Prologue: Attack of the Saint
"I always knew I didn't belong in this world. I wasn't made for this. But I'll never forget - those who betrayed me, and those who never failed my trust." - 47, upon leaving Gontranno church, Sicily.
Prologue:
A man in Hawaiian shirt with a garland on his neck was a receptionist. He hummed happily while fiddling with the cash register as a bald man wearing a suit walked inside. He turned to the bald man and greeted,
“Aloha! and welcome to the Waikiki Inn.” The bald man slightly nodded.”Would you care to register, sir?” asked the receptionist.
“Ben Franklin.” The bald man said in monotone and dropped a bill on the counter.
The receptionist froze in place, shocked from the amount of money. “Oh. Right this way, sir” he pointed to the right.
The bald man turned away and started walking. The receptionist dashed out of the counter, almost fell over. He hastily led the bald man to one of the vacant room.
The journey wasn’t long till they reached the room. The receptionist quickly unlocked the door and swung it open. The bald man leisurely walked inside, looking around the room.
The bathroom’s door was opposite from the entrance. Two windows were installed on both sides of the entrance, blinds were installed on both of them. A drawer was positioned under the window, a telephone was placed on the it, along with a decorative bobblehead figure, still shaking its head.
“Er. We have continental breakfast from seven to nine in the Tiki Lounge. Happy hours are from five to eight, in the Tiki Lounge.” The receptionist paused to catch his breath. “Mai Tai are two for one. Pina Colada are-”
“Anything less... festive?” the bald man interrupted.
“Can I bring a bottle to your room, Mr. Franklin?” asked the receptionist.
“Something… brown.” said the bald man.
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Do you have laundry service?” the bald man asked with his monotonously.
“Yes, sir.” The receptionist quickly replied. “The charge are twenty dollars for normal cleaning. Fifty for special kind of cloth.” The bald man handed the receptionist his suit. The second he noticed a dried blood spot on it, he flinched.
The bald man pull two ‘Ben Franklins’ out of his wallet, “Keep the change.”
“Yes, sir!”
The receptionist rushed out, slamming the door shut behind him. The vibration caused the bobblehead figure to bonced its head. The bald man was left alone in the quiet room.
The bald man was around fifty, from his looks. A barcode engraved on the back of his head represented his birth date and ID numbers. He wore a black business suit, complete with a plain white shirt and red striped tie, black pants and black leather shoes.
He leisurely walked into the bathroom and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his back, covered with millions of scars. The causes of those scars were from small, first-degree burns to bullet wounds.
He undressed himself and walked in the shower stall. He turned the valve, the warm water contacted with his bald head, and cascading down his body. While he cleansed himself from dirtiness, he thought about Victoria’s location.
*****
The agonized cry of Lenny continuously echoed throughout the desert while he dug the earth up with the shovel that 47 had given him. The emotionless bald man watched his prisoner quietly while munching through an apple. The vulture on the rock stared at Lenny hungrily as he dug more earth off the pit.
“Where’s the girl?” 47 asked plainly before he took another bite of his apple.
“Pap’ll kill me if I tell you!” Lenny turned toward 47. A faint sob could be heard in his voice.
“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” replied 47 as he munched on the bite he had taken earlier.
“Please! We were gonna give her right back! We were just trying to make some money, man!” whined Lenny.
“Last time. Where’s Victoria?” he asked again.
“BWAAAAAA!” cried Lenny. Afterward, he peed his pants.
“Don’t. Stop,” commanded 47.
“Pap told me to leave her with Sanchez!” said Lenny, still crying.
“Where do I find him?”
“At the factory! Just south of town!” answered Lenny. “Ask anybody, they’ll tell you!” He paused a bit. “He runs the fights there at night, all right?”
47 threw the apple’s core away and said, “All right, you can stop digging.” Lenny dropped his shovel and looked up, panting.
“Can I get out of this hole now?” begged Lenny.
47 opened his car’s trunk. It was filled with weapons. He looked at the various firearms and melee weapons stored inside, deciding which should be used. He had to do it anyway, so he closed the trunk and drew his Silverballers from the holsters hidden beneath his suit.
Lenny started to limp away slowly, but his action did him no good. 47 took aim at Lenny’s head, granting him a quick death.
The bullet left the barrel. It pierced through the air toward the target. In a matter of a split second, the lead penetrated Lenny’s head. The soulless body had been pushed forward by the impact, and then fell to the ground. The vultures circling the area dove down and landed on Lenny’s corpse.
47 entered the car and started the engine. The car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust behind.
Now, he needed to pay Sanchez a visit.
Sanchez blindly swung his fist at 47. 47 countered by grabbing Sanchez’s arm and twisted it. The oversized Mexican fell to his knees, grunting painfully, before collapsing on the ground. 47 used his free hand to pull out the mask.
“Remember me?” 47 asked mockingly.
“You! Impossible!” exclaimed Sanchez. “AARG!” Sanchez screamed as 47 put more pressure on his arm.
“Victoria, where is she?” asked 47.
“I ain’t tell you shiiiiarrggh!” Sanchez screamed in pain. The crowd watching the fight erupted in cheer as 47 twisted Sanchez’s arm. “Loco pendejo!” Sanchez sweared angrily.
“I can make it hurt *a lot** worse,” 47 stated and smashed the angry Mexican’s elbow, making Sanchez scream even louder and longer.*
“All right! The sheriff has her at the court house!” Sanchez cracked after his scream die down. “But you don’t want trouble with him, though. He don’t fight clean like me.”
“I choose my own trouble,” 47 said and let go of the giant’s arm. Sanchez rose to sitting on the ground. “You know, I can’t let you live.” Sanchez chuckled and stood up on his legs.
Sanchez stood there for a few seconds to catch his breath, before charging in and delivering a punch. 47 dodged flawlessly and countered with a round house kick at the back of the attacker’s leg, the giant Mexican collapsing down on his knee. 47 used this opportunity to jump on Sanchez’s back and deliver several strikes to his head. Finally, he grabbed the giant’s head and snapped its neck.
47 jumped down and put his mask on. The ground vibrated behind him, marking the giant’s downfall. He walked out of the ring and exited the arena quietly.
*****
47 stepped out of the bathroom, after cleaning himself up for once in a while. He wore the blue motel’s robe; it looked ridiculous in his opinion. However, he didn’t have any option but to wear it while waiting for his suit. He couldn’t risk exposing the blood stain to anyone, so he sent it to motel’s laundry service; he had given them some extra tips as well.
He walked to the drawer under the window. A coconut shell filled with brown drink, probably whiskey, was placed on the table; that receptionist must have brought it over while he was in the shower. He picked it up and took a sip. The taste was fine, no poison added.
Out of the corner of his eye, the bobblehead stopped shaking its head. He walked to it, the figure’s head bent to the left. He could sense that there was something wrong going on. And his instinct never fail him.
He walked to the window: covered with blinds. He peeked out. To his surprise, there were a group of nuns outside, armed to their teeth, and one of them was aiming an RPG at his room…
His eyes went wide. He jumped to the nearest cover: the bed. The moment he was in middle of the air, he felt something hot envelope him; it was a wisp of green fire. He had no idea why it was green, but it wasn’t as hot as the burning fire he used to feel.
Suddenly, the sound of the explosion vanished. The motel’s room was replaced by the white void. He had seen this once, in Dr. Ort-Meyer’s underground lab beneath the asylum in Romania. He closed his eyes, wishing that when he opened them, the void would dissappear.
The white, endless void disappeared when he opened his eyes, but had been replaced by a large hall. The floor was made from marble; the windows on both sides of the hall were broken; six tables were positioned in three rows in front of him. All of them were occupied by… horses? They were rummaging through many piles of letters. A cough was heard from behind of him.
“Hello, 47.”
