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Fucked Up College Kids File 085
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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The Interview
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The elevator chimed telling her she had reached her
floor, and more importantly, her big interview. After two
years of reporting, she had apparently landed the big
interview that would get her the recognition she deserved.
She straightened her shirt, checked for her paper and made
sure her pen was still in her front pocket. No mistakes in
this interview.
Room 1620 was up ahead and to the right. Approaching,
she could see that the door was open, but no lights were on.
She slowed down a little and before reaching the door took a
quick look around. Nothing seemed strange or out of place so
she stepped up to the door and knocked lightly.
"It is open." came from within.
Her hands trembled a little as she pushed the door
open a little and peered into the room. The silhouhette of a
man stood poised against the far wall, looking out on the city
below. She closed the door behind her and took a tentative
step into the room. Not knowing what to do she stood there for
a minute trying to study the features of the man in front of
her.
Another second passed and he turned to face her.
Reaching out, he turned on the light hanging near him, and
pulled out a chair from the table underneath. He quietly sat
down and looked at the woman standing before him.
"Please have a seat so we may begin."
After a nervous sigh, she moved to the seat opposite
of the man and sat down. Pulling out her paper and pen she
tried to study his face but found it difficult. His
penetrating stare made her uneasy to say the least. She
flipped open the pad, and removed the cap to the pen as she
set her mind to the task ahead. This was her time.
"Lets get a few basic things out of the way before we
begin. Of course, you don't have to answer any questions if
you feel they are out of line. It isn't often your profession
is interviewed you know!"
She let out a nervous laugh trying to east the tension
she could feel. Apparently he wasn't nervous at all, but he
smiled at her remark. She used this time to get a better look
at some of his features. Seemed to be about six and half feet
tall, about two hundred pounds, well built, but otherwise
featureless. She couldn't really consider him handsome, but he
couldn't be considered ugly by any standards. Everything about
him seemed to set him as another face in the crowd. Black
button up shirt tucked into blue jeans. No distinguishing
marks, features, or anything else that would make him unique
from what she could tell.
"Lets see, the basics; name, age, where you live, and
official title."
"Wil Johnson, 27, Washington DC, and Assassin."
A look of doubt crossed her face upon hearing this.
Even though he had told her that over the phone, it seemed
more a ploy to get her here for another reason. No one in
their right mind would admit to such a thing. But what if he
wasn't in his right mind...
"Assassin you say. And who do you work for?"
"A number of agencies. Occasionaly an individual. It
is a case by case basis."
She jotted a few notes down before looking back up. At
this point, she didn't know where to begin. Hell, she didn't
even know whether or not to believe him. Guess we'll have to
take it one question at a time.
"Hmm. Agencies. Would you care to elaborate on that?
It sound as if you are suggesting you work for the government
or something!"
She let out another brief laugh and quickly quieted
down when she saw he didn't think it was funny.
"Of course it is the goverment. Who do you think gives
the orders for over 70% of the assassinations in the world? I
have been hired by the CIA, NSA, and occasionly the FBI
because their snipers can't shoot worth a damn."
Disbelief registered on her face and it was quite
apparent to the man before her. For him to suggest such a
thing, and maintain that face, she didn't know what to
believe. Certainly the U.S. Government couldn't do such a
thing and as often as he said.
"Can you prove any of this? Some documents? Witnesses?"
A sly grin stole over his face as if he were expecting
this question.
"Of course. Here are the orders for my first
assignment. I was to eliminate a general in Phoenix who had been
stealing classified documents from a military base. The nature
of the papers demanded that he be dealt with quickly and
quietly. He planned to take these documents to the press for
general publishing."
He reached inside his shirt and withdrew a folded
piece of paper. Across the top of the paper stood the
letterhead for the Pentagon. She quickly read through the
letter and gasped as she finished. Even after reading the
document she couldn't believe what she had read.
"You said this was your first assignment? How many
have you had? I guess I am asking, how many people have you
k...killed?"
Fear ran through her knowing that she sat just a
couple of feet away from someone that had killed several times
and obviously had no problem with it. She tried to calm down a
little before listening and jotting some more notes.
"I have been asked to do 103 jobs by the government.
That is where most of my work comes from. Of those, I have 102
confirmed kills. I will complete my 103rd three days from now."
Will repositioned himself in the chair and leaned back
a little, as if he was relaxing, but nothing on his face
showed he was relaxed. That was part of his job.
"102? There is no way. Someone would have noticed all
these and linked them together. The police would be onto you
or someone for those!"
There was just no way he could have done it. He was
lying to her for some reason that she couldn't figure out.
Certainly if the government had him kill that many, he himself
was a liability and could not live. CIA? They were chartered
for world wide affairs, certainly they wouldn't do business
with a sniper. And the FBI? Domestic affairs. That meant that
they had hired him to kill mostly Americans. And the NSA?
Weren't they the people that monitored communications between
countries and here inside the U.S? What would they be doing
hiring this guy! It just didn't make sense!
"No. Evidence from these cases are almost always
tampered with. They know that I will get the job done on the
first try, and they need me. They will help me in any way I
need. Everything from money, to destroying evidence, to
providing alibis. Basically, I can prove that I wasn't there,
and that I didn't do it. Works out nicely that way. That is
one way I can sit here and tell you about all of this without
having to kill you."
Her eyes went wide upon hearing this, and realization
hit her that he was right. She may have heard enough to
warrant her own death. Needless to say, she was quite nervous
at this.
"So then, why are you telling me this? Some sick game?
You tell someone and then kill them too? If this hits the
press, you are guaranteed to be dead!"
He thought about that statement for a second before
replying.
"No. You are the first I have told. And I only kill
people that have a contract on them. I came to you today
because the government has done this for years. Probably as
long as you and I have been alive. They will continue to do
this, and continue to get away with it regardless of who knows
about it. I figure that since they will continue to do it, the
public should be aware of 'big brother' and what he has been
doing. And even if they know I spoke, they can't afford to
kill me. Most of the agencies know I have detailed reports of
every job, and more than enough evidence linking them so that
they have to keep me around. If I should not check in with
certain friends across the seas, that evidence gets released."
"That makes sense. It is hard to believe that you are
that well protected though, seems they could do something to
get rid of you. And besides, you keep referring to them
needing you. Aren't there others like you?"
The expression on his face turned to a smug smile as
he sat up. Clasping his hands in front of him on the table he
continued.
"There are others, but they will only use me. I am the
best there is."
"Seems you have an ego Mr Johnson."
"It isn't ego when you ARE that good."
"I see. Lets get back to some more details about other
assignments or whatever you want to call them."
She turned the page of her notepad so that she could jot down
a few more notes. As she did this Will leaned back in his chair again
getting a little more comfortable. Without warning, a crack split
the silence of the room. Eyes wide, the reporter looked up quickly, and
slumped down on the table. Blood flowed freely out of her back from a
bullet wound.
Seconds after she hit the table there was a knock at the door.
Standing up, Will straightened his shirt, put the gun up that he had drawn
from instinct, and spoke.
"It is open."
The door opened slowly as a figure entered hesitantly. Looking
near the window he noticed the body of the woman and the blood flowing
down her back and onto the carpet. The gentleman closed the door and
took another step into the room.
"I hope this doesn't become habit Mr Johnson. Everything you
said about needing you was true, so lets keep things professional
between you and our agency. No use in alarming the public about our
activities."
"Ok. I had to try though. We both know you can't do this forever."
"I think we can."
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, etc etc... =
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