Chapter 1- Terror Stadium
Great gasps of thick black smoke hissed out of the stadium as a huge torrent of flames soared across the field. Seven thousand spectators screamed in horror and could only watch as the sportsmen were getting burnt alive.
Three mines had erupted across the spectator’s benches, taking dozens upon dozens of innocent lives in a matter of seconds.
…“Location- Australia. Targets- Humble, Good, Rats, Redden, Evans. Period- Maximum; two weeks“…
There was one man inside the complex that didn’t have the look of utter despair. He could almost smell the burning flesh from the player’s dead bodies.
His name was Malcolm Humble. He looked out and smiled at the multiple exits, all of them were blocked, and there was no way of escape from his reign of terror.
…“He‘s a terrorist, religion and beliefs unknown, who‘s worked against many governments for several years. He works in the field, killing mass amounts of innocent people to make a name for himself“…
Malcolm moved casually towards the benches, scanning every single person he passed. He made his way to the bottom of the steps carrying a black leather briefcase. Malcolm stroked his long, black beard as he looked down. Beside his feet was a young man falling in and out of consciousness. He had been shot in the shoulder, and had taken a serious strike to the head. Malcolm recalled the scene well. He was the one who pulled the trigger. The young man foolishly announced himself as an assassin. Malcolm wouldn’t have been worried, but the assassin’s striking hazel eyes had the rare look of pure determination. Malcolm’s assistant struck the young killer from behind, and Malcolm shot him just as the flames started to pick up from the highly flammable oil surrounding the oval.
Light ticking sounds caught the assassin’s attention, and for a moment his vision came to and he managed to take one last glimpse at Malcolm, who placed a small black, object under a bench a few rows in front of him. He could see a digital clock on the front count down.
The dark red digits read 00:45...
00:44...
00:43...
Then the assassin slipped back into unconsciousness. The terrorist walked away from the assassin’s limp body and reached for a thin, white detonator. His thumb moved over to a small grey button. Malcolm took a deep breath, savouring the moment for his triumph. Seven seconds later a garbage bin exploded, a great force field of fire and debris rushed forward. Benches blew apart, crowds near the exits were disintegrated, and Avanti stadium was filled with blood, ash and tears.
‘Now for the final strike…’ Malcolm muttered to himself.
The terrorist moved back to the fence of the burning oval and dialled a number on his mobile phone as he ran.
‘Emit the gas!’ Malcolm yelled
Several weeks ago Malcolm sent a team of specialists to build gas pipes underneath the stadium. The terrorist looked up to see two large doors come together at the top of Avanti stadium, trapping everyone that was still alive inside the complex.
Malcolm smiled as he spotted the distinct change in the air as the gas blew out of the hollow goal posts. He knew it would take at least a minute for the gas to reach the flames.
And then…
Chaos!
The last drops of rain poured down onto the assassin’s face, for a moment his eyelids flickered, then he cried out in pain, cradling the bullet wound in his chest. People were screaming and crying, the assassin looked up to see what the commotion was about.
Then he swore.
Pouring out of the goal posts was a great gallop of gas. He knew he had seconds to get out. He looked across to see a large metallic blockade, making the nearest exit inescapable for the terrified spectators inside. The assassin cringed in pain as he picked himself up. It was then that he remembered the small black object in front of him. He looked down to see a small mine, the ticking seemed to have gotten louder.
00:10...
00:09...
00:08...
The assassin’s heart leapt.
Eight seconds!
He lunged for the small mine and picked it up.
00:07...
00:06...
00:05...
His stomach felt sick as he limped towards the nearest exit, but he was still at least ten metres away. A dozen spectators smashed the side of their fists against the blockade.
‘Step Back!’ The assassin managed
00:04...
00:03...
00:02...
It was no use, the struggling crowd never had a chance of hearing the assassin’s cries. He didn’t have time to think. His survivor’s instincts left him with only one option. He threw the mine with all his strength at the metallic blockade.
00:01...
00:00...
Suddenly the metallic blockade was forced out by a rush of fire and debris. The dozen spectators were caught in the blast, but hundreds more saw the new found exit and rushed for it at an exhilarating pace.
Malcolm opened his eyes and turned to the blast, he watched in agony as the spectators rushed through the escape route.
‘No!’ Malcolm yelled
For a moment the terrorist stood there, watching in horror as the spectators left the area; his face went red in anger. Then he pulled the peak of his cap down and followed the spectators out of Avanti Stadium.
The assassin groaned in pain and exhaustion as he sprinted through the exit, passing the arriving police and ambulance. And then he heard the loudest noise he had ever heard in his life.
And he was dead.
The assassin’s body was thrown several metres across the parking lot as the entire stadium burst! The great concrete walls cracked and shot off in different directions. A mixture of rubble and debris flew everywhere. For a moment everything was red. The flames were everlasting… The screams were ongoing… So much death…
A great crackle of fire surged through the area from the chaotic explosion.
Thick pieces of hot concrete burnt the ground, inches from the assassin’s body. Then he slowly lifted himself back up, the pain was still there, but he was still ready to finish his job. He turned around and ignored the sight of the destructed stadium, because something else had caught his attention. He watched as his first target turned left and ran down a small hall. The assassin rushed out, sprinting straight ahead, checking every man he could see. His hand covered his gun shot wound as he walked passed a group of police officers. He looked down a second later to see his hand soaking in blood.
Malcolm turned the same time as the assassin looked out into the halls. The terrorist froze in horror as the assassin’s hazel eyes stared at him through the darkness.
Adrenaline fuelled the assassin’s body, and for a moment he forgot about his wound and ran.
Malcolm sprinted ahead and turned a sharp corner with efficient agility. The assassin was hot on his heels, puffing violently through the damp and smoky air. He turned right and saw his target staring back at him, standing beside the corner.
‘Stop right there’ Malcolm spat, pointing his silenced MK. 23 at the assassin’s head.
The assassin gripped his berretta 92 FS tightly, but he wasn’t quick enough to aim it back at Malcolm.
‘Drop your weapon’ The terrorist ordered.
The assassin dropped his berretta on the concrete footpath. It was the sound he feared most, the sound of defeat.
‘You’re loosing blood, Soon your face will turn completely pale, you’ll feel weak, drained… and then you’ll really know how it feels when you’re about to die. You’re not going to survive this. And you know that.‘ Malcolm paused, ‘Kick your weapon to me’
…“This man has killed more people than you ever will, so watch your back.”…
The assassin‘s vision started to blur. He could barely make out Malcolm’s figure as he kicked the weapon towards the terrorist. But he raised his leg high enough to take out a blade from his shoe. With stunning speed the assassin threw the blade across the air, hitting Malcolm in the stomach.
Malcolm choked in surprise, seconds later his body dropped in a heap onto the ground.
The assassin reached for his other weapon, he staggered back, and more blood began to drip down his clothes. The next time the assassin looked up, Malcolm was gone.
He could hear the terrorist climbing a row of steps.
The assassin swore and followed Malcolm.
They caught up in a matter of seconds. Malcolm turned and aimed his silenced Magnum. The assassin fired first, hitting the terrorist in the hand, the gun went flying.
‘Tick tock killer!’ Malcolm spat, ‘You need a hospital, you’re going to die in a matter of minutes.’
With his last breath Malcolm surged towards the assassin and yelled, ‘Officers! Help!’
Three policemen turned their heads to see the assassin fire his gun; the bullet whipped through the air and hit Malcolm in the head.
‘Freeze!’ The police yelled
The assassin jumped from the balcony and landed in a crouch. He limped forward; bullets flew in a wave of directions behind him.
He made it to his BMW, threes seconds later the engine roared to life and the car sped down the road. The assassin’s vision began to blur drastically.
…“The BMW M3 coupe, sprints at 100km per hour in just 5.2 seconds“…
‘Help me Martin…’ He muttered
A moment later his instincts told him to look up. A giant dark shadow was chasing him, at least fifty metres above him.
The assassin looked back, five police cars were right behind him, lights flashing, sirens screaming in the distance. His right hand gripped the wheel as tight as it could; his left was keeping pressure on his wound. Then suddenly a police car bashed into the side of the BMW. At that same second a multitude of bullets hammered out of a turret, hundreds of bullets hit the police car, shredding it to nothing but a mixture of crumpled metal and glass. The assassin knew all too well that those bullets were meant for him…
I need to find a tunnel…
The next time he looked into his rear-view mirror, he knew where the bullets had come from. Gliding above him was a blackbird, one of the most powerful and well known combat jets in history. And it was attacking him!
Whether or not it was just a hallucination, the assassin couldn’t be sure. But still his heart raced as he hit the breaks and watched the blackbird soar several metres past him, the police cars also past him by surprise. By the time they reacted and hit the brakes, the assassin turned off his headlights and ran off the road, straight into a store! Glass littered to the ground as the BMW smashed through the front window of a boutique shop, racing straight through the building. He swerved across a small road, and then entered another shop where glass continued to shatter loosely to the ground.
…“ You will receive a total of five hundred and sixty thousand dollars”
The assassin made it to the tunnel and accelerated, because he knew in seconds he was about to fall back into unconsciousness.
Two minutes later the assassin sped towards a small brick house. He hit the brakes a second before it crashed through the garage.
‘Martin!’ The assassin cried, pulling himself out of the car.
‘MARTIN!’ He yelled again.
For a second he felt dizzy, he took a last look at the mass of blood running down his clothes. Then he fell forward and everything turned to total darkness.
He was centimetres from the ground when two firm hands caught him. The assassin looked up to see a middle aged man. His face was wrinkled, his straight teeth smiled out at him and his spiky hair was jelled at the front. The man’s blue eyes twinkled behind his pink rimmed glasses.
‘I’ve got you’ Martin said ‘I’ve got you…’
The assassin smiled and fell into a deep dream.
…Now I’d like you to turn back to your notes on parabolic nomograms, can anybody tell me what a nomogram is?’
Mr Stollery looked around his class, each and every student looked bored to death, but at least they all were paying attention.
‘Max! Tell me everything you know about parabolic nomograms.’ Mr Stollery said aloud.
Max was a very muscular teenager, with long blonde hair and hazel eyes.
‘A nomogram is a parallel line’ Max answered.
Mr Stollery raised an eyebrow, ‘Well that’s an improvement Max but still not quite correct’
The teacher then noticed one young boy reading a short paper book, full of action.
He had a rather round face, brown hair, crooked teeth and protruding ears that stuck out a little too far. His maths books were stuffed at the bottom of his bag. The boy took out a bottle of water and poured a glass at his table. It was one of Mr Stollery’s rules to pour drinks in a plain see through glass so he could make sure the students were only drinking water.
Mr Stollery frowned at the young boy and yelled out to him, ‘How about you Jason, can you tell me what a nomogram is? Or do I have to give you a detention?’
Jason hardly looked up, he just stared at the glass of water at the front of his table, ‘A nomogram is a group of scaled lines, often parallel, used to perform a calculation’
Mr Stollery’s jaw dropped, ‘Correct!’
The teacher turned to the white board and began to draw a detailed diagram.
Suddenly a small rock went flying through the air, Jason turned around just in time and caught it with stunning reflexes. The boy with long blonde hair groaned, he had great accuracy and wasn’t used to missing his target.
Jason smiled at the answer sheet placed carefully between the pages of his novel. He turned the over the yellowed page and continued reading.
Jason was in year nine, which was usual for a boy at fifteen. When the bell rang he immediately dumped his books into his bag and raced out of the classroom, he was up to his last and most favourite lesson, Drama. Today a new teacher was taking the lesson, and Jason was interested to meet him.
As Jason walked across the school grounds towards the drama room, Max followed him and yelled out his name. Max had been suspended seven times for various harassment issues this year. Physical harassment issues. But he didn’t really care about the suspensions, to him it was just a couple of days off school.
He was now only a metre away from Jason when he lunged at him. Jason felt Max grap the handle of his bag and pull him down, but a split second before Jason slid his arms out of the straps, Max staggered backwards from such a light amount of weight and toppled over after Jason kicked the middle of the backpack. Max collapsed into a murky puddle and groaned. Jason’s heart thumped and he sprinted out of the area, forgetting about his bag. Max picked himself up and gave chase, bashing into several older students as he passed. But Jason already had a strong lead and made it to the drama room in under a minute.
He took a seat at the front and watched as the new teacher began to walk in.
‘My name is Mr Gardener’ The teacher yelled before he even entered the room. ‘But I’d rather you all call me Jeremy’
Jason now took a good look at his new teacher. Jeremy was short and slim, with short fair hair and brown eyes.
He looked over to Jason and held out his hand, ‘You must be Jason Joel, you were away from my first class yesterday weren’t you?’
Jason nodded, shaking the man’s hand.
‘Well it’s very nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you, where were you yesterday?’ Jeremy asked.
All of the students suddenly looked up. Jason was away a lot from school. Whenever someone asked him where he was, he told them it was none of their business.
‘I was sick’ Jason said, looking down
‘Are you lying Jason?’ Jeremy asked with a smirk
‘No, I’m not’ Jason snapped
Jeremy tilted his head back and laughed, ‘Double negative means you’re lying young man, but that’s ok, where you really were isn’t any of my business. I really do think teachers are too nosey these days…’
Jason smiled, he liked this teacher already.
… ‘But I do need to know why you haven’t brought your bag to my class.’
‘Sorry Mr Gardener-’
‘Jeremy’
‘Sorry Jeremy, I lost it this morning’
Jeremy nodded slowly and stared at the boy for a few seconds before he turned to the rest of the class.
‘Now today’ Jeremy announced, ‘We will be learn-..’
Suddenly the phone in his office began to ring.
‘Excuse me’ Jeremy said, looking slightly embarrassed as he left the classroom, shutting the door behind him.
Jason took the opportunity to run into the small performing area and grabbed the other phone on the same line. Jason pressed the receiver to his ear and listened in to his new teacher’s conversation.
‘Hello?’ Jeremy answered
‘Good evening Mr… Gardener is it?’, A voice from the other end laughed, ‘And how is our second day at school going?’
Jeremy swallowed, ‘Good th-thank you’ He stuttered
‘You sound surprised!’ The voice replied, ‘Or would scared be a slightly better word to use?’
Jeremy paused, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
‘We’ve found you Mr Gardener. It’s over my friend. Your people couldn’t hide you from me forever, you knew that. I just hope when the time comes, the children won’t get in the way.’
‘Bastard!’ Jeremy snapped, ‘Leave me alone’
‘Give me the tape and I may just think about it’ The gruff voice replied.
‘You know I smashed that tape as soon as I got hold of it’ Jeremy replied
‘Yes, that’s why I have to kill you.’
Jason gasped. Jeremy disconnected the call.
Jason ran back to his seat seconds before Jeremy came back into the classroom, looking slightly dishevelled.
The rest of the lesson was spent looking over and answering the medieval theatre worksheets. Jason tried to process what he just heard. He continually looked up at Jeremy every few minutes, trying to work out why somebody would want to kill this teacher. Perhaps it was just a prank?
The bell rang at twenty five past three.
Jason picked up his equipment and walked out of the room, receiving a homework sheet from Jeremy on the way out.
‘Jason’ Jeremy began, grabbing the student by the arm, ‘Can we talk for a second?’
Jason nodded, ‘All right’
When all of the students left the room Jeremy sat down and said, ‘I couldn’t help noticing that you were staring at me for most of the lesson. Was there something you wanted?’
‘I was just wondering when we’re going to start working on our class performance?’ Jason asked.
Jeremy nodded, ‘We’ll start within the next two weeks. Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can help you with?’
Jason nodded.
‘Alright, I’ll see you next lesson’
‘Jason!’ A voice called out.
Jason turned in alarm, only to see his friend, Mark.
‘I can’t make it to the bus today, can you tell the driver that I won’t be on?’ Mark asked
Jason nodded, ‘Sure… I overheard my new drama teacher talking to-’
‘Hey Jason!’ Max yelled out, his hulking body edging forward, ‘Come over here for a minute, I want to talk to you’
‘No thanks Max’ Jason replied.
‘Let’s go’ Mark said, grabbing Jason’s arm.
Max sprinted forward and grabbed Jason by the scruff of the neck.
‘What do you want?’ Jason cried, ‘I’ve never done anything to you!’
‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’ Jeremy asked, walking over to the three boys.
‘Keep out of it old man before I snap your legs, I’m having a discussion with Jason here’
Jeremy stepped towards Max, ‘A discussion I think Jason isn’t particularly enjoying, am I right Jason?’
‘It’s not the most enjoyable of conversations, no.’ Jason struggled
‘Let go of him’ Jeremy ordered.
Max nodded and dropped Jason, only to pivot to the right and swing at the new teacher. Jeremy dodged the blow with ease, grabbed the boy’s arm and twisted it, pushing him flat onto the ground.
‘I’m not like other teachers‘, He whispered, ‘If I see you touching Jason again you’ll find yourself in the hospital wing, understand?’
‘Yes’ Max blurted
‘One other thing, I’ll need you to collect his back pack from the roof of room ninety, you got that?’
Max struggled a nod.
Five minutes later Jason walked over to the big yellow bus. He was still trying to process what just happened after class. He climbed the two small steps and was met by his bus driver.
‘Hey Drew’ Jason greeted.
‘Hey JJ!’ Drew grinned.
Jason took his seat in the middle of the bus and watched in horror as Max climbed on board, passing Jason without saying a word.
All the students on the bus watched Max’s every move through the corner of their eye. Every single student was frightened as hell of him.
Fifteen minutes after a very nervous ride, Max walked over to a year twelve and smiled, ‘Can I have your seat?’
‘No Max’ The year twelve answered, ‘You have your own seat’
‘I just want to talk to your girlfriend’ Max replied.
The year twelve stood up, ‘No! Get going Max’
Max nodded and lashed out with a karate kick, throwing one leg up in the air and kicking the year twelve under the chin with the other, sending him crashing backwards through the aisle.
‘Nice move’ Jason muttered under his breath, staring in awe at the scene.
The year 12 picked himself up, when he looked back at Max, his adrenalin rushed wildly, as the hulking student took out a small pocket-knife from his pocket.
Then it all happened so quickly…
Max threw the knife skilfully, hitting the year twelve in the eye, who cried in pain.
The bus stopped and all of the students rushed towards the door, getting away from Max as quickly as possible. When Jason exited the bus, he looked back to see an argument between the bus driver and Max. Something told him that Max would get away with this, he always did.
He also had to admit, today was far from a normal day at a small country school.
He walked ten metres to a shiny blue Ford, his mother waited for him inside.
The teenager opened the door.
‘How was your day?’ His mother asked.
‘Same as any other school day’ Jason replied.
‘That good huh?’ His mother shook her head, her red hair waved across her face.
The car took off down the dirt road, Jason looked out the window at the dull train tracks that hadn’t been used for years as the car sped down the road.
‘Max stabbed someone in the eye today’ Jason said, breaking the silence
‘What?’ His mother yelled, ‘That boy should be taken away from the school, he gets away with just too much.’
Jason nodded, ‘I know’
The car drove through countless farms, Jason could see the long field of wheat stretching as far as the eye could see. Although he didn’t live at a farm, he still knew enough about country life to know he wanted to get away from it. The car finally stopped at number 17 Horrow Street. Home.
After having something to eat, Jason walked into his most favourite room of the house. The gym.
At the age of fifteen he could already do 100 push-ups, he could run 20 kilometres without stopping, he could lift 25 kilos with one arm. Already, he had the body of a powerful runner.
Jason started jogging kilometres on his treadmill, which took him two years to save up the money for. Music pumped from the stereo in the corner as he ran, his troubles softened as he pushed his arms. The small digital computer almost reached twelve kilometres. Jason pressed the arrow pointing up and screwed his face as he sprinted to a climax, when he suddenly felt his face burn in fear. The front door crashed, he recognised the terrible sound of keys jingling. The steel cap boots moved across the lounge and the fridge door swung open.
Jason checked the monitor on his treadmill, 7:00pm. That wasn’t good news. He stopped his treadmill and dried himself off with a small white towel. He almost cried when the gym door smashed open. A bald, overweight man stepped forward, carrying a bottle of vodka.
‘What the hell are you doing kid?’ He spat
‘J-just some training’ Jason stuttered in reply
‘What are you wasting your frick’n time!?’
‘Exercising isn’t wasting time’ Jason paused, unsure if he should continue, ‘You orta try it some time…’
That was it. Jason knew he’d made a severe mistake.
The bottle of vodka was thrown across the room… and hit the side window, cracking the glass.
The overweight man swore, ‘Look what ya made me dun!’
Jason trembled in fright, he was in the gym far too long. He so badly wanted to do twelve kilometres before tea that he completely forgot about the time. This time his determination and will power cost him dearly. The gym was no place to run, Jason was cornered.
He felt a powerful blow to the ribs as the bald man punched him awkwardly in the side. Jason tried to get away but the man was far too strong. He threw Jason across the room, who landed on top of his weights. He picked himself up just in time, only to receive a powerful hit in the mouth, Jason’s crooked teeth was in immeasurable pain as he fell to the ground again, not wanting to get back up.
There the boy whimpered in pain across the floor.
‘Why don’t you fight back you worthless kid!?’
Jason opened his eyes just in time to see the bald man kick him in the stomach. Behind him, Jason’s mother watched the scene from the kitchen, too afraid to do anything about it. Eventually Jason was left alone as the man left for the fridge again. Jason crept into his room silently and struggled not to cry himself to sleep. He wasn’t going to let his father get the better of him. He always knew Max was an incredibly violent person. Two years ago, he never expected his father to be one…
The assassin moaned, the light was certainly too bright. He gradually opened his eyes and stared at his reflection from the mirror beside him. His blonde streaked hair was messy at the front. The assassin rubbed his paining square jaw, he didn’t even know how he hurt it. He looked down, he was bandaged at the shoulder, a small red dot was all that remained from his crucial wound.
‘This is Tony’
The assassin turned to see Martin smiling back at him.
‘He treated your bullet wound’ Martin continued, ‘He’s a very good surgeon.’
‘You lost a lot blood, you’re very lucky to be alive.’ Tony said with an English accent.
‘Tony is a man I was hoping you could meet in slightly better circumstances. He knows you’re an assassin. He’s now our private doctor.’ Martin explained
The assassin’s hazel eyes focussed on the young doctor in front of him. He looked as though he was in his mid twenties, with a slim face, short dark hair and brown eyes.
‘Can we trust him?’ He asked
‘I should think so, not about to get on the wrong side with an assassin’ Tony answered, ‘Nasty affair at Avanti Stadium, the-’
‘How many were killed?’ The assassin cut in
‘Three hundred and seventy four. Most of them were supposed to be taken out from the gas, but it failed after an escape route was discovered. ’ Tony replied
‘How did you meet Martin?’ The assassin asked
‘Oh, we’ve had some business together before…’
‘So what do you think doctor?’ Martin asked, ‘What should he do in your expert opinion?’
Tony smiled, ‘I think he should get back to work.’
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 11