KILL ORDER .01: PINPOINT

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-


The alarm clock was abruptly cut off as a bullet ran right through it, destroying it instantly. Armsmaster groaned and sat up, only to promptly hit his head on the muzzle of an M230 Chain Gun.


Rubbing his head and looking around groggily, Armsmaster began to be able to comprehend basic information.


“Fucking hell, must have fallen asleep under the Apache again.” Looking down, he could see the leftovers of his late night work mounting the ammunition feed. A wrench, several heavy bolts, and a half eaten sandwich lay below him.


Picking up the sandwich and finishing it off, Armsmaster carefully navigated out from under the gunship and got up. Stretching, he engaged his power suit’s morning program.

Tiny mechanical arms, one containing a toothbrush and the other some toothpaste came out of his helmet and began brushing his teeth for him. Automatic deodorant dispensers engaged, freshening him up after some late night sweat.


Armsmaster picked up his Halberd and engaged the molecular-sword. He raised it menacingly, before then calmly applying shaving cream and cutting away some extra stubble in a manner that most people could not watch in anticipation of a slight mishap leading the Armsmaster losing a chunk of his face. But Armsmaster was not fazed, as he had been doing this for far too many years.


Concluding his morning routine, he climbed over to his motorcycle and engaged the engine. “Right then, first things first. Coffee.”


_____________________________________________________________________________________


Armsmaster walked into the Starbucks and was happy to see his usual clerk there, not that he would ever disclose that of course.


“Morning, Armsmaster. The usual?” Stella Morrison asked, her cheery usual self.


“Please.” He gruffly replied. Glancing around the coffee shop, he satisfactorily noted that each station had exactly the right amount of staff manning it, and that each car in the drive-through was being serviced within 37.6 seconds, as is the national average for Starbucks locations. “Glad to see management is as efficient as ever,” he remarked to himself.


Not hearing him, Stella made her standard inquiry. “That cosplay convention still going on? It’s been almost 3 months now and that suit looks uncomfortable.”


“Don’t worry about me.” Armsmaster took his coffee and walked out. He took a sip and was savoring the moment when his COM beeped.


“Morning, Ar!” Dragon yelled in his ear.


Almost choking on his coffee, Armsmaster tried to recover quickly come up with some cool remark to reply with.


“Good morning to you too, Dragon.” Well, at least he tried.


“Any plans for today?” Dragon asked.


Blushing and panicking, Armsmaster scrambled to pull up his schedule.


“uh, what? No! no… I uh, I’m free. Why, did you uh, want to maybe-“


“Good because a kill order just came in.”


Armsmaster immediately cursed his stupidity and tried to salvage at least a bit of this conversation. “Ah, yes, of course. Please, patch it through.”


“Sure thing, Ar. Have fun and watch out for this guy. He’s a bit tricky!” Dragon’s line went dead.


Armsmaster sat back in his chair at the Starbucks, ignoring the questioning glances he and his Halberd received. He fumed at himself for being so uncool in front of Dragon, but also noted that the conversation took a mere 23.8 seconds, 5.7 seconds less than his usual. At least that was something.

Scrolling through the kill order, Armsmaster took objection rather quickly. Another staff member now, just to assign these? Goddamn bureaucracy. 5 bucks says they’ll have a job opening next week for this guy’s personal ass-wiper.


Armsmaster had heard of Pinpoint before. He had always appreciated snipers, as in war they were the most efficient part of the machine. But despite this, Armsmaster would have no reservation killing a scumbag like Pinpoint. Sighing, he stood up. Guess I’ll have to mount the Hellfires tomorrow.

The comm was of the sort that was semi-transparent, featuring a thin microphone trailing to the corner of his mouth. To most, it looked as if he was simply touching his earlobe and speaking to no one in particular. His 6’61/2” frame created the type of deep and rumbling baritone that tended to carry across crowds without much effort. A scowl forming across the mouth of this large and rambling man, with a look just daring for any of the mall-goers to meet his glare.

Giving a grunt of satisfaction at the dispersing of the small group, and quick downcast of stares. Effectively creating what looked like a group of guilty toddlers, all escaping the wrath of some ladle-equipped parent.

“A please would be appreciated.” Came the response of the dispatch officer.

“No,” came a gruff and abrupt voice.

“.......wh-”

“No.”

The dispatch officer grasped for words, finding none. Argus had a tendency to be very blunt, usually leading to situations like now. “N- no thank you?”

“No,” said Argus. The same hardy and decisive tone carried itself to the officer’s ear, distinctly lacking any trace of impatience or frustration.

An audible sigh could be heard from the officer, one contrived of both resignation and nihilism.

“Fine,” she conceded. “You’re in. Have a ni-” Her voice cut off as the notification of Argus switching to Colin’s channel sounded through the comm.


        “The call has been terminated abruptly, would you like to redial?” The automated voice offered, with a tone so monotone it almost sounded like a statement.


                                                                                                                                         "Bloodhound, captain of the S level threat response team, opening communications."


The automated message would sound through Armsmaster's built-in Comm link, to be quickly followed by a curt introduction. " Argus, 'Bloodhound,' sir. Orders?"