Anon 47

The butler’s geisha robe 47 had recently acquired is a little tighter then he would like but it will half to do for the time being. Entering through the back on the ostentatious and very oriental mansion Agent 47 discover a small kitchen-like area. The island in the center the room has fish as well as a variety of cutting instruments adorning a haloing holding rack. After a quick inspection of the utensils he take a medium sized flaying knife and hide it in his disguise, just in case. 47 turns and leave this area for what looks like some sort of living room.

Once there He sees a very familiar face. This female acquaintance has short black hair and wears a purple shirt with spaghetti straps. In the middle is a gap showing her breasts, and she is also wearing high leggings, and purple high heels. She also has quite a voluptuous body and is standing in his way.

“Lei Ling, what are you doing here?” 47 asks in a slightly puzzled manor. It has been quite a few years since Agent 47 had rescued this woman from a sex slave operation ran by the Red Dragon Triad in Hong Kong. From the look of things she has gone back to selling her body, this time willingly. This actually disappoints 47 a little. Something he is not used to.

“Mister Tobias Rieper. It is so good to see you again,” Lei Ling says with a bat of her eyes and a very prominent accent. She only knows 47 by that name, this is good. Killing her would not be useful to the mission at hand.

“I take it that you are here to deal with Master Hayamoto?” He gives a simple nod, “Good, I was growing tired of the rich old bastard. Looks like you are saving me again, huh Tobias?” She smiles and gives Agent 47 a quick peck on the cheek. This action, unlike any other 47 had experienced before, bewildered and vexed him to a great extent. Why would someone do something like this? “Here, take these codes. They will get you into his room,” she says handing 47 a slip of paper she had pulled out of her cleavage. Lei ling gives one last wink, walking past 47, and leaves the way 47 had came in. Agent 47 stand there for some time wondering, what exactly just happened.

Hayamoto’s grand estate has no shortage of guard, as one would guess. Two of which have been stationed outside the master’s room which is at the end of an L-type hallway. The whole mansion is on high alert. From what they know there was a hit issued on Hayamoto and that some agency is sending their best. This is their time to shine and get that promotion. Even if the guards were knocked out there is no way any assassin is getting in. Only the boss knows the security codes, and at a time like this, anyone would be lucky to see him at all. Any attempt on the master’s life has already been thwarted.
As the day moves on and one of the guards begins to hear a strange noise from down the hall.

“Do you hear that, Kye?”, his partner nods, “Check it out, I’ll wait here and call for backup if we need it,” He said with a motion of his head. Kye crouches slightly and moves down the hall as quickly and quietly as he can. He turns the corner and vanishes from sight. After a few minutes the remaining guard begin to worry. With a loud whisper he called out.

“Kye, you there?” No answer. Maybe he got distracted by one of the girls again. The guard let out a sigh and start down the hall after him. He turns the corner to find Kye sitting down near the other end of the hall, his posture slouched.

“Really Kye? Now is not the time for a break!” He said, marching over to his form. Putting a hand on his shoulder, the guard give him a small shake. The force applied moves him effortlessly. His head sags to the side revealing his neck. There are red marks around his throat, a clear sign of strangulation. He reached back to grab his handheld transceiver but before the guard can act any further the shadow of a man pulls his head back and stabs him in the neck with a kitchen knife. The steel blade severs his carotid artery with ease and merges it with his trachea. The guard instantly begin to fade out, choking to death on his own blood. He let out a final gargled cry for help but to no avail, He just spit up blood and fall to the ground…

47 is woken up to the sound of woodland animals in the midst of their morning routine around the outside of the massive tree. There was not even the mad hope of waking up in some alleyway and the past 20 hours being some mad delusion. Looks like I am here to stay. This was the longest he had slept in over a year. He felt a strange sense of peace while in this world. It’s…unnerving. Zecora offered to let him sleep in a few areas of the small estate so he chose the rather small storage room. It served its use.

From the luminous strips of light coming from the primitive window he guesses the sun is starting to rise. 47 thinks back on night before. The two of us talked for quite a bit after we got back. The similarities of the two worlds was shocking to say the least. This makes my alias easier to maintain. Her kindness reminded Agent 47 of some people that he had met long ago. They were part of the Catholic Church. He wonders if the outcome will be the same in this world. Nevertheless he knows what he needs to do. A small knock at the door informs 47 of an anticipated presence.

“Anonymous, are you up? I have made some breakfast and thought you might want a cup.” Anonymous may not be as classy as some of the other aliases he has used before, but he found it to be rather fitting for the current situation. Maybe I will tell her the truth one day.

“I will be out momentarily, Zecora.” 47 was able to determine that she has indeed moved away. For something so small she seems to have a heavy step. Is she not weary of me? She knows nothing of my past but still, trusting another so quickly? Would she change her attitude if she knew? From what she said Equestria has not seen war in hundreds of years so I am not really in the best position, being a contract killer and all. Sure death happens but how often is it cause by another being? Realizing that all this mental questioning is getting him nowhere, 47 rises to his feet. Maybe, being a hermit of sorts, this sort of subject will not be off limits to Zecora. After all she seems indifferent enough. I’ll test the subject later on. Time to discover what ponies eat.

He enters the main room with an air of caution. The walls of the room are covered in all sorts of ingredients and vials of liquid. Zecora never commented on what they were, 47 cannot help but wonder wonder how many of them are poisonous.

“It is nice of you to join me, don’t worry this one is free,” She said in her strange manor, motioning to the free seat at the dining table. It was small for even her but there were two bowl-like cups. The shapes probably made it easy for the equines to eat from. Seems they are somewhat more cultured than expected, then again if they have large cities and skyscrapers; thinking they do not know how to eat with utensils would be lowballing it.

He moves the chair out of the way and sits on his knees. It is not very comfortable, but at least it makes the tabletop more level with his chest. The zebra fills both of the cups with something that looked rather strange. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be oatmeal. She gives a simple nod and returns the ladle back to the cauldron before taking a seat across from 47. She takes a drink and looks him square in the eyes. 47 finds this a bit unnerving.

“Feel free to eat, though it may not be meat...” This provokes a response from him.

“What do you mean by that, Zecora?” She takes another drink before responding.

“You attacked that manticore. Was your intent only for gore?” He takes a moment to adequately form a response to this loaded question.

“Well Mrs. Zecora, I found that a direct course of action was necessary to prevent a future incident regarding my own wellbeing,” She smiles softly, pleased with his answer, and finishes off her food.

“Please, just call me Zecora. It is better that way.” Zecora rises to here hoofs and deals with her dish. 47 notices that she did not speak in rhyme yet again, he also notice that she is waiting for him to decide if he wants the food or not. 47 takes a drink. It’s edible so he downs the whole thing with a large gulp. She smiles and offers to take the dish. She is rather dexterous with her hooves, which makes him wonder. After a short silence Zecora speaks up from the small kitchen area.

“So what were you doing in that part of the everfree? You might have stayed lost if naught for me.” She said with in a rather smug tone. This slightly irritates 47

“Like I told you last night, I woke up in that strange cave with no memory of how I got there and no sense of direction.”

“What was the last thing you remember doing before you awoke? Do you think this is all a crul joke?”

What was I doing? All I can remember is past contracts. I don’t even remember the last time I looked at any kind of date. Is this some form of brain washing? “I…Don’t remember”

She thinks on this for some time before she offers up a suggestion “Well I was planning on traveling that direction. Perhaps clues could be found in that direction.” Zecora was quite pleased with her use of logic, insomuch that she went ahead and started packing her saddlebag. “We might also stumble across that which is lost, that way one won’t think of it tossed.”

As much as 47 would hate to admit it, this zebra has a point. It is clear that the town she was going to show me has no human life, so there is no real reason to go. Accompanying her in the everfree may not be what I want to do; but it would be good to find some kind of clue. Do….clue…. Now I am starting to think like her. Great. ”That is a good idea Zecora. We will postpone the trip to town and go back to where you found me”

“Yes, but first we must make a stop, there are some ingredients that I aim collect. Then for clues we will look, besides you would make good body guard I suspect.” It seems when she is in a good mood her accent gets thicker. This is good to know. It will make it easier to tell how she is feeling. Why are humans not this simple to get? It was a pretty straightforward deal and considering that he has no idea how to go about the situation himself.

From the information given the two of them are headed southwest to a bog, not far from some abandon ruins. She briefed 47 on the types of creatures are out and about during the day, what to look for, as well as how to fend them off. Agent 47 noticed it felt good to be on a mission again. This is not the kind of mission he was used to but beggars can’t be choosers. It also give him a slight sense of normality. Though, every time he sees Zecora he is reminded that nothing will ever be normal again.

In no time at all she is sporting very familiar looking equipment as well as strange looking necklace. Wait... It looks like some form of blow gun. Looks like I have a good idea why she wanted that poison gland. From the look of things she is ready. The two leave the estate through the front, 47 holding the door for his new host. No harm in acting a little gentlemanly. Zecora seemed very happy to have someone treat her this way.

After a few hours of casual walking through dense and colorful jungle the two make it to what appears to be a the bog Zecora mentioned. It seems like a peaceful place; lots of frogs and insect life. Zecora warned 47 of ‘hydras’ as well as other nasty things to watch out for.

What she is gathering must be of great value considering the risks she is taking. 47 observes her movements every now and again to see exactly what she is up to. Zecora was taking quite an interest in some of the strange bulbs that are floating about in the water. Good thing she took her bag off and placed it near the shore. The water is a few feet deep and rather muddy. She just trots around in the mud. 47 finds is strange that she just wades through the muck, he was expecting her to act a little more feminine. looks like she has surprised me yet again. Then again this could be acting feminine in this world. Maybe I will ask her about it later. Two hours pass and still nothing has happened. Agent 47 finds himself actually wishing something would happen. This is not how life was for him, it makes him feel wrong. Any familiarity he had with the situation is absolutely gone.

The area is almost too peaceful for him. Peaceful and quiet. 47 notices that the only sounds that are audible is the chatter of trees sharing a breeze and the birds far off somewhere. He rushes to Zecora, paying no mind to the muddy water or the effects it has on his elegant suit, and pushes her down into the muck. She struggles a bit but 47 is vastly stronger than zecora and hold her down, almost downing her. Zecora begins to panic and thrash about fruitlessly. Looking up onto 47’s eye she notices something she had seen before. That was the same look he had when he attacked that manticore, a look of instinct. She slowly begins to relax even though her muzzle is barely protruding from the water. Once 47 feels her calm down he slowly releases her. Reaching down he scoops up some mud and applies it to his face and head, then 47 repeats the presses on Zecora. She becomes passive and lets 47 do what needs to be done. Why can’t every person be this easy to deal with? Both of them wait in the swamp broth, camouflaged heads barely sticking out of the water. Zecora’s Mohawk slicked over to the side from the mud mane-care product her companion so graciously offered.

After an extended amount of time a group of strange robed ponies trudged by headed east. They had some type of cargo chest in tow atop a carriage. 47 waits about a five minutes before rising and giving the all clear. Zecora lets out a sigh of relief and joins him.

“That is not normal of the pony folk, perhaps this is some form of joke?” Trekking up to the shore, 47 begins to inspect their tracks. Deep prints and wheel indents implies that they were heavy and so was the cargo. A test of the dirt’s density and moisture confirms this. The direction indicates that they are indeed traveling eastward, looking down their path you see that there is actually a trail of some sort. Closer inspection of the prints also hints that some of them were wearing horseshoes. Zecora trots up behind 47, she seemed to have cleaned most the muck off her body as well as gathered her things, tho her Mohawk was clean it stayed limp and to one side. 47 turns and inform her of his findings, withholding his snide opinion for her new style. Zecora ponders on the information a bit before responding.

“I think pursuit of this party may be in order, don’t you think? Perhaps there is some sort of unspoken link.” He nods in agreement. 47 honestly does not care what the objective is now, as long as it is not listening to the wildlife again. He found it rather tedious.

The two follow the path for some time. 47 constantly give Zecora tips on how to be stealthier as they continue down the wretched rut. At this point He looks like the surrounding foliage. Twigs and loose leaves have stuck to his suit and head, the forest is assimilating him. According to the sun it is almost three in the afternoon when they reach a camp of some kind. It seems to be some ornate and dilapidated structure, possibly once a castle. There are clocked ponys scattered about and vaguely familiar carriages parked outside the few entrances. Clearly they have a supply line. This would also mean they are not going anywhere anytime soon.

“No pony should be here. This all seems rather queer…” 47 finds himself restraining comments that would refer to her agreement to follow them. After they stalk the perimeter of the camp they were able to discern the building is now under the occupation of a possible hostile force. They chant and talk in unison, clearly some form of cult. Zecora states that she has never noticed them before. Then again she does not come this deep into the Everfree. After a bit of debate an agreement is reached. A stakeout was in order to kind out possible intentions. Using darkness as a veil to hid their presence, they would try and infiltrate the complex. 47 feels a strange sense of pride as he continues to give Zecora pointers on stealth. She takes the knowledge very well and seems to apply them with every fiber of her being. It is almost like having a pupil. As they wait Agent 47 lets his mind drift into previous contracts. Maybe one is similar to the situation…