The year 32 A.D.C. . . .

October 22 . . .

Friday . . .

6:23 A.M. . . .

Hellenistic Sector, Residential Vicinage . . .

The blackness of night hung over the early morning as mile-thick, charcoal-gray Dry Clouds shrouded Noir’s sky. The barriercumulus hung over the city like a sleeping dragon, a sleeping dragon the Earth feared one day would wake and devour the world. And so far no magic of science could stop the monster.

Dry Clouds produced polluted rain and left the Dark Half of the planet without drinkable water. Technology’s struggle with the petroleum based clouds has kept Noir and the other parts of the planet’s Dark Half functioning.

Purple lightning lit up the heavens, but the density of the barriercumulus muffled the thunder. A Common Raven flew below the clouds and dove into a park, landing on a branch of a Transgenic Maple. Scattered lamps lit up the dark, empty paths. A cold wind rustled the blades of spongy Transgenic Grass and the hybrid maple’s leaves, then the breeze died. The large bird heard a twig snap and tilted its head, staring at a bush. A pale-white Tundra Wolf emerged and looked up with its golden-yellow eyes at the Raven. Their gazes locked.

Across the street from the park, a black Cadillac stopped at a curb. A mountain of a man, with a black goatee and dressed in a white pin striped gray business suit, got out of the driver’s side. He wore a Winnow Mask type A, a device fitted over the nose used to filter the pollutants from the air. He placed a gray Fedora hat on his head, smoothed its rim, straightened a white tie, and shut the door. A woman, with long black hair, exited the passenger’s side. She also wore a Winnow Mask type A, a WM-A.

Natasha, a Life Closer or Closer (a legal assassin) like her twin brother, inhaled through the triangular filter over her nose and exhaled through her mouth. The mask allowed foreigners to walk freely outside in the Dark Half without feeling the ill effects the Dry Clouds’ pollutants caused. She looked to the old apartments in front of them, to the park across the street, and glanced at her brother. Natasha smiled, removed her white fur-lined, long, black coat, revealing tight fitting red leather pants, vest, and high heel knee boots. She threw the coat in the back seat, grabbed a black leather satchel from the front floor, and closed the door.

Natasha checked on her throwing knives’ sheaths velcroed to each wrist. “So my Sweets . . .” She caressed the blades on her left wrist with her index finger. “Ready for some action?” Natasha made her way to the back, joining her brother.

Nikolai popped the trunk with a remote, removed a case, and set it on the sidewalk. He removed his mask and asked, “How does it look?”

His sister looked up and down the deserted street and removed her mask. “It is clear.” Natasha replaced the WM-A to her face to breathe.

He set his mask in the trunk, removed a Glock 25 from his shoulder holster, checked the clip, pulled the sliding block to load the gun, and it made a metal clicking sound, chick-chick. Nikolai holstered the .380 auto, removed the mask, closed the trunk, and picked up the case.

She motioned to the case. “I cannot believe you are going to use that thing.” Her Russian accent was thick. “It is ancient.”

Nikolai removed his mask. “Tasha . . .” He patted the case. “I like it for this kind of job.”

She shook her head. “You mean the kind of job where it does not matter how messy it gets. Remember this is still a Life Closing. Please, be professional.”

“I always am.” Nikolai winked at her and started up a gravel path crunching over rocks with his black cap toe shoes. He made his way to the apartment’s entrance and entered the glass front door. Once inside, they both removed their WM-A and Natasha placed them in her satchel.

A security guard looked up from a desk and grinned, seeing the tall woman. His gaze slowly ran up her figure and back down, before he asked, “Can I help you?” The guard stood, adjusted his pants and holster, and made his way to the front of the desk.

“No, thank you.” Nikolai noticed the lustful eye the guard gave his sister and scowled, infuriated. He put the case down, pulled his Glock, and fired once, hitting the man in the knee. The guard fell and grabbed his leg, screaming in pain.

“Brother! What are you doing?” Natasha folded her arms, knowing that once his temper erupted there was no stopping him. “We were not ordered to kill security.”

“Did you see how he looked at you?” Nikolai marched to the man like a crazed bear.

She ran her fingers through her hair. “I am a beautiful woman. What do you expect?” She put her hands on her hips. “How many times must I tell you, you cannot kill every man that glances at me?”

“No one will look at you like that!” He fired a round into the man’s heart.

A second guard exited an elevator just as Nikolai killed his partner. The guard dropped his coffee and pulled his Python 4 revolver. Horrified by what he witnessed, his hand shook as he blurted, “Hold it right there!”

As the guard covered her brother, Natasha reached for her left wrist, pulled a knife from the sheath, and threw it, hitting the man in the throat. The guard fired as he grabbed at the steel in his wind pipe. The wild shot hit the glass front door, shattering it. Shards rained, pinging to the white tiled floor. The guard dropped his weapon and collapsed to his knees, choking on his blood as he pulled a radio. Natasha walked over to him and kicked his revolver away. He tried to use the radio, but only made gurgling sounds. No one would come to his aid.

Almost with pity, she knelt, covering his open eyes with her hand. “Do not look. The pain will be over soon.” Natasha leaned to his ear and whispered, “From Moscow, with love. Now for the Executioner’s Adieu.” She kissed him on the lips.

The guard dropped the radio to grab her arm, but before he could, she removed the knife from his wind pipe. Blood spurted on her face and neck as the guard held his throat, trying to prevent his demise. She wiped the knife on the guard’s shirt, cleaning off his blood and sheathed the blade.

Natasha leaned to his ear and whispered to him as uncalloused as she could, “I am sorry. You were not meant to die.” She stood, looked one more moment at the man, and walked to her brother. Natasha berated him. “Now we will have to file extra reports, and you know how I hate excess work. Not only that . . .” She put one hand to her hip, glanced at the guard as he died, and turned back to her brother. “How are we going to explain your actions to Voice and the Assassins Guild? You needlessly killed the other guard. He would not have stopped us from going up.”

He bowed his head like a scolded child. “I do not know.”

Natasha loudly exhaled as she came up with an idea. “We will say the guard tried to stop us, that you had to shoot him. The second guard saw us kill his partner, and we had to kill him also.” She frowned. “But you cannot keep doing this. Voice will find out.”

Nikolai nodded. “Then we will become marked like the Phoenix, marked for Closing.”

She nodded. “Yes, like the Phoenix.” Natasha grinned at her sulking brother. “Now cheer up. You still have your new toy to play with.”

“You are right.” Nikolai smirked. “Come, Tasha.” He picked up the case, entered an elevator, and pressed button thirty-one. “Let us go blip off the Bird.”

Puzzled by what her brother said, she raised a black eyebrow, and followed. “Remember the Life Closing issued to us stated we keep collateral damage to a minimum.”

He grinned. “A minimum, not zero.”

Natasha sighed. “Just do not kill anyone outside of the apartment.”

The elevator started up, and she removed a gold compact and a white silk handkerchief from her satchel. She looked into the mirror and wiped some of the splatter from her face and neck. “If we go out later, I will have to clean up. The guard is all over my face.” She placed both items back into her satchel, the elevator doors opened with a whoosh, and the two of them walked out.

“What apartment number are we looking for?” Natasha asked.

Nikolai pulled a paper from his suit pocket as they walked from the end of the hall. He looked at the numbers on the doors before they passed them and stopped. “This one.”

She noticed a dark crack beneath the door. “Lights out. They are probably still sleeping. Do you want to knock?”

“Knock? No. Not with this heat.” He patted the case, set it on the floor, and opened it. Nikolai removed a Thompson Submachine Gun. “This bean-shooter announces itself.”

Natasha shook her head. “Of all the people to look up to, you had to pick 1930’s gangsters.”

“Every gink needs a hobby. I happen to be good at two.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Half the time, I do not know what you are saying.”

Nikolai winked at her, stood back, shot several rounds into the frame near the knob, and kicked in the splintered door. Light from the hallway rushed into the apartment. He proceeded down an entry, and an armed man appeared at the dark end. Nikolai fired, dropping the man and headed into the pitch black living room. He heard two men whispering. Nikolai yelled like a maniac, wildly shooting in their direction as powder blast lit up his smirking face. The men, hiding behind a couch, fired a round apiece and missed him before the Tommy sliced through the sofa and cut them down. Nikolai flipped on a light, retrieved his case, and reloaded. He headed down a hallway and kicked in the master bedroom door. The light was on, and a man was in bed with two women. The man pulled an Olympic 6 revolver from a night stand.

“I’ll blow your head off!” the man threatened.

The women squealed, covering themselves with the sheet, and one of them asked, “Vicky, is this another one of your sick games?”

“No, babe. Not this time.” He aimed the revolver. “I don’t know who this guy is.” He snarled. “I’m Vic the Vulture. You don’t know who yer messing with! I have a contract with the Valhalla Corporation.” The man shot. “I’m under their protection!”

The bullet grazed Nikolai’s shoulder. In anger the Russian Closer grabbed the gun from the man and pistol whipped him.

One of the women screamed and covered her face with her hands.

Nikolai pointed the Tommy up, put one foot on the bed, and leaned toward the man. “Here’s the wire, lug. Your Chicago overcoat has done been fitted.”

Vic grabbed his bloodied cheek. “What are you blabbering about? What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense.” He snarled again. “All I know, yer dead. Dead when the Corporation finds out you messed with me.”

“Shut your trap! Your yap’s why I’m here. Your so called friends at Valhalla found out the trade secrets you were suppose to be brokering for them, you’ve also been selling off to other Corporations. Now . . .” Nikolai’s demeanor changed from one of a wise guy to a serious corporate Closer. “Victor L. Boons, also known as Vic the Vulture, on behalf of Valhalla, I am terminating your contract.”

Vic’s eyes widened. “You can’t! They can’t!”

“Did you not read your contract with Valhalla?” Nikolai shook his head, irritated by the man’s ignorance. “You should have read it more closely. By signing, you agreed to the Life Closer Clause should you violate the contract.” The Russian Closer glanced at the two hookers. “It is a pity these two women are here. They would not have to die, if they had not seen my face.” He opened up one last volley, and the women screamed. White goose down flew up from the dozens of bullet impacts in the mattress. The feathers fell like snow, landing on the three bodies and blood tainted the down. “As stipulated, your employment has been terminated.”

Natasha walked into the bedroom behind Nikolai, after securing the rest of the apartment. The Vulture gasped as he clung to life. She walked over to Vic, bent down, and whispered in his ear, “From Moscow, with love. Now for the Executioner’s Adieu.” Natasha kissed him on the mouth and as she did, Vic died. She stood, wiping blood from her lips with her index finger and grinned. “This Closing was most enjoyable. Now . . .”

Natasha turned, saw her brother’s wound, and put both hands on her hips, scolding him, “Look at you. I hope you are happy.” She examined the minor shoulder wound. “See what you get for wanting to play with your toy. You could have used a hand gun with a silencer.” Natasha glanced at the man in bed whose glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling. “Then Vic the Vulture would not have even known you were here. But you wanted to go all Al Ca-put.”

Nikolai pointed the Tommy gun up again. “He was named Al Capone. And it was worth it, my sister. I do feel like a gangster.” He smoothed his fingers across the rim of his Fedora. “Now please, place our calling card, so we may leave before Noir Civil Police Force is called in. Dealing with the N.C.P.F. could be time consuming. Let our calling card talk for us.”

She nodded, walked over to Vic, and placed a business card of a wolf and raven on his chest. A barcode, printed on the bottom of the card, included Closers’ information (that way the N.C.P.F. could verify the killings were Life Closings not murder). “Now we only have one more assignment to complete, then we can leave this wretched Dark Half.”

“Yes, my sister. We only need to bop the Phoenix, and we can return home to Moscow. Return to Mother Russia, to the Light Side of the planet.”

“That will not be so easy. Unlike Vic, we do not know what the Phoenix looks like. Man . . . Woman . . . Child . . .” She shrugged. “All we have is an appointed time and place for the Closing from Voice.” Natasha frowned. “And I do wish you would stop talking that way. Honestly, I do not know what you are saying. It kind of had a sexual connotation, which I hope you do not intend.”

“No.” His face reddened. “I did not mean . . .”

She put her hand under his chin, reached up, and kissed him on the cheek. “Then come, I am famished. Let us clean up, I will tend to your shoulder, and let us see what fine delights Noir possesses.”