Assassination

Kian Corey: “So who's my target?” 

C.R.U.M.P.E.T (an MI6 AI): “Vladimir Vladimirovich-Vladimirov, the Soviet's largest weapon supplier. He is the CEO of the Belgrade Weapons Depot and a member of the oligarchy, otherwise known as one of Morkav’s butt-!@#$ buddies. I’m not fussy about how you deal with him, shoot him, throw rocks at him, destroy him psychologically with cyberbullying - I don't care, just get rid of him. After his unfortunate-and-completely-spontaneous demise, I need you to steal, I mean, creatively borrow any devices or paperwork he possesses and share them with us. Hopefully, we can crack into them and learn more about the soviet war machine. Now scarper and get it done quickly, I don't want you thrown in the gulag. Oh, and good luck!”

Kian Corey: “Cheers.”

Vladimir stepped into the dim labyrinthine alley; He found the air close, dank and repulsive, the stark opposite to the crisp sub-zero air of Siberia he was used to. He wore a navy suit; the jacket was meticulously detailed with subtle pinstripes that accentuated his shoulders. A snowy silk tie provided a pastel splash of colour against the dark slate-hued suit. Around his wrist, a gleaming watch glittered, encrusted with diamonds and gold. His fingers, adorned with rings of various sizes, gemstones, and inscriptions mirror the man's opulence. An ushanka was tilted slightly and sat comfortably atop his slick onyx hair. He was an ostentatious man and that was reflected in his appearance. 

The sky was beginning to lighten, turning a stark leaden colour. Strands of mist hung in the air like ghosts. The cobblestone pavement stretched out like wet dragon scales, reflecting the silver moonlight. The streetlight's soft yellow hue cast huge shadows onto the alley walls. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor, a repeating rhythm in the otherwise silent night.

A sudden, polite cough shattered the night's stillness, sending a prickle down his erect spine. Slowly, he turned his senses on high alert. There, perched on a flight of worn steps, was the silhouette of a figure, barely discernible amidst the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the outline of Kian. In the stranger's hand glinted a machete, catching the faint light in a sinister gleam, which he used to nonchalantly pick at his fingernails. The sight of the blade sent a wave of dread coursing through him; Every nerve in his body screamed for him to flee, yet he found himself rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the presence before him.

Kian’s gaze met his own, cold and foreboding. This was a predator, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike him. With a heart pounding in his chest, he took a tentative step backwards, the urgency of escape pulsing through his veins. 

“You're leaving already? Come on, we haven't even had fun yet.” Kian said cheerfully, a grin reaching between his ears. “Wow, are you shaking? Are you not put at ease by my cheery disposition?”

Kian looked like how a bull might look, if the bull was dehorned, shaved, covered in tattoos, and had suffered a complete dental breakdown. 

“Who are you?” Vladimir queried apprehensively.

“That isn't relevant to the situation, unfortunately. Now, before you attempt to flee, I hope you know you have the projected life expectancy of a suicidal mayfly; I really wouldn't try to prolong what's left of your miserable life. With that said, what can you tell me about the Soviet Federation's weaknesses? 

“I…I…. dont…”

“Please hurry up, I have things to do, and people to damage”.

Before Kian could usher another word, Vladimir had plunged a hand into a pocket; Kian’s knife was in his hand and then it was no longer in his hand and it was quivering gently about 10 metres away, directly in the middle of Vladimir’s head. Kian waltzed over. The man's mouth opened and closed impotently, reminding Kian of a goldfish, as all life flooded from his body. After that, the blood began to flow. Wet, red blood in enormous quantities. The crimson liquid ran in rivers and seeped into the man's previously pristine suit. Kneeling, Kian retrieved a phone and a flash stick from a breast pocket. And so, Vladimir was left on the street, impaled on the blade.