City of gold...?

The legion hit-man pulled out his assault rifle, checking on it's condition. He then looks to the other two, a vexillarius and another veteran, as they peered over the hill with binoculars. There was their target, walking rather peacefully. This profligate would go down easily! Just by looking at the pale butcher made him laugh. How on earth did such a weakling have the privilege of wearing the mark of Caesar in the first place? What did Vulpes see in this welp?

Hmph. The veteran signaled the other two, snapping his fingers twice. The other two looked over, then drew their weapons. It was time. The foot soldiers walked, weapons in hand. The other legionary carried a marksman carbine, while the flag- wielding legionary carried a twelve point seven submachine gun. They walked in silence, stopping directly in front of their target. The man stopped, tilting his head. Was he stupid? Harrumphing once more, he decided to simply go along with it.

"The Caesar has marked you for death, and the Legion obeys! Ready yourself for battle!" The assasins raised their weapons, and aimed them directly at the profligate. A metal tinking sound caught their attention. A blue cylinder...

"GRENADE!" They dived, anticipating the explosion. They were blinded by a white light. What was this?! The assassins were disoriented, and only when they heard the whirring of a machine did they realize what the profligate had done to them.

"AAAAH!" Gurgling and whirring had silenced the man. The veteran stood up, taking off his goggles to rub his eyes. As a last resort, he fired his assault rifle blindly, emptying his magazine. He smiled in satisfaction as he heard flesh being penetrated.

*CRACK!* ... No... The veteran's sight returned to him. He stared dumbly at the other veteran. There was the profligate, holding his fallen comrades' bloody head. He then turned to the vexillarius, nothing but a long, deep gash on his face, showing the insides, bits of eye and brains were on the concrete. The beast dropped the head. He held a bloodied ripper in one hand.

"You shot your friend there. Pity. I wanted to make him suffer, just like you will." The assassin raised his weapon, intent on shooting such a foolish enemy.

Click.

"Oh, man. Good friends and ammo. Where are they when ya need them?" The beast chuckled. The verteran fumbled with his weapon, struggling to put in a new magazine. "Your putting it in backwards..." The beast was right in front of him. How did he...? The weapon was pulled from his hands, and was cast off to the side. The veteran put up his fists, ready for a fight. Taking the initiative, he threw the first punch. The beast countered, pulling on his wrist, then slamming the assassin to the ground.

Landing face-first into the pavement was hell on his already blurry head. The monster sat on him, then plunged his ripper into his arm socket. The teeth met little resistance, and his right arm was cut like a hot knife to butter. Next, the monster slammed his head into the pavement. Over, and over, and over until there was a sizable crimson stain on the hard road. Too focused on the pain to notice, the monster revved once more, this time into his left arm. The arm was off in no time, just like the right. The assassin couldn't scream. The pain was too great.

At last, the beast turned him over, and cupped his face with his bloodied hands. "Tell your friends in hell Jackie sent you. And spread the word that they'll see their other friends in hell very, very soon..." He looked into the depths of hell, the two windows that were looking straight at him. The eyes of a demon.

"You say you found a ripper in the legionary's face?" Caesar sat on his throne, a praetorian guard in front of him.

"Yes. And the words 'Jack was here' were written in blood." Caesar sighed. He got it. The courier was making a name for himself. Well played, Courier. Well played.