Note: How to read this blog

This blog is designed as a running story with each post a continuation from the preceding one.

If this is your first time reading Experiential Truth, start with the Prologue at the beginning and read it chronologically up until the present day.

Thanks,
Shadow's Friend

You should also feel free to leave comments so I can make the story better :)

Sunday, February 14, 2010

***

I was to work as an assassin. I was given an employer's name and where to meet him. The citadel had it's own means of interplanetary travel and I was instructed to take advantage of that. I merely had to walk to the edge of the 10th floor platform jutting out from the side of the building and speak the name of the planet I wished to go to. To return home I needed to visualize the platform and be subjected to a retinal scan. I have no idea how they perform a retinal scan from that far away.

They set me down on a cliff overlooking an iron city. I had been told that this place was just being introduced to the BC and the company currently in charge of the city was resisting in the name of economic interests.

I was to meet my employer in a bar three blocks from the company central office. The place was dark and crowded when I entered. The barrister was polishing a bottle of firewisky while conversing with a hooded customer. A man at a corner table beckoned me over.

He was a short man, balding, but with a fierce mustache. He wore a blue suit that looked fairly new, but if you looked closely the white shirt he wore with it had a stain on the collar. He wore three rings on his right hand.

"You must be here to help me."

I merely looked at him. He pulled a picture of a man out of his breast pocket and laid it on the table next to his drink. The condensation from the drink was making a ring on the table. I picked up the picture before it got wet.

It was a picture of a blond man of medium build. He was much more well put together than my employer.

"I paid your company. I want this man dead."

We don't get caught up in politics.
"Do you want it a public assassination or a secret one?" I could pull off either.

He responded that he wanted it private, but to have it still look like an assassination. He wanted the world to know that this person was killed. Of course, he didn't want it traceable to him.

It was almost night when I left the bar. I shrugged. It didn't matter who it was or who I worked for. The citadel told me that this person had paid to have a man killed. I was a hunter.