draft of Broken World...

-Chapter One-



         “Come on, Eli...” he heard through his headset, “our window of opportunity isn't that great here. You've gotta get out of there!”

         As he fled down the hall towards his exit, the young man- no older than his late twenties- turned the corner to a packed lobby. “Shit!” he thought aloud.

         “What's wro-”

         “No time,” he replied, cutting off his partner mid-sentence, “how long before the backup generators re-arm the alarm system?”

         “Under two minutes.”

         He ducked back around the corner, and quickly glanced around for his options. Dropping to his knees he slid underneath a small table, and pulled a knife from one of the many pockets on his cargo pants. Eli shot a quick glance back towards the hall leading into the lobby, then shoved the blade between the metal vent cover and the wall, prying the grate free.

         Moments later as he squeezed into the narrow shaft, and slid the ventilation grate back into place, the lights from the hallway flickered.

         “Power's been restored, man... I see lights, and the lifts in the lobby are coming back on-line. You've only got a few seconds before that alarm sounds. Where you at?!”

         “I'm...” his voice cut off by the ear-splitting screech of the alarm system.

         Across the street from the building, in another structure currently under construction, Roland “Deuce” Greaves snatched his headset off as the siren echoed through his ear-piece, and slammed it to the ground. “Dammit!” Snatching up the small binoculars from the dusty floor, he scanned back and forth, checking for any place where his partner could emerge from the building. “Where'd you go, man?”

         Scuttling through the tight ventilation duct, Eli quickly made his way up to the roof, kicking out the grate as he came to the building's central air conditioner. As he slipped down from the vent to the steel framework below, he looked down through the building's glass-paned roof. “Shit... Deuce- you still there, brother?” Making his way across the steel beam, he glanced over at the building where his partner was stationed. He continued across the rooftop beam, picking up his pace until he was at a full sprint, at which point he leapt across the alley to the fire-escape of the adjacent building.

         He continued up the ladder, then scurried across the rooftop of this building to a steel cable that had been strung up between his building and the one directly across the street. “Never fails to have a plan B...” he thought to himself, as he clipped onto the zip-line, and dove from the ledge before whizzing across the busy street far below.

         Roland finally scooped up the headset and called to his partner, “Where are you, you crazy son-of-a-bitch?!”

         “Is that really necessary?” he heard from behind, as he instinctively reached for his pistol and turned around to face his young partner.

         “Dammit Eli, you sneaky bastard... you'd make a ghost nervous! We gotta run man, cops'll be here any minute now.” Eli turned back towards the opposite side of the building, as Roland snatched up his black duffel bag, and trotted along behind trying to catch up.

         Stepping out to the ledge of the building, Eli grabbed hold of the side rails of the ladder hanging from the concrete wall, and quickly slid down the side of the building until his feet touched down on the asphalt of the parking lot below. By the time Roland caught up to him, Eli was already waiting on his motorcycle. “Getting slow in your old age, huh?” he teased with a chuckle.

         “Screw you Eli,” Roland retorted as he jumped onto his bike, and the two rocketed off towards the sun setting on the horizon.





         “I take it all went according to plan?” The raspy voice echoed in the corridor, as Eli and Deuce trailed behind.

         “Well... not exact-”

         “Yes Mister Banecrist,” Deuce interrupted, cutting his eyes at his young partner. “We've acquired the documents you requested.”

         “Very well, Mister Greaves,” the older man replied as he entered a large office, and made his way to a small wet bar in the corner. “Please gentlemen, join me for a drink?”

         “No thank you,” Deuce answered, “I don't drink.”

         As Morgan Banecrist poured himself a small glass of scotch whiskey, he turned back to the two, “Don't drink, eh? I knew another shooter once who wouldn't drink... said it made his hands shake- which in your business is a bit of an impediment, no?”

         Deuce shrugged, “I suppose so. I'm actually a recovering alcoholic. Been sober for the last three years.”

         “I'm not,” Eli chimed in, “I'll take his share if you don't mind.”

         The old man chuckled, as he poured another drink. “Are we not all recovering from something, Mister Greaves?”

         Banecrist handed the drink to Eli as he moved around the corner of the large desk, and dropped down into the plush leather chair. Eli followed his lead and moved towards the desk, taking a seat directly across from the crime lord. Deuce dropped a large envelope on the desk and slid it across to Banecrist before taking his place beside his partner.

         “Thank you, gentlemen. Don't suppose you'd be interested in another job, eh?”

         Eli spoke up first, “Could always use the money...”

         “What kind of job?” Deuce asked.

         The old man spun around slowly in his chair, and gazed out the large windows to the city below.  “I need a mark taken down.”

         Eli took a sip from his glass, turned to his partner. “That's your area of expertise.”

         “It will take both of you.” Banecrist interjected. “I've got others I could hire if it was as simple as an assassination.”

         “Who's the target?” Deuce replied.

         “Faust.”

         “Shit...” Eli thought aloud.

         Banecrist turned back towards the two men. “Lucius Faust.”

         Deuce glanced over to his partner, his own worries reflected in Eli's face. “The chancellor?”