Post by Demarion on Nov 9, 2009 20:26:26 GMT -5
-This is just a quick story, I'm not really caring about being detailed, I just want to get my thoughts on paper. Everyone is a dragon of some kind, with fancy names for their species/'race'. As well, they are all anthropomorphic, so keep that in mind that they aren't giant lizards crawling around on all fours. As well, they can show/hide their wings. Oh yeah, and an Amphithere is a type of dragon typically 'found' from Northern South America, Mexico, and Western North America. And I hate the ending. Needs to be rewritten when I'm not lazy.-
Jericho sat in a tall dilapidated building, leaning against the crumbling wall, window above him. His trusty M24 rested between his legs, ready to go when he was. The sun was high in the sky and shining through the glassless window, lighting up the dust particles that were floating around and settling on him. It was almost time. The dragon closed his eyes, relieved that this was his final job as a mercenary. His goal was to save up enough money to buy himself a nice house and go to school, and if he was successful - and he was going to be - the payment he'd receive would be enough to do that and more.
He heard a vehicle drive by, the rural road a few stories below him. Sighing quietly, Jericho made the effort to get up and set his modified rifle on the predetermined spot, barrel of the gun poking past the window's ledge. His job was to assassinate the ringleader of a large illegal arms ring, his instructions stating to snipe him and let their men do the rest. He didn't know who he was hired by, only that that they - and the opposing gang - were located here in central Mexico and that the soon-to-be-assassinated leader was visiting the warehouse. Jericho was positive he'd have the man down before he entered the building, for he didn't want to wait long.
Sure enough, a fancy black car was driving slowly a few blocks away to a suspicious building, equally as run down as the one Jericho was in now. There was little entourage for it, but he was sure that if the boss was there, he'd have men protecting him somewhere. In return, after Jericho would feed him his lead bullet, his employer stated that he had people to deal with the leader's men, and that Jericho was to get out of there or join in, whatever it took to keep him alive. In case he needed to fight close range, the dragon brought a pistol that earned him his namesake, the Jericho 941, and it was holstered at his hip. Additionally, he kept a small dagger in his military-grade boot, but he doubted he'd have to use it.
The car rolled to a stop and Jericho focused his M24's scope on it, finger resting firmly on the trigger. He knew what the man looked like, he always remembered a face, even a picture, and was confident that the large man stepping out of the car was indeed the one he needed to assassinate.
He licked his dry lips, waiting for a clear shot. He guessed that he had about a three minute window before the man entered the building, and that was plenty of time for him to finish the job. He held his breath, his target's chest in the center of his crosshairs.
The .300 Win Mag slug flew from the rifle with the telltale 'whumph' of a silencer doing it's job. It struck its target squarely in the chest, piercing through his vital circulatory organs. Jericho didn't allow himself any congratulations, since his job wasn't over until he escaped alive. He pulled in his M24 and took it apart quickly, his modifications allowing him to fit it in a moderate-sized briefcase. He snapped the case shut and strode quickly from the room, his boots making nary a sound. If all was clear, he'd wait in the building and check out the damage later.
He put on his dark sunglasses as he flew down the many stairs, keeping his eyes and ears open for any opposition. Unsurprisingly, there was none, and the dragon decided to wait for at least an hour before going to review the damage.
Jericho's specie was known as a Western Cavalry. They were typically larger dragons that had small horns and a smooth tail. Jericho was, being a half-breed, short for his specie, and what he lacked in height, he made up for in strength, sporting a lean torso and toned arms and legs. The green horns that rested above his ears peeked out from his long black hair, which was currently held back in a ponytail. There was a soft yellow tint to his skin, accented with green markings that not only tattooed his body, but streaked through his hair. To most, he was considered a beautiful example of a half-breed, but to those that frowned upon it, he was a piece of trash that should have nothing to do with society. He had grown up around the latter, which was exactly why he wanted to be successful. He wanted to show them that a half-breed could have a life, and at the age of 20, Jericho thought he was doing quite well.
A bullet whizzed past him and embedded itself in the wall. Jericho immediately pulled his 941 out and ran through the large open doors, crouching. He was used to carrying his briefcase with him while protecting himself, and it wasn't a bad thing. The case was bulletproof and worked as a bludgeon if need be. He spotted his assailant and took aim. "Who are you with?" He shouted in the native tongue.
The attacker paused. "Who wants to know?"
"I'm hired by Aleksandro." Jericho responded, figuring that, if he was against him, he'd shoot him down.
The Amphithere cocked his head. "How can I trust you?"
Jericho recited a coded phrase taught to him by his employer.
"Ah, sí, excelente." He put his gun down, now speaking in English. "We've cleaned up the rest, you're free to view your handiwork." There was a slight grin on the dragon's face.
"Indeed." Jericho kept his gun out. He never trusted the people he had to work with, for they were greedier then he was.
He followed the Amphithere to the warehouse, where a few of the men were standing around, looking alert. Few of them acknowledged him with a nod, while the rest just stood, hands on their guns.
"You're good, amigo." The Amphithere said, stopping in front of the corpse. "Got him clean with one shot. Aleksandro made the right choice to hire you."
"Of course he did." Jericho grunted, walking around the body and surveying the area. A few dead bodies were scattered around, blood staining the rough pavement. The warehouse sure didn't seem guarded very well, they must have assumed there would never be an attack.
"Well," He ran a hand over his head, fingers catching the loose hair that had fallen from his ponytail, "I guess I'll take my leave then."
"For sure, amigo. Collect your pay, you definitely deserve it." The green-skinned dragon grinned and thumped Jericho's back.
"Ramón!" Another dragon shouted, and Jericho turned to see what it was.
The one who shouted was walking towards them, dragging with him a struggling, crying child. "Ramón, this niño was in the vehicle." He shoved the boy roughly in front of him. "I think it was the boss'."
Jericho caught his breath. Never before had a child been involved in his assassinations, and he wasn't too pleased to find out that he had - if the child was indeed belonging to the man - killed a father. He never had a problem taking a life, it was his choice to work in this field, but he had a soft spot for children, and now this boy was hard off.
"Ah, mierda," Ramón frowned at the child, "let's just dump him off somewhere." He went forward to grab the boy.
"Wait." Jericho caught his arm. "I'll take him."
The Amphithere stared at him. "You sure? Can you get him across the border?"
"I'll think of something." Jericho knelt in front of the boy, and he shied away from him. The boy was a fair-skinned Amphithere with white hair that hung in his face. His light blue eyes were wide and wet, staring at the man.
"What's your name?" He asked softly, speaking in Spanish.
"Jaime." He replied quietly.
"How old are you, Jaime?"
"Eight."
"Eight? Why are you crying? You're practically a man!"
The boy sniffed and large tears fell down his cheeks. "My daddy's dead!" He burst out in tears, hands balled up in tight fists beside him.
Jericho just watched him, uneasy. He couldn't deny that fact, nor cover it up, and he wondered how he'd handle the boy.
"Well," he began slowly, "would you like to come live with me in America? I know that sounds a bit weird, since it's kind of sudden but..." he trailed off when he noticed the boy staring at him, tears silently falling.
"You... You seem nice." Jaime said in his quiet voice
"Oh?" Considering I just killed your father, he thought.
"Y-yeah." He rubbed at his eyes. "What's your name?"
"Jericho." He smiled at him. This boy's life must have been quite something for him to recover that quickly.
Jaime smiled back at him. "I'll come with you, you're different."
"I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I'll go with it." He stood up and reached out for the boy to take his hand. He looked back at the men and spoke in English, "Don't mention the boy to Aleksandro. That might cause problems." The men nodded.
Jericho walked away from the warehouse, holding Jaime's small hand. He wondered what exactly he was going to do with the boy, but he didn't regret deciding to take him in. Jaime seemed quite headstrong already, even for an eight-year-old. It seemed that he wouldn't have a problem with the boy, especially since the money he'd be receiving for this job would be enough to support them both for a while. He could see things working out, hopefully for the better.
Jericho sat in a tall dilapidated building, leaning against the crumbling wall, window above him. His trusty M24 rested between his legs, ready to go when he was. The sun was high in the sky and shining through the glassless window, lighting up the dust particles that were floating around and settling on him. It was almost time. The dragon closed his eyes, relieved that this was his final job as a mercenary. His goal was to save up enough money to buy himself a nice house and go to school, and if he was successful - and he was going to be - the payment he'd receive would be enough to do that and more.
He heard a vehicle drive by, the rural road a few stories below him. Sighing quietly, Jericho made the effort to get up and set his modified rifle on the predetermined spot, barrel of the gun poking past the window's ledge. His job was to assassinate the ringleader of a large illegal arms ring, his instructions stating to snipe him and let their men do the rest. He didn't know who he was hired by, only that that they - and the opposing gang - were located here in central Mexico and that the soon-to-be-assassinated leader was visiting the warehouse. Jericho was positive he'd have the man down before he entered the building, for he didn't want to wait long.
Sure enough, a fancy black car was driving slowly a few blocks away to a suspicious building, equally as run down as the one Jericho was in now. There was little entourage for it, but he was sure that if the boss was there, he'd have men protecting him somewhere. In return, after Jericho would feed him his lead bullet, his employer stated that he had people to deal with the leader's men, and that Jericho was to get out of there or join in, whatever it took to keep him alive. In case he needed to fight close range, the dragon brought a pistol that earned him his namesake, the Jericho 941, and it was holstered at his hip. Additionally, he kept a small dagger in his military-grade boot, but he doubted he'd have to use it.
The car rolled to a stop and Jericho focused his M24's scope on it, finger resting firmly on the trigger. He knew what the man looked like, he always remembered a face, even a picture, and was confident that the large man stepping out of the car was indeed the one he needed to assassinate.
He licked his dry lips, waiting for a clear shot. He guessed that he had about a three minute window before the man entered the building, and that was plenty of time for him to finish the job. He held his breath, his target's chest in the center of his crosshairs.
The .300 Win Mag slug flew from the rifle with the telltale 'whumph' of a silencer doing it's job. It struck its target squarely in the chest, piercing through his vital circulatory organs. Jericho didn't allow himself any congratulations, since his job wasn't over until he escaped alive. He pulled in his M24 and took it apart quickly, his modifications allowing him to fit it in a moderate-sized briefcase. He snapped the case shut and strode quickly from the room, his boots making nary a sound. If all was clear, he'd wait in the building and check out the damage later.
He put on his dark sunglasses as he flew down the many stairs, keeping his eyes and ears open for any opposition. Unsurprisingly, there was none, and the dragon decided to wait for at least an hour before going to review the damage.
Jericho's specie was known as a Western Cavalry. They were typically larger dragons that had small horns and a smooth tail. Jericho was, being a half-breed, short for his specie, and what he lacked in height, he made up for in strength, sporting a lean torso and toned arms and legs. The green horns that rested above his ears peeked out from his long black hair, which was currently held back in a ponytail. There was a soft yellow tint to his skin, accented with green markings that not only tattooed his body, but streaked through his hair. To most, he was considered a beautiful example of a half-breed, but to those that frowned upon it, he was a piece of trash that should have nothing to do with society. He had grown up around the latter, which was exactly why he wanted to be successful. He wanted to show them that a half-breed could have a life, and at the age of 20, Jericho thought he was doing quite well.
A bullet whizzed past him and embedded itself in the wall. Jericho immediately pulled his 941 out and ran through the large open doors, crouching. He was used to carrying his briefcase with him while protecting himself, and it wasn't a bad thing. The case was bulletproof and worked as a bludgeon if need be. He spotted his assailant and took aim. "Who are you with?" He shouted in the native tongue.
The attacker paused. "Who wants to know?"
"I'm hired by Aleksandro." Jericho responded, figuring that, if he was against him, he'd shoot him down.
The Amphithere cocked his head. "How can I trust you?"
Jericho recited a coded phrase taught to him by his employer.
"Ah, sí, excelente." He put his gun down, now speaking in English. "We've cleaned up the rest, you're free to view your handiwork." There was a slight grin on the dragon's face.
"Indeed." Jericho kept his gun out. He never trusted the people he had to work with, for they were greedier then he was.
He followed the Amphithere to the warehouse, where a few of the men were standing around, looking alert. Few of them acknowledged him with a nod, while the rest just stood, hands on their guns.
"You're good, amigo." The Amphithere said, stopping in front of the corpse. "Got him clean with one shot. Aleksandro made the right choice to hire you."
"Of course he did." Jericho grunted, walking around the body and surveying the area. A few dead bodies were scattered around, blood staining the rough pavement. The warehouse sure didn't seem guarded very well, they must have assumed there would never be an attack.
"Well," He ran a hand over his head, fingers catching the loose hair that had fallen from his ponytail, "I guess I'll take my leave then."
"For sure, amigo. Collect your pay, you definitely deserve it." The green-skinned dragon grinned and thumped Jericho's back.
"Ramón!" Another dragon shouted, and Jericho turned to see what it was.
The one who shouted was walking towards them, dragging with him a struggling, crying child. "Ramón, this niño was in the vehicle." He shoved the boy roughly in front of him. "I think it was the boss'."
Jericho caught his breath. Never before had a child been involved in his assassinations, and he wasn't too pleased to find out that he had - if the child was indeed belonging to the man - killed a father. He never had a problem taking a life, it was his choice to work in this field, but he had a soft spot for children, and now this boy was hard off.
"Ah, mierda," Ramón frowned at the child, "let's just dump him off somewhere." He went forward to grab the boy.
"Wait." Jericho caught his arm. "I'll take him."
The Amphithere stared at him. "You sure? Can you get him across the border?"
"I'll think of something." Jericho knelt in front of the boy, and he shied away from him. The boy was a fair-skinned Amphithere with white hair that hung in his face. His light blue eyes were wide and wet, staring at the man.
"What's your name?" He asked softly, speaking in Spanish.
"Jaime." He replied quietly.
"How old are you, Jaime?"
"Eight."
"Eight? Why are you crying? You're practically a man!"
The boy sniffed and large tears fell down his cheeks. "My daddy's dead!" He burst out in tears, hands balled up in tight fists beside him.
Jericho just watched him, uneasy. He couldn't deny that fact, nor cover it up, and he wondered how he'd handle the boy.
"Well," he began slowly, "would you like to come live with me in America? I know that sounds a bit weird, since it's kind of sudden but..." he trailed off when he noticed the boy staring at him, tears silently falling.
"You... You seem nice." Jaime said in his quiet voice
"Oh?" Considering I just killed your father, he thought.
"Y-yeah." He rubbed at his eyes. "What's your name?"
"Jericho." He smiled at him. This boy's life must have been quite something for him to recover that quickly.
Jaime smiled back at him. "I'll come with you, you're different."
"I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I'll go with it." He stood up and reached out for the boy to take his hand. He looked back at the men and spoke in English, "Don't mention the boy to Aleksandro. That might cause problems." The men nodded.
Jericho walked away from the warehouse, holding Jaime's small hand. He wondered what exactly he was going to do with the boy, but he didn't regret deciding to take him in. Jaime seemed quite headstrong already, even for an eight-year-old. It seemed that he wouldn't have a problem with the boy, especially since the money he'd be receiving for this job would be enough to support them both for a while. He could see things working out, hopefully for the better.
