1999

He was going to die.

Through the rushing white noise of shock, Brian Warner heard gun shots. Loud, explosive shots that didn’t ricochet; shots that found their intended target, smearing the warehouse walls with shiny, red life. Bullets from the same gun would soon find their way into his body, seeking and destroying.

The mission had gone horribly wrong.

It had started out as simple reconnaissance. Brian and his partner, Agent Ramirez, were given an assignment to visit Liberty City and evaluate the Staunton Island FBI branch. The Bureau was searching for leaks, bad agents, and general corruption. Liberty City had the worst crime rates of any city in America and the Bureau did not want to be associated with the bad press the city normally generated. It should have been a quick, painless job that was completed in a month. It turned out to be anything but.

He couldn’t remember the precise moment everything started going downhill; he thought it wasn’t a single incident, that it was more of a cacophony of little things that led them away from their goal and into the heart of the city’s corruption. Liberty City, he had learned, had a way of taking the easiest jobs and turning them into something violently out of control. He couldn’t help but succumb to the greed and delinquency that was blatantly in front of him. One side job turned into dozens and making enemies wasn’t hard at all in a city full of rivaling gangs. Too fast, the colors making his head spin, and he was on a roller coaster of crime that he could not get off of.

Faint footsteps were getting louder, as they came toward him. His gun was heavy in his sweaty palm, finger waiting on the trigger. Brian was prepared to die, prepared to surrender his soul to the city, but he wasn’t going out without giving something back in return. The people currently stalking him had killed Agent Ramirez, his partner and closest friend, and because of them he would never see his girlfriend or family again. Vengeance for his lost life thrummed through his veins.

The concrete wall behind him and crates surrounding him made it hard for anyone to see him, but they would also trap him when he was inevitably found. Slowly, he moved from his crouching position, head cocked to the side as he listened for the telltale noises of someone approaching; heavy footsteps and the swish of material rubbing together as the person walked. Anticipation made him jumpy, fear made his heart thunder in his chest, and the colors seemed to brighten with every footstep.

So this, he thought, is what it feels like to know you’re going to die soon.

With his mind, he traced the steps as they rounded the corner and started down his row. He thought, briefly, of the pain, of his girlfriend, of his life, and then the person was passing in front of him and his only thought was to aim and shoot.

He did, with amazing accuracy.

The proximity was on his side. Though the gunshot was physically painful to Brian, the kick pushing him against the concrete wall and the noise piercing his eardrums, the body in front of him fell gracefully to the ground and the bitter taste left in his mouth made up for the quick seconds of agony. He stepped out into the aisle, gun in a firm grip, and glanced both ways. In the distance, he could hear people shouting, people that would soon be headed his way, but he still had some time left to himself.

He sidestepped the absurd halo of blood that was spreading around the head and rolled the body over with his foot. The blank, unseeing eyes that stared up at him were devoid of any expression, the jaw slack and facial expression dull, but Brian couldn’t stop staring at it. There was something uncanny about the face, something familiar that tugged at a dusty memory in the recesses of his mind…

“Ah, Agent Warner. I expected to find you here.” Brian’s gun was pointed at the speaker before he looked at them. Walking quietly, someone had managed to come around the corner to his right, walking the same path as the person he had shot. Someone who knew his name…

Brian’s head jerked up, and shock rippled through his body immediately after his gaze focused; he knew the older man dressed in an immaculately pressed suit, a man that was smiling at him with a faintly amused expression on his face.

“You know, this is my favorite part,” the man declared, slipping a hand into his jacket and pulling out a sleek pistol. Brian stared, uncomprehending. His mind refused to grasp the situation that was presented so neatly in front of him…

“Goodbye, Brian Warner.” Two shots and another lifeless body joined the first. The older gentleman tucked his gun back in his holster and started to turn, but paused, staring at the person he had just killed. An unreadable expression spread across his face but was fading when he started walking again, and by the time he turned the corner it was gone completely.

Brian Warner was dead. The man started whistling a cheerful tune. Everything was right on track.

***

© 2003 Brianna Jackson.