eyebrows raised slightly, surprise coursing through him. He shifted slightly and peered through the scope of his rifle for a better view.

    She was standing still, partially hidden in the darkened doorway. Her strawberry-blonde hair moved slightly in the breeze of the coming storm, while her blue eyes were staring in his general direction. Calm and deadly like the sea before a storm, her body posture was calm. No muscle moved in her body, and the man felt his body relax as he prepared for the shot. He pulled the trigger back slowly, carefully.

    Why isn’t she moving, a small, tiny part of him asked as he felt the pressure on the trigger grow.

    The world around him exploded in a bright, white light.

    He flew backwards and slammed into the side of the building behind him, his body creating a deep dent in the brick surface before he fell to the ruined sidewalk below. In a flash he was back on his feet as gunfire exploded from the direction of his target, each individual round kicking up a small cloud of dust as they impacted around him. He felt a tug on the sleeve of his shirt as one came particularly close.

    He dove behind another, smaller pile of rubble as the gunfire tapered off. Coughing from inhaling too much dust, he pressed his back against a small, flat slab of fallen concrete. He tossed aside the sniper’s rifle and shouldered a smaller machine gun. He quickly checked to ensure she was not outflanking him as he snapped in a fresh magazine clip into the gun.

    “You give up?” a feminine voice, mocking and cruel, came from somewhere nearby. A chill ran down his spine. It wasn’t cruelty in her voice, he thought suddenly with a sick realization. It was boredom.

    “Do you?” he called back. A long minute passed as he waited tensely, sweat pouring down his face in buckets.

    “What’s your name?” she called out again from somewhere closer, her voice echoing loudly through the deserted streets.

    “Mordecai, little girl,” he answered after a momentous pause. “I already know yours.”

    “Indeed,” was all she said. He shivered again at the sound of her voice. There was something definitely wrong with this situation...

    “You’re a scary little girl,” he admitted. He risked a peek around the corner of the rubble he was hiding behind. He could not see her, but knew that meant little. She could be anywhere.

    “You’re a brave man, coming after me alone,” she retorted, her voice terrifying. It promised that the street he was on was to be someone's grave. His grave. He shivered uncontrollably once more.

    He waited a few more seconds for the girl to say more, but silence reigned. What was she doing, he screamed silently as he looked around again. Even the wind had disappeared. He had to act quickly, before she got to him. He shifted to a kneeling position and checked the street once more. Still empty, he saw. He whispered a brief prayer as he prepared himself to move. He never got the chance.

    The girl slid out from the shadows behind the rock, her lithe form moving towards him with deathly determination. Paralyzed momentarily by her sudden appearance, Mordecai had no chance as the girl slashed downward with a narrow sword. He staggered back under the force of the blow, pain blossoming in his chest as he fell. The rifle fell from his hands and clattered to a rough landing a few feet away.

    He collapsed on the partially destroyed rock he had been using for cover, his eyes fixed on the gaping wound in his chest. He moved his hands to cover it but he knew it was futile. He was finished. He looked up and saw the dark shape of the girl towering above him, her body blocking out the overhead clouds.

    “You’re lucky,” she murmured as she flicked her sword at him, her face placid. “You’ll be back in a day or two at the most, and you’ll try again. And again. Each time, I promise you, you will fail. Just go find someone else.”

    “Cocky much?” he asked, his voice pained. She shrugged.

    “Just the facts,” she reiterated. Her voice lacked any heat, any sign of displeasure. Mordecai shivered.

    “How... many?” he asked the girl. She cocked her head to the side for a moment, thinking, before she responded.

    “You’re number six,” she answered. He nodded.

    “Make it quick? Dragging these things out really bothers me,” he said as he looked at the clouds beyond. The girl nodded and slashed her sword downward. No other sound was made as she sheathed the sharp blade.

    The teenage girl watched as the body slowly broke down pixel by pixel and become absorbed by the street, forgotten as the now-deceased Mordecai no longer resembled his impressive self. She waited until the last shred of clothing had been reabsorbed into the street before she looked around and grimaced. Bad enough the Grinder mission had cost me so much energy, she thought. She had been nearly unprepared for the ambush Mordecai had set up, and only a stray bit of rubble knocked loose by one of his tripwires had alerted her to his presence. Sloppy, she thought.

    Her eyes tracked skyward and, sure enough, the familiar black letters appeared. She grinned and raised her right hand into the air, her fist clenched. Victory, she thought as the warm realization flooded her. She read the message above her:

    Mission Completed.

    She looked over her shoulder at the fallen building and smiled as it slowly began, brick by brick, to rebuild itself. She knew that within an hour or so, the building would look as though it had never been brought down by explosives. She grinned, youthful exuberance spread across her face. Normal people would have called it beautiful. Ancient Finns would have recognized it as something far more different and terrifying. She whooped loudly, her voice echoing down the streets of the city.

    “God, I love this game!”

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