Agent 5474

The blood dripped from her fingertips she never expected her powers to be this strong. Everywhere she looked her mind flashed back to the events. Finding the den, slipping inside unnoticed, nails tearing at her skin as she sliced throat, warm blood spraying, then silence.

Her polished boots were soaked with blood, and they squelched when she walked through the red puddles. She placed a gloved hand on the door knob glancing back at the destruction one more time. She felt like a tiny part of her had died along side them, but they needed to be exterminated.

She flipped open her cellphone as she slipped down the fire escape.

“Agent 5474 reporting. Hostiles eliminated. Returning to base.” She hopped the last section of the ladder and landed neatly on the street. She walked calmly to the street, her black clothes hiding most of the blood. She wiped her face with her sleeve and put on a pair of extra large sunglasses. A baseball hat hid her hair.

She hailed a taxi as she pulled on a red sweater from her go bag. The cabby didn’t need to know it was also full of guns. She smiled politely and slid into the back. She gave him directions to where she needed to go. She walked the few blocks left to headquarters.

“Why red?” Her assistant, asked he had too heavy of an accent to do field work. She arched an eyebrow at him. “I mean why do you always wear red after a successful mission.”

She shrugged, she had plenty of reasons for wearing her sweater after a mission, just like she had reasons why she brought guns. “Backup plan.”

“I don’t understand.” He shook his head, and let it go. The whole organization had an understanding, let field agents do as they needed to as long as they got the job done. “The Commander is waiting for you.”

She nodded and headed up several flights of stairs to the penthouse floor.  She pushed open the huge doors and stepped into the well furnished office.

“You’ve got quite the nickname.” The commander said looking over her files.

“I am aware sir.”

“We will have to see if Silent Death can take these out.” He offered her a stack of files. “All our info on your next target.” the

She took it and walked to her living quarters. She showered and changed into civilian clothes. She would be out on her next mission tomorrow.

She left at noon dressed in fresh black clothes, her go bag full of guns slung over her shoulders. It had everything she might need, but she hadn’t needed any of it yet. She went to the address of the den. It was a nondescript house it looked like all the others on the street.

She slipped into the backyard and threw a window into the house. She knew exactly where they would be this time of day and descended the stairs to the basement. Sure enough they were all there, sleeping in piles on bones and corpses. She had seen it enough that she didn’t gag anymore. The smell of the whole place was revolting.

She slipped her dagger from her sleeve into her hand. The first two went down without a sound. The others in the room did not know that death would soon be upon them, but they would smell the blood soon enough. Warm blood dripped from her blade, her hand soaked with it. Another went down without a fight. Thy were waking up. She would have to be fast. She willed her powers forward.

There was a sharp hiss as she sliced though two at once. Her sliver blade holding onto the blood. There were still a substantial number left. Faster, she urged herself. The next one went down with a gurgle her left hand holding onto its trachea as the body fell away.

The blood coated the floor, her arms, her face. A shower of blood got the rest of her when she spun to take out one that had just waken up before it could sound the alarm. The pile of bodies was substantial, every movement she made dispatched more of the monsters.

The room smelled of death. She walked up the steps and out into the sunlight. She wiped her face with her sleeve and pulled on her red sweater. No alarms had been raised, any other dens in the area would not be alerted to their raid. She called and reported her success. Silent Death had struck again.


Published by


Writing short stories and flash pieces.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s