The Assassin infiltrates a company’s headquarters with his cybernetic German Shepherd to eliminate a key executive and retrieve a critical data chip. During his mission, unexpected events force him to make a critical decision that could change his future.
The Assassin, cloaked in shadows, moves silently through the building’s service entrance, his cybernetic German Shepherd by his side. His dark attire blends into the night, only the occasional glint of his cybernetic arm visible under the streetlights.
He pauses, checking his mission brief one last time. The dossier shows a middle-aged man with sharp features and piercing dark eyes along with his background. His reputation for ruthless business deals nearly as infamous as his penchant for shady cybernetic enhancements. He’s a key player in underground operations, and his elimination will send shockwaves through the corporation.
For a moment, the Assassin’s mind drifts. Every mission, every kill, was a step further from the life he once knew, a life lost in the shadows of the city. He pushes the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.
The Handler’s voice crackles in his earpiece.
“Target: CyTech executive. Eliminate and retrieve data chip.”
The voice was as cold and precise as ever. There was something in the way she said it, though, a hint of satisfaction, as if this mission was more personal than the others.
He nods, more to himself than to the voice, and begins navigating through security. Precision. Stealth. Technology. His dog follows closely, ears pricked, eyes scanning.
Every mission is a piece of his past, a puzzle he can never quite solve. He remembers the cold nights on the streets, before he became a weapon. Each step he takes now iss a step away from the boy he once was
They pass through the first checkpoint. A guard stands idle, oblivious. The Assassin slips past, a shadow in the night. The corridors of CyTech Corp were a labyrinth of cold steel and humming electronics, each turn revealing a new challenge. There is a quiet tension inside.
He silently signals to his dog with a quick hand gesture. Alpha immediately understands, moving ahead to scout the path, a result of years spent working together. The dog pauses, ears pricking up at a faint sound, and looks back at the Assassin, who nods in silent approval
His cybernetic arm interfaces with the security terminal, bypassing alarms with ease. As he works, a sudden beep makes his heart skip a beat. He freezes, ready to retreat.
“Hold on, I’m on it,” the Handler’s voice crackles in his earpiece. Seconds later, she adds, “I’ve overridden it. False alarm. Keep moving.”
The sound fades, and he moves forward, but now every shadow feels more threatening.
The city outside continues its relentless hum, unaware of the silent invader within. The Assassin moves with purpose, each step calculated, each breath controlled. The dog mirrors his movements, a silent dance of man and machine.
A low hum of electronics fills the corridor. The Assassin’s eyes flicker over the security feed, noting patrol routes and potential obstacles. His mind races, considering all possibilities, all contingencies.
“Proceed to the executive’s office,” the Handler instructs.
Her voice is a lifeline in the sea of silence. He acknowledges with a brief click. No words needed. Efficiency. Professionalism.
The bond between the Assassin and his dog is palpable. A subtle nod, a slight gesture – communication honed by years of trust and survival. The dog moves ahead, scouting, sensing, protecting.
They encounter a guard. Quick, silent. The Assassin’s movements are a blur. A chokehold, a soft thud as the guard hits the ground. No alarms. No disturbances.
He presses on, the dog at his heel. The interplay of light and shadow in the corridor creates a surreal, almost dreamlike atmosphere. The Assassin’s focus sharpens. The mission is all that matters.
As they approach the next security barrier, the Assassin pauses. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of each mission pressing down on him. Every step brought him closer to the target.
The Handler’s lessons echo in his mind. Stay sharp. No mistakes. Trust no one. Everyone is expendable. He has lost count of how many times he has been forced to prove that, to leave bodies in his wake, each one a reminder of his own expendability.
The final checkpoint looms. He takes a deep breath, preparing for the last hurdle. The city’s neon lights cast eerie patterns on the walls, the rain’s rhythm a constant reminder of the world outside.
Just as he interfaces with the terminal, he hears footsteps approaching. He presses himself against the wall, holding his breath as two guards pass by, their conversation a murmur. He waits until their voices fade before continuing, the close call making his pulse quicken.
He interfaces with the terminal. The seconds stretch. Success. The door slides open silently.
They slip through, the Assassin’s heart pounding in sync with the city’s pulse. The office is near. The target is within reach.
He steadies himself, ready for the final act. The dog looks up, a brief moment of eye contact. Understanding. Trust.
Together, they move forward, shadows in the neon glow. The mission continues.
On high alert, he hears the faint click of a safety being disengaged. Spinning around just in time, he disarms a guard who slipped in behind him. With swift precision, he slams the guard’s head into the wall. The guard slumps to the ground, unconscious. The brief struggle leaves the Assassin more determined, his movements now sharper, more precise.
The executive’s office is a cavernous room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sprawling, neon-lit city. A large, polished desk cluttered with high-tech gadgets dominates the center, surrounded by sleek, expensive decor. To the left, a seating area with leather chairs, and to the right, a wall lined with bookshelves
The room is dimly lit, the glow from the city outside casting an eerie, ambient light that flickers and pulses. The Assassin’s silhouette moves stealthily against the backdrop of the shimmering cityscape, his form a shadow among shadows.
He approaches the desk, where the executive sits, oblivious to the impending danger. The executive’s fingers dance over a holographic interface, engrossed in his work. The Assassin draws his sword with silent precision, each movement deliberate and fluid.
But just as he prepares to strike, the unexpected happens. The door bursts open, and a flood of guards storms into the room guns trained on him. The Assassin’s muscles tense, eyes narrowing. He dives behind a large, ornate statue with his dog, using it as cover while bullets ricochet off the high-tech gadgets and expensive decor.
Gunfire erupts, and the dog barks, its cybernetic eye glinting in the dim light. The Assassin presses his back against the statue, taking a deep breath.
“I need some help here,” he mutters into his earpiece, the sound barely audible over the chaos.
“On it,” the Handler’s voice responds, calm and collected. Moments later, the room plunges into complete darkness, the lights cutting out abruptly.
“Thanks,” he whispers, glancing at his dog.
He taps his skull, and his vision shifts into a green-tinged clarity, shadows transforming into sharp outlines.
The first guard lunges. The Assassin sidesteps, slicing through the air with his sword, the blade singing as it cuts. Blood sprays against the neon-lit windows. The cybernetic dog springs into action, tackling another guard with mechanical precision.
Chaos erupts, gunfire continues, now aimless in the dark. The guards shout in confusion, their flashlights flickering as they try to locate their target. The Assassin moves like a wraith, his sword and pistol working in deadly harmony. He fires a shot, takes down a guard. Spins, slashes another. His movements form a deadly ballet.
He shoots out a guard’s knee, then slashes his throat as he falls. Another guard shoots wildly, but the Assassin ducks, driving his blade upward into the man’s chest. The dog snarls, metal jaws clamping down on another attacker’s arm, the sound of bones crunching audible even over the chaos.
“Targeting systems offline,” a guard shouts. “Switch to manual!”
The Assassin takes advantage of the disarray, weaving through the shadows. He fires his pistol, each shot precise and deadly. The guards fall one by one, unable to match his speed and precision in the darkness.
He uses the room to his advantage, maneuvering around statues, ducking behind furniture. A guard swings at him; he ducks, rolls, comes up firing. The guard falls, and the Assassin is already moving to the next target.
The dog takes down two guards at once, its jaws clamping down on one’s throat while its cybernetic limb crushes the other’s skull. Blood sprays into the air as the dog tears out the guard’s throat, his screams echoing through the chaos. The Assassin moves with deadly efficiency, every strike calculated, every shot precise.
More guards pour in, but they are no match for the Assassin’s expertise. Using the desk as cover, he creates confusion and exploits their weaknesses. The room, with its sleek decor and high-tech gadgets, becomes a battleground littered with the fallen.
The Assassin’s breath comes hard and fast, but his focus remains unbroken. He glances at his dog, a silent communication passing between them. Together, they continue the brutal dance, the floor slick with blood, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and sweat.
Finally, the last guard falls, and the room falls silent except for the heavy breathing of the Assassin and his dog. The executive, having watched the carnage unfold, is paralyzed with fear behind his desk. The Assassin pauses for a moment, catching his breath. The adrenaline begins to fade, leaving behind the familiar void. Every life taken, every mission completed, leaves a mark on his soul.
He steps over the bodies, moving towards the executive who is cowering behind the desk. The man’s eyes are wide with terror, the green glow of the Assassin’s night vision reflecting in them.
The Assassin approaches, his steps deliberate, his sword dripping with blood. He sheathes it and draws his pistol, leveling it at the executive.
“Please… don’t,” the executive stammers, his voice trembling. “I can pay you. Whatever you want.”
The Assassin’s eyes are cold, emotionless.
“This isn’t about money.”
The executive’s eyes dart around, searching for an escape, but there is none.
“Then what? What do you want?”
The Assassin’s voice is a low growl.
“You. Dead.”
The executive’s face contorts with fear and desperation.
“Wait! We can make a deal. I have information. Valuable information. About the Syndicate. About your missions.”
The Assassin hesitates, the gun steady in his hand.
“Talk.”
The executive swallows hard, sensing a sliver of hope.
“The Syndicate… they’re not who you think. They’ve been using you, manipulating you. There’s more at play here than you know.”
The Assassin’s eyes narrow.
“Keep talking.”
“There’s a file… in my safe. It has everything. Proof. You can take it. Just let me live.”
For a moment, the room is silent, the tension thick. The Assassin’s mind races, weighing the options, the risks. Then, without a word, he steps forward, keeping the gun trained on the executive.
He reaches into the safe, retrieves the file, and glances through it. The executive watches, hope flickering in his eyes.
The Assassin closes the file and looks at the executive.
“Your time is up.”
The executive’s eyes widen.
“No, wait—” The shot is swift, final.
The executive slumps over, lifeless. The Assassin takes a deep breath, holsters his pistol. He glances at his dog, who stands faithfully by his side, and they move to leave the office.
As they step out into the neon-lit corridor, the Handler’s voice crackles in his earpiece.
“Mission accomplished?” she asks, her tone probing, almost as if she was searching for a mistake, a flaw in his execution.
There was always a sense of detachment in her voice, but lately, it felt more calculating, more like she was weighing his usefulness against an unseen agenda.
“Yes,” the Assassin replies, his voice steady.
“And the file?” she asks.
He hesitates, then says,
“Secured.”
But he can sense her doubt, the unspoken questions hanging in the air.
“Good. Return to base.” she says, her voice colder, more distant, as if already planning her next move without him.
The Assassin nods, disconnects the call. He and his dog disappear into the shadows, the city’s hum a constant reminder of the endless cycle of violence and survival.
They move swiftly, navigating the labyrinthine halls with practiced ease. As they turn a corner, the Assassin hears a faint noise. A whisper of movement. He raises his pistol, motioning for his dog to stay back.
He approaches a door, slightly ajar, the sound coming from within. He pushes it open, revealing a small room cluttered with storage boxes and equipment. In the corner, huddled and trembling, is a young girl.
Her eyes are wide with fear, but there’s a spark of defiance. She can’t be more than ten years old, her clothes torn and dirty. The Assassin’s heart pounds as he raises his pistol, aiming at the girl. His finger tightens on the trigger. For a moment, he’s confused. Is she related to a guard? An unexpected complication?
The Handler’s voice crackles in his earpiece again.
“New orders from the top. There’s a girl. If you see her, kill her.”
The Assassin’s breath catches. He pauses, the girl staring at him, unblinking. A conflict of emotions rages within him. The mission. The girl.
The Handler presses,
“Did you hear me? If you see the girl, eliminate her.”
He takes a deep breath, his eyes locking with the girl’s.
“Understood,” he replies, louder this time, a hint of finality in his voice. He fires his pistol. The shot rings out, but deliberately misses, striking the wall just beside the girl’s head.
The girl flinches but doesn’t move, her wide eyes still fixed on him. He motions for her to leave, to run. She hesitates for a moment, then scrambles to her feet and darts past him, disappearing into the shadows.
He watches her go, a mix of relief and unease settling over him as he reholsters his pistol. The dog moves to his side, eyes questioning but loyal. Together, they slip back into the neon-lit night, the city’s hum a constant reminder of the life they lead.
As they make their way back, the Assassin’s mind races. The girl’s face haunts him. The choices he made, the lives he took, the one he spared. He knows there will be consequences, but for now, he has to focus.
They reach the edge of the city, where a plain building stands among the ruins of forgotten alleys. The Assassin pauses, looking back at the sprawling metropolis. The rain continues to fall, washing away the blood, but not the memories.
He enters the house, the dog at his heel. The room is dimly lit, cluttered with tech equipment and weapons. Shelves line the walls, filled with an assortment of gadgets, blueprints, and dismantled firearms. A workbench stands in one corner, covered in parts and tools. Screens displaying security feeds and city maps flicker with data.
He removes his cloak, feeling the weight of the night’s events pressing down on him.
The Handler’s voice cuts through the silence once more.
“Mission report.”
He takes a deep breath, preparing to relay the details. But his mind drifts back to the girl, her eyes wide with fear and defiance. He knows he can’t forget her, can’t erase the choice he made.
“The mission is complete,” he says, his voice steady but hollow. “I retrieved the file. The target is eliminated.”
“And the girl? Did you see her?” the Handler asks, her tone probing, suspicious.
The Assassin hesitates, choosing his words carefully.
“The girl… she’s been eliminated.”
Silence hangs in the air, the Handler weighing his words.
“Understood,” she finally says, her tone unreadable.
He disconnects the call, the room falling silent. He looks down at his dog, who watches him with unblinking loyalty.
“Another day,” he mutters.
He recalls the first time he met Alpha. The dog was a stray, injured, and left to die in the ruins of a forgotten alley. They had both been broken then, both searching for purpose. Now they’re a dynamic duo in the city.
He reaches into a cabinet, pouring Alpha a bowl of food. The dog eats with a quiet intensity, every movement precise and controlled.
The Assassin sinks into a worn leather chair, removing his shirt to reveal a torso crisscrossed with scars. The place where his metal arm connects to his flesh is a patchwork of synthetic and organic. He lights a cigarette, the tip glowing a soft red in the dim light, and takes a deep drag. Reaching for a bottle, he pours himself a drink, savoring the burn as it goes down. For a moment, he allows himself to relax, the smoke curling around him like a shroud.
He moves to a small corner of the room where a simple, functional bed awaits. The dog curls up at the foot of the cot, always vigilant. The Assassin removes the rest of his gear, placing his weapons within easy reach.
On the wall above his cot hangs a collection of old photographs and mementos, remnants of a past life. A faded picture of a family, a child’s drawing, a medal from an unrecognized war. They are his reminders, his silent witnesses.
As he closes his eyes, the city’s hum fades into the background, but the memories linger. The faces of the fallen, the girl he spared. He knows the cycle will continue, the missions, the violence. But for tonight, he allows himself a moment of reprieve.
Tomorrow, the fight begins anew.
Thank you for reading this story, I appreciate it. If you enjoyed it please head over to the link below to subscribe for updates on my writings. Stay tune for episode 2 of Cyborg Assassin. This is an ongoing series with episodes being posted either each week, or every other week (2 times a month/ once every 2 weeks)
