Riley strolled through the streets of Spokane, Washington, acting as casual as could be. On his back he toted his long and slim black case, in which he carried his high powered weaponry. The thing was inconspicuous enough that it didn’t draw too much attention, but if he did get asked about it, he would answer simply “My trombone.” That satisfied most of his questioners.
When it didn’t, he responded by flipping open his CIA badge and flashing it at them, they would back off, and he’d continue.
Rubbing his left eye and simultaneously activating the bionics in his right, Riley identified the target who sat no more than another minute walk away.
Adrian Faster. Classified in the CIA’s Blacklist, he was originally placed for running several businesses in the Black Market, but raised higher on the list for several recently discovered accounts of first degree murder and interactions with and communications with Western US gangs.
Pretending to cough, Riley hacked into the top of his hand, saying underneath the hem, “Target sighted.”
Captain Gray’s voice responded, “Understood, Proceed however you see fit.”
Flexing his synthetic arm’s fingers, Riley briskly approached the mobster, but his eye scanned surrounding faces, ran recognition, and tagged four bystanders around Adrian, the tags all showed some connection to Faster, causing Riley to slow his pace.
A plan started to form in his mind,
Can’t assault Adrian directly, I’ll have to snuff him out, make him make a move at me. The four seeming innocent bystanders around him are probably here to protect, I’ll have to take them down first.
Nodding to himself, Riley reached inside his coat and grasped his combat knife’s hilt. Now within a few steps of the his target, the CIA grabbed one of the metal chairs from another table and, using his synthetic arm, hurled it at the nearest guard. The furniture clanged against the escort’s face and sent him flying backwards.
The other three bodyguards reacted almost immediately, one pulling a gun on him, while the other two advanced with brass knuckles now on one of their hands each. Pulling the knife from his pocket, Riley hurled it at the gun toting guard, and it sunk into the man’s right shoulder. Bystanders screamed and blood spilled from the wound as he dropped the weapon onto the concrete, clutching the blade’s hilt.
Turning to the two advancing escorts, Riley kicked the table Adrian sat at, sending the target and the table tumbling into one of the two guards, knocking them over. The final guard advanced, making a jab at the Operative’s face, but Riley dodged, locking his arm under the guard’s. Pulling down, he heard bones crack, and the escort screamed in pain. Riley let his arm down, then slammed his right fist into the man’s nose, feeling the bone contort and snap underneath the blow. The guard did a full one eighty in mid-air and landed on the back of his head, blood splattering the pavement.
Turning back to Adrian, Riley’s right forearm opened up, revealing his only sidearm, a IMI Desert Eagle. In two pieces, he quickly reassembled it, loading a magazine into the grip. He quickly executed the bleeding guard, who had managed to rip the knife from his skin, and proceeded toward his target.
The last guard tried to rise, but the Dead Man Walking slammed the butt of his weapon into his forehead, and he crumpled like tin foil. So nonchalantly you could have guessed it was second nature, Riley held the barrel to Adrian’s head and quickly pulled the trigger, and the man went stiff and laid still.
Riley pulled his right hand to his mouth again, “Target Eliminated, you may proceed with cleanup…”
“Affirmative, you may RTB.”
By then everybody had fled the scene, so none had seen Riley’s bionic features, so he was in no danger of having been witnessed, he casually disassembled the Deagle and slipped it back into his forearm, swiftly leaving the scene.