MiccyNarc
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This story came to my head, decided to write it down. Let me know what you think:
_________________________________
Governor's Palace, Ile de France
Paris, England, 2078
Sir Carl Newton III flicked off his desk lamp and closed the list of miscreants. Dealing with the ne'er-do-wells of Ile de France was a tiring job, especially as a new edict from Rome had banned the use cell phone cameras after an upskirt shot of King Edward the XV of England's daughter had circulated the internet, humiliating the monarch and "promoting the objectification and lascivious use of women," as the edict stated.
Thousands of the devices had been impounded, and Carl had just spent the past six hours dolling out proper sentences to those who had committed such foul acts as "recording dances and the sacred Kiss at the Altar (tm) during wedding ceremonies." The sentences ranged from one hundred hours of community service (for mistakenly photographing a couple holding hands) to twelve years in prison and emasculation (a man had recorded his and his new bride's wedding night).
Carl had just finished the list, closed his connection to the Justice Network, and now was ready to go home, when a gust of wind caught some of his paperwork, scattering it across his desk.
Carl froze. He heard a small click as the window closed. He looked straight ahead, as a second shadow connected with his own in the moonlight.
He spoke, "You've come to kill me."
"Naturally," the shadow replied, and stepped in front of him. Carl had always wondered how he would react when this day came, as it did to so many in the past few years. Now that it had happened to him, he found himself surprisingly calm.
Carl turned to face the assassin. "You know the rules."
"As do you."
Carl nodded and walked to the door. The assassin had become more interested in the ornate carving on the arms of Carl's chair, and in that instant Carl considered breaking the code. But there was no honor in such a feat. He would do as expected of him, as would his killer.
He opened the door and spoke to the guard outside. "I'm going to be be a few minutes, if you could inform my driver I would appreciate it."
The guard nodded and walked away down the hall. Carl put the "Do not Disturb" card on his door, closed and locked it, and sat back down in his desk chair, gesturing for the cloaked figure to follow suit. The man had pulled his pistol from its holster and was now quietly twisting on the silencer. At Carl's gesture, he sat across from him on the edge of the desk, removed his hood and smiled a very wry smile.
Carl looked at the man. He was young, twenty-something, with a scar under one eye, and as per the code, a completely shaved head. He didn't match Carl's picture of a natural born killer.
"Have you ever considered that one day, one of your victims may not obey the code?" Carl asked.
The man stiffened and glared at Carl. "You didn't."
"No, no, of course not. But has it ever crossed your mind?"
"Every time," he replied, relaxing.
"Well, now it's time for your part of the deal. Why are you here? Who sent you? For what reason?" Carl had at this point resigned himself to his fate. "Oh, and how the hell did you get in here?"
"Last things first, I guess," the man replied. "This palace isn't exactly the Tower you know. Your firewall offers as much security as a mute Chihuahua. About thirty minutes ago I got into your network and disabled everything from your security cameras to the alarm system to your computer's internet connection. Sorry about that, by the way, whatever you tried to send out on the JN at the last minute, it went to me. I'd try to get it to Bastille for you, but that'd be about as sane as a witch going to the vatican for spiritual guidance. They don't like my kind there." The assassin chuckled.
"From there it was a simple matter of crawling through a sewer to get under your wall...and you should really consider trimming the greenery before it reaches your window. This was probably the easiest job I've completed in the past few years," the man smiled.
"As for your other questions, I'm King Edward's personal assistant in these matters, he sent me himself."
Carl sighed. He should have seen this coming.
"You stuck your neck out Carl. You're the most pious governor east of the Prime Meridian, but you protest everything the King does for the Pope."
"Because he's using him! He's using the Catholic church as a tool! You know as well as I do the man is is about as religious as a common thief, and only obeys the Pope because he wishes the Holy Father's favor over the Germans. I can't allow him to do that without saying anything! It's hypocrisy at its worse!" Carl protested.
The Germans used to be the Pope's closest ally, but that fell apart after a German watchdog group revealed indiscretions involving priests and choir boys, while at the same time King Goerring was caught having an affair with his second cousin.
The assassin smiled and nodded. "Don't worry, I understand. In fact, I agree with you. I'd take it a step further, and I can say this because you're certifiably dead already. Our great king, may he live forever, is efforting to get the Pope to excommunicate King Goerring." Carl gasped. "Yes, I know. Amazing how times change. War is coming, as always. But that's none of my business. My business is considerably uglier, but a job is a job, and right now Edward is the highest bidder. And unless you have a secret stash of gold hidden somewhere in this hellhole, I see no motivation not to do the assignment as ordered. Anyway, I've fulfilled my obligations." The assassin dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a red slip. Carl had seen it before. The previous governor of Paris had died the same death, and Carl had stumbled on the scene. He never thought he'd be signing one, but such was fate.
The assassin talked as he signed the top line, "Even though you probably already know what this is, I have to give you the spiel anyway," He cleared his throat and read from the note in a sarcastic, official tone: "This slip certifies that the code was followed throughout the preceding assassination mission, and all was done according to taste according to the guidelines laid out by the Assassin's Guild. These guidelines were created per the Iuguolo Instructus declaration of 1778, as penned by Pope John the Innocent XV, and can be accessed through the Vatican library or via www.decreedatabase.rel"
John knew the last sentence was for the unlucky bastard who found the scene. The note was to be left prominently on the deceased.
The assassin handed the slip to Carl, "Just sign along the bottom line and we'll be done."
Carl took the slip and pulled his pen from its inkwell. As he signed it, he asked, "Do you ever question your job?"
The man looked puzzled.
"Do you ever wonder if your target may deserve to live more than the man sending you to kill him?"
The assassin took the slip, looked at Carl, and smiled.
"Every time."
_________________________________
Governor's Palace, Ile de France
Paris, England, 2078
Sir Carl Newton III flicked off his desk lamp and closed the list of miscreants. Dealing with the ne'er-do-wells of Ile de France was a tiring job, especially as a new edict from Rome had banned the use cell phone cameras after an upskirt shot of King Edward the XV of England's daughter had circulated the internet, humiliating the monarch and "promoting the objectification and lascivious use of women," as the edict stated.
Thousands of the devices had been impounded, and Carl had just spent the past six hours dolling out proper sentences to those who had committed such foul acts as "recording dances and the sacred Kiss at the Altar (tm) during wedding ceremonies." The sentences ranged from one hundred hours of community service (for mistakenly photographing a couple holding hands) to twelve years in prison and emasculation (a man had recorded his and his new bride's wedding night).
Carl had just finished the list, closed his connection to the Justice Network, and now was ready to go home, when a gust of wind caught some of his paperwork, scattering it across his desk.
Carl froze. He heard a small click as the window closed. He looked straight ahead, as a second shadow connected with his own in the moonlight.
He spoke, "You've come to kill me."
"Naturally," the shadow replied, and stepped in front of him. Carl had always wondered how he would react when this day came, as it did to so many in the past few years. Now that it had happened to him, he found himself surprisingly calm.
Carl turned to face the assassin. "You know the rules."
"As do you."
Carl nodded and walked to the door. The assassin had become more interested in the ornate carving on the arms of Carl's chair, and in that instant Carl considered breaking the code. But there was no honor in such a feat. He would do as expected of him, as would his killer.
He opened the door and spoke to the guard outside. "I'm going to be be a few minutes, if you could inform my driver I would appreciate it."
The guard nodded and walked away down the hall. Carl put the "Do not Disturb" card on his door, closed and locked it, and sat back down in his desk chair, gesturing for the cloaked figure to follow suit. The man had pulled his pistol from its holster and was now quietly twisting on the silencer. At Carl's gesture, he sat across from him on the edge of the desk, removed his hood and smiled a very wry smile.
Carl looked at the man. He was young, twenty-something, with a scar under one eye, and as per the code, a completely shaved head. He didn't match Carl's picture of a natural born killer.
"Have you ever considered that one day, one of your victims may not obey the code?" Carl asked.
The man stiffened and glared at Carl. "You didn't."
"No, no, of course not. But has it ever crossed your mind?"
"Every time," he replied, relaxing.
"Well, now it's time for your part of the deal. Why are you here? Who sent you? For what reason?" Carl had at this point resigned himself to his fate. "Oh, and how the hell did you get in here?"
"Last things first, I guess," the man replied. "This palace isn't exactly the Tower you know. Your firewall offers as much security as a mute Chihuahua. About thirty minutes ago I got into your network and disabled everything from your security cameras to the alarm system to your computer's internet connection. Sorry about that, by the way, whatever you tried to send out on the JN at the last minute, it went to me. I'd try to get it to Bastille for you, but that'd be about as sane as a witch going to the vatican for spiritual guidance. They don't like my kind there." The assassin chuckled.
"From there it was a simple matter of crawling through a sewer to get under your wall...and you should really consider trimming the greenery before it reaches your window. This was probably the easiest job I've completed in the past few years," the man smiled.
"As for your other questions, I'm King Edward's personal assistant in these matters, he sent me himself."
Carl sighed. He should have seen this coming.
"You stuck your neck out Carl. You're the most pious governor east of the Prime Meridian, but you protest everything the King does for the Pope."
"Because he's using him! He's using the Catholic church as a tool! You know as well as I do the man is is about as religious as a common thief, and only obeys the Pope because he wishes the Holy Father's favor over the Germans. I can't allow him to do that without saying anything! It's hypocrisy at its worse!" Carl protested.
The Germans used to be the Pope's closest ally, but that fell apart after a German watchdog group revealed indiscretions involving priests and choir boys, while at the same time King Goerring was caught having an affair with his second cousin.
The assassin smiled and nodded. "Don't worry, I understand. In fact, I agree with you. I'd take it a step further, and I can say this because you're certifiably dead already. Our great king, may he live forever, is efforting to get the Pope to excommunicate King Goerring." Carl gasped. "Yes, I know. Amazing how times change. War is coming, as always. But that's none of my business. My business is considerably uglier, but a job is a job, and right now Edward is the highest bidder. And unless you have a secret stash of gold hidden somewhere in this hellhole, I see no motivation not to do the assignment as ordered. Anyway, I've fulfilled my obligations." The assassin dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a red slip. Carl had seen it before. The previous governor of Paris had died the same death, and Carl had stumbled on the scene. He never thought he'd be signing one, but such was fate.
The assassin talked as he signed the top line, "Even though you probably already know what this is, I have to give you the spiel anyway," He cleared his throat and read from the note in a sarcastic, official tone: "This slip certifies that the code was followed throughout the preceding assassination mission, and all was done according to taste according to the guidelines laid out by the Assassin's Guild. These guidelines were created per the Iuguolo Instructus declaration of 1778, as penned by Pope John the Innocent XV, and can be accessed through the Vatican library or via www.decreedatabase.rel"
John knew the last sentence was for the unlucky bastard who found the scene. The note was to be left prominently on the deceased.
The assassin handed the slip to Carl, "Just sign along the bottom line and we'll be done."
Carl took the slip and pulled his pen from its inkwell. As he signed it, he asked, "Do you ever question your job?"
The man looked puzzled.
"Do you ever wonder if your target may deserve to live more than the man sending you to kill him?"
The assassin took the slip, looked at Carl, and smiled.
"Every time."
