“Flight 317, departing from Gate Seventeen has commenced boarding. All passengers travelling on Flight 317 to Italy please make your way to the Check Out desk now.”
Jonathon rolled his shoulders, stretched, yawned, and ran his hands through his recently shortened hair. He’d had enough of Moscow; it was time to move on. Already a large majority of participants would have spread out into the Russian countryside and it wouldn’t be long before the games spread even further.
He wanted to be somewhere warm, with a nice view and a cold beer while he picked off these would-be Society members. He stood, shouldering his pack and glancing around the terminal from beneath his steel-blue reflective sunglasses.
He’d set himself up outside his gate nearly thirty minutes beforehand, waiting patiently to board.The televisions set up in various corners of the room showed scenes of carnage, skyscrapers alight, and interviews with distressed McDonald’s workers, hulking silhouettes firing grenades into everything that moved and a man nailed to a wall in an alleyway with steel spikes.
'ISSK' was glaring, in bold bright letters underneath each and every image.
It was a label, plain and simple, a label that kept the jobs flowing and the paychecks full.
His two handguns, and most of his knives were stored in his pack, it was the only way he could get them through the security scans, but belted to his chest was his personalized, 30cm combat blade, it’s sheath made of the same twisted material that lined the inside of his bag, hiding the metal from the airport detectors. He never felt safe without it.
He stepped around a Russian mother trying to hen in her three children and carried on towards his gate. He smiled at the hostess, and handed over his ticket. She checked it over, stamped it in the corner and went to hand it back to him.
And then, her head exploded in a bloody mess of bone, brain and blood. Jonathon launched himself to the side, bullets tearing the air where he’d been standing not a second earlier. During his fall he unclipped his bag straps, and let it fall free. He landed hard, lighting pain jolting up his shoulder.
Across the terminal, a great hulk of a man clad in a faded brown greatcoat with a hood covering his face was laying destruction to everything about him. Walls exploded in clouds of dust and rubble beneath grenade fall, while a handgun flashed, bringing death with each flash.
One of the children from the family he’d past earlier screamed, shaking at the still body of her sibling. She was sobbing something in Russian, but her words were choked with tears and pain and it was enough. Enough.
“ENOUGH!” He shouted across the terminal to the figure.
The noise quietened, the explosions paused and the gunfire halted. The screaming, however, continued. He slipped his blade from the sheath in his chest, and stood to face the figure.
“Ah-” He sighed, and shrugged off his coat and hood. Steel glinted in the place of skin and flesh across the right of his body, and he smiled before continuing. “-this will be fun.”