Sanguinary

Sanguinary is about a hitman who has been hired to break into a mental institution by a mysterious client.

Origins: While playing Manhunt I was inspired to write a short story- hence the references to melee weapons - primarily the machete. The story was created as I went along, so even I never knew what the characters would do, or where the story would go so it was an interesting one to write. This also explains the main character\'s name (or lack of one) since I didn\'t know his motivations or background when I wrote, I had to make his name an enigma, leading the readers to discover about him as I had to.

This story was enjoyable to write, and I hope likewise to read. Enjoy. Please review.

This story contains swearing and pretty graphic violence . Don\'t read if you will be offended.
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The man enveloped in darkness walked slowly and confidently to the back door of the mental asylum. He stopped abruptly, then looked over his shoulder, then quickly retreated to the shadows. He scanned the grounds of the asylum to see if there was anyone nearby who could spot him, be it a hapless security guard or a civilian, either of which would raise the alarm, which would at best slow him down and add to his final body count, or at worst, stop him indefinitely. He may be able to proceed at a later date, but by then the number of security guards in and around the asylum would undoubtedly have been increased. It was wise not to be spotted, not to leave anything to chance. It was now or never.

He looked to his left, and saw a security guard patrolling the perimeter of the security fence. Clearly he was not the best at his job, for he would have heard a noise, then spotted a man cutting through the chain-link fence. Though he was dressed from head to toe in black, someone looking in his direction for any length of time could not fail to spot him. However incompetent the guard was, there was no sense in taking any unnecessary risks. The security guard would not get the chance to surprise him while he was busy in the asylum.

He crept towards him, always ensuring that he was hidden by the shadows. When he left the shadows, his face was revealed for a brief moment. He was attractive, in his mid thirties, but the lines and small scars on his face made him appear slightly older than his years, and world-weary with it. As quickly as he had appeared, he vanished again, feeling more secure in the safety the darkness provided. He was acutely aware of the sound he was making as he flattened the wet grass underfoot. He had to hope the security guard would not hear the slight noise.

Now just behind the guard, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out his Swiss army knife, which had been with him for many years, and had been invaluable to him during several jobs such as this one. He flicked out the corkscrew with one finger, and then closed his hand around the Swiss army knife, so that the corkscrew protruded from between his index and middle fingers. He walked forward carefully, making sure he didn’t alert the guard. He then raised his arm slowly and, with a grunt, slammed down with force, punching the corkscrew deep into the guards neck with a fleshy smack. The security guard made a sound like air slowly escaping from a balloon as the corkscrew pushed into his windpipe.

The man held the guard’s head, pushed it against his leg, and twisted the corkscrew, slowly pushing it further into the security guard’s neck as arterial blood sprayed forth from the wound, drenching his assailant’s face. He sharply pulled the corkscrew out, and the security guard fell to the ground, twitching violently.

The man stood up straight, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and walked on, satisfied that he had stopped a potential problem before it could become one. He knew why he was at the asylum, what his mission was, but didn’t know the reason why. All he knew was that his employer would benefit greatly from it in some way and, most importantly, was willing to pay handsomely for it.

He walked back to the rear of the asylum, and slowly opened the back door and walked in. The bright lights briefly dazzled him, and his eyes took a few moments to adjust to the harsh lights. Once they had, he took off his blood-drenched coat. The corridor he was in was lined with Perspex screened cells, and the man noticed three guards at the other end, deep in conversation and with their backs to him. He crept towards them, silently pulling a knife from as pocket as he did so. As with the Swiss army knife, he pulled out the knife, which was concealed in the handle. When it clicked into place, he tapped the left guard on his shoulder. When he turned round, he plunged the knife into his eye. The other guards had already begun to turn round out of curiosity when they had seen the other turn around. When they saw the intruder and what he had done, they jumped to their feet, and spun round, scrambling to pull their guns from their holsters. The man couldn’t risk getting shot, so he dived for cover behind a pillar. If he was there for his own reasons, then he could be as foolhardy as he wanted, but he was his employer’s agent, nothing more. He liked the sound of that. ‘The Agent’.

He risked a glance round the pillar, and saw the two guards standing over their friend, trying in vain to quell the blood and the yellowy gelatinous liquid which were oozing from their friend’s eye. They left him on the floor, and began to hunt for the stranger who had attacked him, their pistols now drawn. The Agent noted that, although he could easily kill the two guards, he would almost certainly get shot in the process. He needed the element of surprise once again to make the odds more favourable. He pulled a machete from his backpack, and admired the impressive glinting blade, which would soon be taking the lives of the two remaining guards.

The two men were apprehensively approaching the pillar he was hiding behind, and as they edged ever closer, The Agent decided that he had to strike pre-emptively. He leapt away from the wall and sprinted towards the light switch ahead of him, as the guards shot at him. The bullets narrowly missed him, as he was surprisingly fast. He flicked the light switch, and the room was suddenly immersed in darkness. He reached into his backpack again, and removed his night vision goggles, fastened them on his head, and smashed the light switch with the machete-breaking the plastic casing and severing the wires, to prevent the guards from eventually finding it. He could now pursue the two men for as long as he desired. He cautiously walked over to the man closest to him, who was waving his gun around and turning round wildly, trying in vain to hear the man who was pursuing them while hidden by the inky blackness. The guard stumbled in his confusion and, suppressing a laugh, The Agent crept up behind the man, raised the machete, and drove it into his back. The guard screamed as pain shot through his whole body. The Agent went to pull out the machete, but it had become lodged between the man’s vertebrae. One sharp tug, however, was all that was required to pull the bloodstained blade free from the guard’s back. The guard collapsed, breathing with a heavy rasping noise. He suddenly grabbed hold of The Agent’s legs, and bit down. The Agent calmly twirled the machete round in his fingers, then thrust it into the top of the guard’s head, which caused him to go limp, his head hitting the floor with a wet smack.

Unbeknownst to The Agent, the second guard had heard the noise, and had crept over to it. The guard fired a shot, which both blinded and disorientated The Agent. While he was trying to get his vision back, the guard smashed the butt of his gun against his nose, and The Agent fell backwards to the floor. The guard stood over him, breathing heavily and filled with the mixed emotions of exultation, relief and repulsion.

The Agent blinked sweat out of his eyes and his thought were filled with bloodlust. When he worked for his various employers, whether it was one person he killed or dozens, he felt invulnerable, immortal even. He felt that nothing could kill him, nothing could harm him, be it old age, or a bullet to the head. He felt as though he could live forever. However, this man, this pathetic excuse for an adversary had shattered that illusion, and made him painfully aware of his own mortality. He would pay for that mistake.

The Agent suddenly sat up, and stabbed the guard with the machete just above his groin. With cat-like athleticism, he flipped himself from lying down to standing in one graceful move. He grabbed the machete with both hands, and with and grunt of exertion, yanked it upwards, splitting open the guard from his crotch to the bottom of his ribs. He then wrenched it out and slashed him horizontally across his belly. The guard fell to his knees, as his guts began to push their way out of his abdomen. Through his night vision goggles, The Agent saw his machete slice through the guard’s throat, and green tinged blood sprayed out, drenching his goggles.

The Agent rubbed the goggles with his sleeve, and then walked over to the guard that he had attacked initially and stabbed in the eye, who was now lying on the floor and crying softly to himself. The Agent slowly slid the knife out of his eye, wiped off the gore, and put it back in his pocket. He then drew his fist back, then brought it sharply down, caving in the guard’s head.

The Agent composed himself as he walked to the door ahead of him, which would take him closer to his initial destination. He raised his machete in anticipation of anyone being in the next room. Each room and corridor had been soundproofed, because the guards had been distressed when hearing the patients screaming and shouting at each other and themselves. The only means of communication was through an intercom, so if there were anyone beyond the next door, they would be unaware of the plight of the others, which would be soon to befall them. This gave The Agent greater chance of success with the element of surprise, one that he would not fail to take advantage of.

He opened the door, and saw a guard at the other side who was sitting with his feet up on a desk, reading a book and his back to The Agent. When he heard the door close, he looked round and his eyes opened wide when he saw The Agent standing there drenched in blood. The Agent threw the machete, and it flew through the air, spinning as it did so. Blade over handle over blade – the machete impacted with a sickening crunch, and the guard was dead before he hit the floor. The machete had hit at an angle and was imbedded diagonally in the prostate guard’s face. The Agent wrenched it free. An ever-widening circle of crimson surrounded the man’s split head.

The Agent walked on to the door at the other side of the room, then stopped. After brief contemplation, he drew a pistol from its holster. There was a sign showing that the main control room was the one through the door – his destination. The information he had received showed that the room was L-shaped, and a guard may have time to grab his gun before The Agent was able to stop him with a bullet to the brain. The Agent was a proficient marksman, but had not yet used a pistol because he savoured the close quarters kill – the brutality, the adrenaline, the feeling as his victim’s life-blood doused him. However, there was no sense in being overly foolhardy, so if he deemed the risk to be too great, then he had no gripe about using firearms when the situation required their use. He had already removed his goggles as he thought, and his face was slick with sweat and blood. He wiped it away with his hand, and continued.

He kicked open the door to the main control room, and saw the man inside scramble for a gun. The Agent raised his pistol and shot him once in the face. The guard fell backwards with a look of surprise, slipped off his chair – striking his head on the corner of the desk as he did so – then slid to the floor, leaving blood smeared on the desk.

The first thing The Agent did was to disable the security system. The last thing he wanted was other guards (if there were any) alerting the authorities. He then walked towards the computer console on the far side of the room, which had about eight dozen or so button on it, with corresponding letters and numbers beneath them indicating which cell doors they controlled.

He pushed them all.