This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A full moon illuminates the night sky as Tarriq Madu walked down Vermont Avenue. The trained killer, son of an international legacy, paused to whip out his secured satellite phone, checking his flanks as the line rings.
“Noah, it’s me,” Madu leaned his back against an extinguished lamppost.
“This had better be important,” Noah Bryant replied. “You know the protocol for contacting me.”
Madu calmly ran down the SITREP on “Wrathful Willie,” aka “Dub,” aka ATF Special Agent Roosevelt Augustus Jackson. How he, without authorization, conducted surveillance, covertly stalked, and eventually, strangled to death the host of an incel Internet podcast on the dark streets of Los Angeles.
“Are you on a secured line?” Bryant asked.
“What else?” Madu sucked his teeth.
“And this is your situation report?”
“He was a hostile aggressor.”
“But was he a direct threat?”
“Not to me personally.”
“My point, exactly.”
“Look, it couldn’t be helped. Aiight?”
“You mean, taking out a fed?”
“We’ve done it before.”
“Yes, of course,” Bryant said. “But always under strict mission-only parameters, rules of engagement.”
“This fool was about to murder innocent people,” Madu was about to lose his military baring.
“You don’t get to speculate.”
“Let me guess: it’s above my paygrade, right?”
“And when did you discover he was undercover?
“Okay, so I fucked up.”
“You know, I’d expect this from a newbie but you’re no longer a journeyman in this campaign. You’re a seasoned Watcher, Tarriq.”
“You know better.”
“Had it been anyone else who’d pull such a reckless stunt like this, you know I wouldn’t even hesitate to act.
“Uh-huh, remedial training,” Madu’s sarcastic tone momentarily emerged but quickly stifled itself.
“Besides, I’ve trained you better,” Bryant covered up his anger. “There are no innocents, just hard and soft targets.”
“Anyway, what’s done is done.”
“At least tell me you’ve sanitized the kill zone.”
“That’s why I’m requesting a cleaner.”
“Well, if this were a sanctioned hit. . .”
“So, you’re not sending a crew.”
“Young warrior, you’d have a better chance with Tinder.”
“No, you come on,” the section chief’s voice reminded him of that actor James Earl Jones in a bad mood. “You’ve seem to have forgotten what it is we actually do here.”
Madu held his tongue, as his mentor, the Westcoast Director of the World Alliance to Create Harmony (WATCHERS), verbally chastised him. He checked his watch four times, as if that would miraculously speed up the process.
Bryant’s orders were clear, and to be followed to the letter. No deviation whatsoever, or it meant “remedial training,” a lethal form of discipline for the assassin-at-large.
See, he’d been graduated from apprenticeship to certified operator. Meaning, he usually had complete autonomy of his choice of targets. Just as long as it didn’t breach protocol, it was all good.
However, tonight was the first time is wasn’t all good. He had a gut feeling, a realistic suspicion on how things would turn out within the next 8 hours, regardless if he completed his newly assigned task or not.
Time wasn’t on his side
Theirs was a cold blooded business. Madu felt that the High Council’s hardcore beliefs would supersede even the most benevolent of field handlers. He never thought for one minute that Noah Bryant was that forgiving.
After all, rules were broken tonight. He doubt he’d ever be fully trusted again.
He had to move fast. His own life depended on it.
Begrudgingly, Madu nodded in agreement with his boss before disconnecting. Now why am I not surprised? He thought to himself while shaking his head. Bald head fucker.
“I’m really on my own with this one,” Madu sighed.
The lone Watcher had every intention of doing what Bryant told him to do. However, just as a precautionary measure, he added a few adjustments.
Well, not that little.
“Look, it’s late; so, whatever it is you’re selling, we’re not interested,” Her youthful brown face betrayed her actual age, as she opened the front door.
“Good evening, Mrs. Jackson,” Madu flashed an authentic looking badge. “I’m Detective William Graves. I have some unfortunate news about your husband, Gus.”
To be continued. . .
Based on the novel Rogue: The Watcher Chronicles by Marcus love, Real Bloods is a NEW multipart eSeries SOLELY FOR THE NEGROMANOSPHERE. A prequel to the birth of a professional assassin who switches up the rules of engagement of this deadly game.
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