Ramblings of a Madman

This is random shit from my notebook. Read: rough

This is just some random musings from my notebook, which are a little dark because these are the kinds of things I scribble when I am stuck in a classroom for 5 and a half hours doing boring training shit.

The man moved quickly now. Now was not the time for thought or waste of movement. Booted feet slipped silently along the balustrade, gliding ever closer until a final, desperate leap of faith to the opposite wall.

Slamming into it with a ground, for a moment overbalanced, the thief scrambled for a hold. All his weight on his fingertips, he slowly rose up to grab the protruding lip, the cords in his lean forearms standing out from the strain.

Cursing softly, he pulled himself up, once again becoming part of the night. And as it turns out, not a moment too soon.

The fat slob of a guard awoke with a start. Grumbling to himself, he peered around him blurredly, trying to find the source of the sound that woke him. “Nothing, as usual,” he thought to himself as he settled back into his chair. “Probably just another piece of shit bird hitting the windows again.” Irritably, he got up to check the balcony again. Seeing the edge, his eyes bulged. Someone had left a goddamn scratch on the edging. Not only that, but it probably happened prior to his shift. And he was going to get in trouble for not reporting the man who had probably done it.

Running his fingers idly along the damage, the fat man tried to ponder his way out of the situation. He never noticed the thin wire leap out of the darkness and loops around his neck.

Quick as thought, the thief drew the cord around tight, cutting off the guards idle cursing as well as breath. The guard died quietly, which is probably better than he deserved.

Running now, the thief looped the wire back around his waist and slipped inside the building that the fat man had been “Guarding.” Never pausing, the interior whipped by. Dark paintings mounted the walls to his left, and gothic columns flanked the hall to his right. Seeing his objective, the thief paused. A doorway with no door, and beyond a room. In that room, a pedestal sat. On said pedestal, his objective.

Moving carefully towards the door, the thief froze just before stepping over the threshold. Inching backwards, the thief dropped flat and examined the tiles in front of him. Invisible to all but the most searching eye, slight indentations lined irregularly shaped tiles.

Spike traps, no doubt. Though on second thought, it really could be anything.

Backing away from the door, the thief gathered himself and launched himself into the room in one explosive movement. The slicked floor of the target room offered no traction whatsoever. The man landed, slid, mere inches from the unusually marked tiles. Muttering to himself, the thief moved to the ornate pedestal in the center of the room, which contained… Nothing.

Wheeling around with a half formed oath, his hands darted to weapons. A ferociously strong forearm whipped by where his head had just been, and crashed achingly into his shoulder.

Grunting with pain, the thief still managed to draw his short, machete like blade, and slide it in between the ribs of the man accosting him. Soundlessly, his former assailant slid to the ground in a growing crimson puddle. Wiping his blade on the man’s coat, the thief carefully sheathed the blade in the sheath hanging  on his back, blade ready to drop out again in an instant.

Searching the body, the thief found nothing, not even a wallet. In another explosive movement, the thief leaped through the doorway again, straight into four men waiting outside.

Pinwheeling his arms desperately, the thief struggled to keep his balance as the four men stumbled around him. Catching himself at last, the thief took off down the hallway. Forsaking stealth for speed, the thief tore across the hall as the four men gave chase with a roar. Encumbered as he was, the thief easily outdistanced them on his race back to the balcony.

Pausing at the rail, the thief methodically began removing items from his belt and making them into something the four men could not see. Just as the four guards reached him, the thief casually stood on the balcony and dropped out of sight.

Still gasping for breath, the four guards looked at each other in amazement before rushing to the edge. Amazement turned to puzzlement, and then horror, that the thief was just below the edge, facing them now.

The short blade flashed twice, and four throats became fountains of blood. The thief slowly pulled himself back up. Tired now, the thief again sheathed his blade. Looking over the grim scene around him coldly, the thief once again entered the building.

As he entered, one hand found the short, high caliber pistol concealed within his waistband. The other hand threaded a suppressor to the barrel.

The .45 wasn’t subtle, but compared to his other weapons, it was the pinnacle of efficiency. The thief felt he had already wasted enough time , and that he couldn’t afford to be showy any longer.

Forcing his tired legs into a run once more, the thief quickly went up two flights of stairs before encountering further resistance. Two bodies were left in a heap on the stair behind him, and the spent cartridges tucked into a small pouch on his thigh.