(a rather gruesome) assassination

I need to make this very clear that this bulletin is pretty gruesome. If you don't like blood, violence or torture, do not keep reading. This may only be a piece of writing but I have purposely written it to be brutal. I have made the violence get slowly worse throughout the bulletin so atrocities won't suddenly be shoved down your throat. 

“Hello, again Kian! My last operative has found some lovely new accommodation in a Russian gulag. So congratulations, you are my new favourite agent today! MI6 has given you a pretty enormous opportunity so please don't go !@#$ it up. Because it's such an important operation, I'm assigning A sophisticated new system to hide your identity and jam facial recognition technology. It's called a 'mask'. You'll find a particularly snazzy one in your briefcase. It also means we can pin the blame on our favourite local organised crime group - the syndicate."

“Sounds good to me. Can you give me any information on the target?"

“Hmm yes, give me a second…

Right, this very burly chap is named Ivan Petrovich and he is the Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Navy. He is an important figure in the Soviet military and we could really do without him. He is staying at his mansion in the Black sea. As per usual, the house is swarming with armed guards. I can send the address now through your neural implant.”

“Thank you, I’ll be on my way.”

In the darkness, there was a gloved hand and it held a knife. It had a hilt of polished Ivory and both the blade and the glove were wet. The living room window was still open from where Kian entered. Ghostly strands of mist snaked through the air and enveloped the room. He had left one guard on the garden lawn and another by the sofa. 

Clad entirely in a raven suit, he moved with a purposeful silence, his actions muted. He was a shadow. His face, obscured by a full-face onyx ballistic mask, held two eye holes that were the only glimpses into the figure's empty soul. Those dark apertures seemed to scan the room, analysing exit points, weapons, traps. His demeanour was as unreadable as his face, a harbinger of doom cloaked in the clothes of a gentleman. His appearance alone was enough to send a ripple of dread through any competent soul. Kian flexed his knuckles. 

"my scans are picking up multiple hostiles in the house, including one standing directly outside that door in front of you. You should be able to stealthily…" 

he brandished a machete, its blade glinting ominously under snowy moonlight. With a ferocious force, he plunged the sharpened steel through the wooden door; The unsuspecting guard on the other side let out a choked gasp, the sound abruptly cut off as the blade was retracted just as quickly. For a moment, Kian and C.R.U.M.E.T stood in an impenetrable silence. the only sound was the creak of the blood-soaked wood straining against the weight of a collapsed body. About a second onwards, the crimson liquid began to seep from beneath the door, a dark pool spreading across the floor. It crept forward, dousing Kian's feet with a warm embrace; The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. 

"yes, that works as well" C.R.U.M.E.T commented.

Kian opened the door and stepped hesitantly into the labyrinthine hallway, the soft glow of flickering lights cast long shadows across the walls. The corridor was adorned with ornate wallpaper rich with hues of gold, and burgundy and depicted vintage floral patterns. Mahogany tables held delicate china vases and were overflowing with blossoms. 

He hopped over the lifeless body strewn across the door-length. 

“Heads up, you're about to have company!” C.R.U.M.E.T warned him.

Swiftly, Kian pushed open the adjacent door and entered a study of some sort. His gaze swept the room before him; A singular figure stood hunched over a desk and was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. In one unhesitant motion, he encroached on the man, and lunged forward, slamming the man's head forward with a violent thud. The pen, still clutched in the man's hand, pierced through his left eye, at least an inch deep. A strangled cry of pain erupted from the man's mouth, but it was quickly silenced as Kian's gleaming machete, slashed across his throat in a clean line. Where his eye used to be, was now a grotesque mess; thick rivulets of blood oozed from the wound, tracing a path down the man's cheek. It bulged grotesquely from its socket, where the top half of a biro was driven mercilessly through the tender flesh. As the life drained from the man's eyes, Kian stood over him, silent and unmoving. Slowly, a grim smile spread across his masked face and he uttered; "Wow, the pen really is stronger than the sword," to the lifeless form before him.

"Just to let you know, that Soviet guard from the corridor is about to burst in," C.R.U.M.P.E.T announced tersely, his voice barely audible over the sound of Kian's racing heartbeat. He melted into the shadows, hiding to the left of the shut door. As anticipated, the heavy footsteps of the guard reverberated through the corridor, gaining speed closer with each passing second. With a final deep breath, Kian pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for the moment to strike.

As the door swung open, revealing the unsuspecting guard, Kian sprang into action with furious speed; he closed the distance between them with a single stride, the glint of a blade flashing in the dim light as he pressed it against the man's whimpering throat.

"Where is Ivan?" Kian growled, his voice low and menacing.

The guard's pupils widened in fear, his breath coming in ragged grasps as he struggled to form a response. "He was last in the kitchen. Please don't kill me”  he pleaded, his voice trembling.

“I have a family… a…"

Ignoring the man's heartfelt pleas, Kian tightened his grip on the knife, his movements cold, calculated. With excruciating slowness, he punctured the guard's neck, piercing the tender flesh with an agonizing force. The ragged slit he’d inscribed widened, as the blade erupted out the back of his neck. This was accompanied by a horrible hissing noise, of air escaping from his neck. A guttural cry of pain escaped the guard's lips as a torrent of blood spewed forth, painting the air around him in a crimson cascade. The guard attempted to escape, and pull away from Kian's steel grip but it was to no avail. He watched the life drain from the guard's eyes, his piercing stare unwavering. Soon, about 30 seconds, the guard's body went limp and collapsed in Kian’s arms, As he retracted the blade, it pulled wet strands of tendons out of the incision. 

“I really think we are going to have to book you into some therapy after this. That last ‘assassination’ of yours was !@#$-up. Anywho, the kitchen is the room to the left of your current one.“