1 Hour Earlier
Jake had awoken back in the street ally, and couldn’t remember for the life of him what he had been planning on doing there. The patch skin on his arm was healed at that point, and he felt more awake then ever. He walked out of the ally, finding a silver Porsche parked on the street curb, 10 minutes worth of money in the meter, and picked the lock with his lock-pick in his pocket to get in. Whoever had owned that car was obviously extraordinarily rich, because of all of the over expensive luxuries, like bullet proof glass and 650 horsepower.
He drove back to military head quarters in New York, hidden from the rest of society underground, and let himself in with fingerprint and eye scan. Once inside, he followed the off white colored wall to his boss’s office. He was the one who presented him with his missions and rewarded him for his assassinations. Whoever wanted it done was none of Jake business.
He pressed through the glass door. “Why in the name of God was I just tolled about a deal with Aliens?”
His boss, Miguel, looked up. “Huh?”
“I think you know exactly what I'm talking about.”
“I have no idea what’s going on with you, Jake, but something is wrong. And where the hell have you been for eight days? What Aliens?”
Jake realized what was going on before it happened. His boss suddenly reached forward, a taser in his hand, but Jake countered it, grabbing his arm and twisted it, making him drop the taser. Jake picked it up and hit his boss with it in the neck, making him puke up his lunch in the opposite direction, just before falling on the ground unconscious.
Someone obviously heard it, because four men who’d been patrolling the area suddenly stepped into the office, guns pointed at Jake. He put his hands on the back of his head, and they hand cuffed him.
“You’re coming with us, they said, and he obeyed. As soon as he was out of the office, he jumped, swinging his legs behind him and bringing his cuffed hands in front of him, and before they knew what he was doing, rapped the hand cuffs around the throught of the man in front of him, and dragging him around so he could use him as a shield as the other men shot him.
He dove, dragging the dead man with him, into the hall, out of sight of the other three men, and pulled the dead mans gun from his hand, going back around the corner and shooting all three of them expertly in the head, each one using only one bullet.
He put the gun in his back pocket, hidden by his coat, and ran out of the building back to his car as suddenly alarms sounded in the building. A few black muscle cars drove out of the parking lot, right on his tail. . . .