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</div><br/><br/>A gloved hand thumbed briskly through a dossier marked with a broad red stamp that read,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)"><b>"Classified."</b></span>Inside was filled with a list of details their client had given to help locate their target.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Name: Adelaide M. Lebeau, Age: 20... Home of record: New Orleans."</span>Elle cited out loud to himself. There were two types of assassin's. Trained assassins & assassins that were still in training. He was the latter. After months of honing his hand-to-hand combat skills in the wilderness with a clan of self-taught hitmen- so to speak. Elliot Rebel Wilson had been assigned his first mission from a corporation called, "Freeman Enterprise".<br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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</div><br/>Snakes, birds, and even alligators scrambled to & fro out of the way of the purring white speedboat bobbing up and down the brackish water. Moss covered Cypress trees, jutting out of the marshland, whizzed by Elliot's amethyst hues as they flew by some craw fishermen, a few moonshine distilleries, and a couple of old wooden shacks. Twin smoke rings filled the air as glowing embers ebbed away at the husk of a Cuban cigar. It was held by the driver; a 2 ft tall monkey rocking only a bandolier, a maroon beret, black shades and a pair of forest green camo jeans complete with black combat boots.<br/><br/>One might've thought the warm muggy air was getting to Elle, but on the contrary...<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"To all of you friendly readers out there. This is not a hallucination. The monkey is real."</span>Spoke the young male to no one in particular.<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)">" Ai, yai, yai, ya remind me of your fa'tha."</span> </b>Elle's tiny comrade voiced sternly, shaking his head in disapproval as he took another drag of the cigar.<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Y'know Elliot."</span></b>His tone grew with concern,<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You should really get yer self checked out fer schizophrenia."<br/>
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</div></span></b><br/>Elle swatted at a pestering mosquito that buzzed incessantly in his ear as he groaned impatiently,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Hit-Monkey? How much longer til we make our arrival?"</span>Ashes fell from the tip of the cigar as a gray fog shot out of the macaque's nostrils.<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Yerr askin' too many questions, kid. Just sit tight, we'll get there soon enough." </span></b>And with that, the boat picked up the pace. Elle slouched back in his seat, pulled his shirt over face, and remained silent for the duration of the ride across the Mississippi River. He hated the stagnant smell of boiled, rotten eggs.<br/><br/>Parking the boat at the wharf, Hit Monkey the 3rd hobbled out onto the pier.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"This is our stop, kid. The Big Easy. Our target is not too far from here."</b></span>A long finger aimed at a metallic box behind Elle's seat.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"Grab yer gear and make sure that thing's screwed on nice &amp; tight."</b></span>HM3 grinned, revealing a single canine as his cigar wobbled on the corner of his lip. Elle did as instructed. Inside was a .45 acp, 1911 Dan Wesson, Discretion complete with a magazine packed with hollow points & a suppressor. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. After racking back the slider, chambering a round and switching on the<i>'safety';  </i>Elle holstered it at his waist. The foreign metal felt clunky as the apprentice strutted with a limp along the abandoned pier.<br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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</div>Soon they were in a seedy district near the French Quarter, surrounded by warehouses. Security was at a minimum.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Based on the intel our client provided this should be the place."</span>Broken neon lights flickered throughout Pirates Alley, a small pedestrian street that ran about 600 feet; and was adjacent to one of the city's largest churches. Entering a strip club, Elle & his acquaintance flashed their ID's as a woman groped his crotch to check for a weapon.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"That's all me baby &amp; yes, I am excited to see you. "</span>Elle smiled convincingly.<br/><br/>For some reason he was often able to charm others into believing him with relative ease. He chalked it up to his good looks as the woman frowned upon HM3's hairy visage. She didn't go anywhere near him.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)"> "Oh him?  He's..." </span>Elle lifted a hand and whispered,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"a premie."</span>His normal voice resumed as he continued,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"He was born that way. Sadly, coming to places like this is the only way Diddy Kong here will get his rocks off."</span>Reluctantly, Hit Monkey nodded in agreement as they moved past her.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Ok, according to the blueprint in the files, there's a hidden entrance right about...here."</span>An inconspicuous out of order pool table concealed a button beneath it. Pushing the button caused a wall behind them to shift to the side revealing a staircase linked to the lower level of the club. Cheerful laughter roared through the winding corridor as Elle brought the gun his chest. He poked his head out, from around the corner just far enough to see dice being rolled and cards hitting tables.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Some crimes never go out of style."</span></b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"> </span>Wheezed HM3. An illegal gambling ring was being ran underground throughout the catacombs of NOLA. Spotting his target, Elle raised his gun and aimed it at her. The veteran macaque was busy studying the patreons, taking account of their habits.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"Whoa kid, wassa matter with you? Put that thing down. Too many eyes. You want this to go off without a hitch, yeah? "</b></span>Elle nodded wordlessly, lowering the weapon.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"Then we gotta do this thing quietly."</b></span><br/><br/>Stalking their prey, the pair waited until she was alone with no more than at least 3 others to accompany her in a nearly darkened tunnel.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"On my signal. 3... 2... 1..."</b></span>HM3 ushered,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"Now kid."</b></span>The gun jiggled in Elle's hand as he steadied himself, disengaged the safety & squeezed the trigger. The bullet resounded loudly as it struck the ceiling causing a some debris to sprinkle on those below.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"Ah sh--, cheese it !! "</b></span>HM3 hauled ass as the assassination failed. It was not a user error, the silencer given to him by guy's at Freeman Enterprise had been designed to immediately fly off once the weapon was fired.<br/><br/>The gangsters armed to the teeth, turned & returned fire on Elle with submachine guns & assault rifles. Turning on a heel, he panicked & scurried, and zig-zagged as a few bullets grazed his arms, back, & legs forcing him to wince & yelp like a wounded puppy. Tripping over a water pipe, he tumbled face first and rolled onto his back. His right shin was on fire. Left alone with nowhere to go, Elle crab walked backwards until he was up against a stone wall.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)"><i>"Yup. That's me. You're probably wondering how I got into this mess."</i></span>He muttered to the audience,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)"><i>"It all started when a Russian man known as Clorox, I think, offered me the deal of a lifetime. I would've been given enough money to fund my mother's surgery. Looking back on it all..."</i></span>Elliot's monologue was interrupted as a smoking barrel was pressed to his skull. It was still hot & burned like hell.<br/><br/><b>"Who sent cha', kid?"</b>A brash man quizzed. Elle was under an extreme amount of pressure. He just knew he was going to die as a pair of glacier blue pools stared menacingly into the depth's of his soul.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Uhhh...uhhh..." </span>Was all that the young assassin could manage.<b>"I'm NOT gonna ask again."</b>Elle felt the barrel nudge his temple.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Ain't no place like home. Ain't no place like home."</span>Elle repeated frantically and as he clicked his heels three times something bizzare happened. His body faded into nothingness.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">'Am I...dead?'</span></i>He moved an invisible hand before his purple eyes. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">'Am I...No way?!?!?! The spell actually worked !! Thank yoouuuuu, Dorothy !'</span></i><b>"What the? Where'd he go?" </b><br/><br/>Footsteps pitter pattered back toward the underground casino as a New York ID dropped from his pocket. He had been fumbling around for an earpiece when it happened.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"Thank...goodness...you're...alright kid."</b></span>The reception was shit downstairs, but it gradually improved as he made it back to the strip club.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"No. Thanks to you."</span>Elle retorted.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"It's all water under the bridge, kid. Come on. I'm back at the dock. We gotta get back up state. Something new just came down the pipeline."</b></span>... Still traumatized, Elle tossed the 1911 into the Mississippi River as he boarded the speedboat that was loaned out to them, labeled<i>Weapon X</i>.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Fuck guns."</span>