1: A personal Contract

Security is not easy work, but it is rewarding in many ways. Monetary reward is definitely a large contributor to the job. Some pay more than others, but hey, no risk no reward. Not too long ago a contact had opened up. Its only major requirement is that you have no affiliation with “The Agency.” The Agency has been completing assassinations for centuries. Fate has little to do with the expiration date of an individual when The Agency is involved. Clearly the target was on their radar, thus the increase in guards. Information about the client was spotty but that was of little consequence; you needed the money. A chorus of docile tones emanates from the depths of your security jacket, bringing you back to reality. Having a cell phone on the job site is enough of an offense to get written up, but this could involve your wife. This is an emergency cell phone after all.

Taking the cell out you discover that you were slightly incorrect. It is actually the medical physician who specializes in cancer patients. The gravity of the situation falls on your conscience as if it were a lead weight. You take in your environment once again to address the current threat level. The small break room you and another reside in is of a two-toned gray accessorized with a fridge and table. There is also a rather large window overlooking the rocky shore below. The other man, a burly looking fellow, is leaning on edge of the plastic table.

“Hey jack, I gotta take this.” He lets out an exasperated sigh before taking one last drag of his cigarette. He gives you one last look mean before leaving the room. You will never understand why he has a stick up his ass.

“Hey doc, what’s up?” Your doctor gets straight down to business and tells you that the tests came back negative. “Wait…you’re sure? So it’s not cancer?” He confirms this. “Really!? I could kiss you! I mean, that’s great news! Oh man, you just made my day. Thanks doc… yeah.” After pleasantries of farewells are exchanged the phone is put back safely into the coat pocket and move to the window, letting out a sigh. A great burden has been lifted from your person; this feeling fills you to the core with a happiness you have not felt in a long time.

“When I get home I’m going to give my wife the night of her life” you say under your breath. Placing your hands on the railing of the window you are able to take in the beauty of the setting sun. Before you have a chance to think, the shadow of a hand grabs the front of your uniform and shoves you out the window. You let out a shrill cry as you fall down eight stories to the rocky shore below. The loud crashing of waves muffles your yell making your final moment in this world a worthless and petty attempt at summoning help. Your body hits the ground in a sickening, bone-shattering crunch.

Agent 47, a highly trained and genetically modified clone. The cloning project was designed to create humans that could remain at peak physical condition without the need for constant exercise as well as the ability to delude the effects of ageing. Possessing a 47th chromosome is the secret to the genetic superiority. Out of the fifty clones produced only one showed true promise, Number 47. Around the age of thirty, Number 47 escaped the facility and took his first life. He later returned and killed all the clones and staff including his creator, Otto Wolfgang.

For the last ten years Agent 47 have been in the employment of several organizations that have had him assassinate targets, but his most prominent employer was in fact, The Agency, until they betrayed him. The morality of 47's work has never been a question of ethics. Do the job and get paid, that is all. Though, after receiving some help from a priest of the Church, He has been giving a large portion of the profit to the Catholic Church. Mr. 47 wears an immaculate black suit, black leather gloves, white dress shirt and a red tie. Agent 47 usually has a set of .45 caliber handguns he affectionately refers to as the ‘Silverballers’ and garrote for stealthy, up close, encounters.

Waking from a sleepy state and dazed state, 47 regained his bearings. The bleak cavern system that seems to be his new surroundings offer an emotion he is unfamiliar with, confusion. It only takes a few moments to rise upright. After a quick examination oh himself agent 47 makes a shocking realization. Though he is physically intact; the silverballers are nowhere to be found. A slight breeze coming from the entrance of the cave alerts Mr. 47 of a possible escape route; looking for lost goods would bear no fruit in the dark in darkness. After stumbling thought a series of narrow passageways he finds the mouth of this cave; it looks like nothing more than a large jagged crack in the butte. Outside the cave was a forest teeming with wildlife, not unlike a jungle, and unfamiliar vegetation. A small amount of relief washes over 47 when he realizes there is a sufficient amount of fiber wire on his person; this area could be very dangerous and it is best to be prepared.

The trek through the dense brush leaves him reminded of the last time he was in an area like this, as part of a contract given to 47 by the agency. He treads with great care to avoid detection of whatever could be stalking these very woods. Abnormally colorful plants are one of the key things that 47 was taught to avoid in his training. After a fair amount of time wayfaring he hears some abnormal noises coming from a thicker part of the wood. Maybe it is of human origin. Humans would be a sign of civilization. Civilization means he can get in contact with his handler (the one who sets up the contracts and payment) and back to where he needs to be. Peering through the brush 47 sees what could only be described as an apex predator. The body of this beast appears similar to a lion with a set of smaller bat-like wings that adorn its shoulders and a tail bearing a strong resemblance to a scorpion, if his mind served him correctly. It was enjoying the meat of a recent kill. Agent 47 begins to contemplate the choices while hiding in the animal’s blind spot.

Fleeing from the encounter would be the easiest course of action. It is eating and may not be bothered by 47’s presence if, 47 would choose to simply avoid the situation. What if this animal acts like a normal predatory cat? It will not matter if it is hungry or not, 47 would be in its territory and therefore viewed as a threat, and possibly be attacked. It could be rather stealthy in this thick colorful jungle, as it clearly hunts and eats meat. The unknowns clearly outweigh any getaway scheme he can devise so direct action is necessary. Mr. 47 take out his garrote and scans for any kind of weak spot. Its tail is the most dangerous part; armored and potently poisonous. The armor seems to function almost like scale-mail so in theory it would have soft flesh that could be accessible if he slips the fiber wire under the plates.

As if acting on pure instinct 47 takes out his weapon and closes the distance on the animal with a great amount of stealth. In one smooth motion Agent 47 is able to wrap the fiber wire around the tail and slip it underneath the beast’s scales, near the base of the tail. Pulling up with all his modified might, causing the wire to work as a pair of scissors, he uses a pressure cutting technique to slice through the soft meat and joint material. In that one clean motion the tail falls limply to the ground, its severed muscles barely jerking. The beast lets out a roar of pain and launches into the air at a blinding speed. Apparently it was not used to being hunted and just fled the area, lucky for 47. After wiping the garrote off, 47 places it back in the front of his suit. He takes a moment to scan the area before situational awareness kick in, 47 is not alone. A strange combination of black and white can be seen through some nearby plant life.

“You have made several mistakes that have alerted me to your presence; one of which is that poorly done camouflage. I would recommend coming into the open, slowly.” Slowly the animal brought itself into view. A small zebra appeared with a rather large saddle bag; it wore gold jewelry like a tribal, and had strangely feminine features. But where was its handler? It seems submissive enough. “Perhaps I am in Africa?” If so he need to be on the lookout for remnants of rebel factions. There have been quite a few genocides in the past decade.

She speaks up in a low and thick accent. “I apologize, I mean you no harm. With my presence I did not seek to alarm.” Did it just speak? This was not covered in any training he had undergone. Is it sentient or was this some kind of trick? 47 cautiously issues response. Perhaps something with a little more structure.

“If you can understand me, I need to get to civilization. What direction might I be traveling and where is the closest town?” With such a complex question posed there will be no way such a trick could work. Then finding the handler of this animal should be the next prior-

“You are going north, you may wish to head south east. If you continue your path, you will end up a feast.” Well that settled it. Either head trauma had occurred at some point or this small zebra is actually conversing with Mr. 47 in an intellectual manner. After an uncomfortable and long silence; 47 was able to collect his thoughts into something more coherent.

“Would you be so kind as to show me the way to town?” She seems to assess the situation for a moment before replying,

“I might recommend a stay in a bed before taking such a journey; night will fall soon so we should hurry. I would be inclined to offer such a thing if you would let me take a sample.” She motions to the severed tail as well as 47. At a near whisper she continues “It would also be nice to spend some time with somepony..” This is too coherent to be head trauma. Maybe it is drug induced? Again it is too coherent.

“By all means, if you are going to be my guide and host.” A faint smile seems to appear on the zebra’s face. 47 maintains a professional demeanor as the zebra cautiously moves to the severed limb. As his new guide works on extracting bits of the tail 47 begin to inspect what is left of the beast’s kill, also keeping the zebra in view. It appears to have been some form of large livestock, Bovine in origin. This thing could have easily taken him down, given the chance. “It is a good thing I acted when I did.” He mutters to himself. After the female zebra extracted some kind of gland, most likely poisonous, from the tail she turns to face him.

“I am ready when you are, where we are going is quite far.” He motions to the guide, signaling her to lead the way. The zebra gives 47 a puzzled look and cautiously proceeds. Clearly it did not understand the gesture, maybe this thing has had a lot less human contact that originally thought.

Before too long she host strikes up conversation about basics “So, may I ask from where you hail from? In equestria your expression would be considered rather glum.”

“I am not familiar with equestrian. I come from Manhattan.” A bold face lie with the classic and professional smile.

“You mean Manehattan?”

Not sure if it was the same place or not he just agrees with the latter “So you are familiar with my hometown?”

“Well, not really. I have always wanted to though..” She said, her eyes slowly glazing over. This was starting to concern 47. This has happened a few times, does she get lost in thought this often?
“No offence, but what are you exactly?”

Stopping in get tracks she looks up at 47. A wave of pressure washes over him, maybe he asked too much too fast. “Oh, I should have guessed. I am a zebra, I confess” She holds a hoof to her chest “Zecora” She says with a coy smile.

On only takes him a moment to think of an alias “Anonymous, or anon. Your choice” 47 hold out his hand. Zecora just looks at his hand, then back to him. This process is repeated a few more times before He finally understands. “Ah yes..it is a human thing” I need to learn the customs if I am going to blend in.

“A hue-min. Are there many of you in Manehattan? I must say I have never heard of something like that before. I thought I knew of all the species but there is more?”

Never heard of a human, this could pose a problem. “Yes, but only a few. We are pretty rare.”

Zecora bows deeply “I am honored Mr. Anon.”

“Thank you Mrs. Zecora. We should get going” He ushered

“Indeed anonymous. And it is just Zecora if you please” Her tone was a little more calluses that time. 47 takes a mental note of this.

As the sun begins to set Zecora and 47 reach a tree in the middle of a small clearing. It has been decorated with strange carvings of equine faces and glass flasks. This tree has also been hollowed out. Seems like this will be where I will be staying for the time being.

Author's Note

If you see something that needs and edit shoot me a PM with the title of my fic as the subject, don't leave it in the comment section.