"That's right, it's me."
Robert took off his mask and hood, revealing his face with a casual smile.
The girl across from him blinked. "It really is you!"
She pulled off her own mask, and Robert recognized her immediately—the violet bob-cut, the leather jacket, the unmistakable presence of someone far too young and far too dangerous. It was Mindy, also known as Hit-Girl.
"Where's your father?" Robert asked without thinking.
Her expression dimmed instantly.
"Big Daddy's gone," she said softly. "It was Frank Amick. He killed my mom years ago... Dad and I were trying to get him. But a week ago, we got ambushed. Dad covered me... and he didn't make it."
Robert said nothing. The silence was heavy. He'd suspected as much when he saw Mindy alone.
Mindy wiped her eyes. "I put out the contract myself. Used the network Big Daddy set up. The reward money came from all the cash we took from criminals. He told me I could use it if I needed help."
"Understood," Robert replied simply. "So, what's next? Another test?"
She shook her head. "No more tests. I saw what you can do. You're in."
Her tone hardened with resolve. "I want you to help me kill Frank Amick."
"Help? Not lead?"
"I might be a kid, but I'm not dead weight. Watch."
Mindy whipped out her pistol, aimed, and fired at a row of targets nearby. Every shot hit dead center. The weapon had been custom-modified for someone her size—low recoil, high precision. A perfect assassin's sidearm for a child soldier.
"Nice shooting," Robert admitted. "But what's the plan?"
Mindy beamed. "Simple. I pretend to be a lost kid, sneak in, take out the lobby guard. You follow behind. Then we make our way up and kill Amick together."
Robert raised an eyebrow. "Bold. But risky. Way too many variables."
"It's the only way in. The place is swarming with his men, plus cameras everywhere. Stealth isn't gonna cut it. We have to go in loud."
Robert grinned. "How about we go in louder, but smarter?"
He leaned in conspiratorially. "What if I told you I offer a premium package? Includes fireworks, humiliation, and one deluxe assassination?"
She narrowed her eyes, interested. "Go on."
At the top floor of a Bronx office building disguised as a furniture company, Frank Amick sat smugly behind his reinforced glass desk. His office was lined with armed guards, all loyal. A man reported in.
"No sign of the girl, sir, but there's chatter about a contract on the dark web. Most likely her."
Amick scoffed. "That brat? Without her dad, she's nothing. And that contract? Just another name on a long list of people who want me dead."
He stood and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the city. "Tell the guys downstairs to be on alert. Anyone suspicious, especially kids? Grab them. No questions."
"Yes, sir."
"And double the guards up here. No one's sneaking in."
He chuckled. "Unless they bring an army, no one's getting through this building."
Then, as he gazed through the glass, a bright reflection glinted off something in the distance. Amick squinted.
Across the street, on a nearby rooftop, stood two figures. One tall. One short.
The taller one was holding a long, intimidating sniper rifle.
"What the hell..."
Bang!
A sniper round slammed into the bulletproof glass. It didn't break through, but it stuck there, lodged perfectly against the pane.
Amick laughed. "Hah! Idiots. This glass can stop a rocket launcher!"
Bang!
Another shot struck. This time, it hit the same bullet, hammering it deeper.
Bang!
Again. Like a nail being driven in. The bullet pushed further and further.
"Get down!" someone shouted.
Amick stumbled backward, real fear now flashing across his face.
Then—BOOM!
The glass exploded inward as the bullet finally detonated, sending shards flying across the office.
Wind howled in through the broken window. And on the opposite rooftop, the figures raised a long banner.
"Come On, Let's Shoot At The Middle Door!"
Amick's face went red with rage. "You arrogant little shits! There's two of them, and a dozen of us! Light them up!"
Then he paused.
The small figure on the roof moved to a mounted cylindrical weapon.
"Wait, that's not a rifle," someone whispered.
No. It was a rocket launcher.
Mindy adjusted the tube, smiling wide.
Click.
"Boom."
----
Visit our Patreon for more:
patreon.com/Samurai492