Oraj Assassin

May 2, 2012
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Blood drips down the barrel of the now steaming gun, sizzling in the torrential rain. Flesh still clinging to the forward sight slough's off and falls to the ground in little steaming heaps. He had done his job, the client would be pleased. Quickly he checks his dismal surroundings. Feeling confident that his job was done with the stealth and precision he needed, he holsters his gleaming revolver and picks up the spent .45 cartridge. He glances quickly around his saturated surroundings and swiftly takes off across the concrete jungle.

The assassination had taken place somewhere he had always dreaded, the slums of Oraj. Bleak, windowless buildings shoot hap-hazardly out of the overgrowth. No indication of any sort of organization. He wondered whether the city officials even cared which lowlife built what. He loathed Oraj, but he was not the only one. The sprawling primate city spanned hundreds of miles in every direction and supported over a billion people. Over half of these people were well below the poverty line with the other half being corrupt government officials, or underworld gang leaders. Sometimes even both. He sped up his pace and splashed through ankle deep puddles of inky black water. The little puddles contrasted the stone colored walls which gleamed like the back of an amphibian in the sun. Dying street lamps lead him through the clausterphobic labyrinth that is Oraj. He checks his watch to see that it is about two o'clock in the morning. The time didnt matter, the city was always dark regardless of the hour. He slows down when he sees the neon lights of a motel a hundred metres ahead of him. The sign hung precariously on a few strips of metal that strained under the weight. As he approaches the motel scouts the area to make sure he wasn't followed. Satisfied he reaches the motel and opens the door to the delapitated building. A wave of pungence spreads over him as he enters. The motel reeks of alcohol and rotting matter. He walks up to the desk and rings the bell. For several minutes he felt as if no one was going to come. He grew very, very, aggravated and his teeth clenched. After three minutes of waiting a man stumbled through the swinging door behind the desk. The man was utterly filthy and in serious need of hygenic care. The man wore a torn up undershirt which appeared to have been white when he bought it, but now appeared to have been subjected to incredibly cruel punishment. The portly man waddled up to the desk and stroked his chin.

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