01-08-2010, 02:09 PM
As agreed,
I woke up in apparently good shape and with little, but seemingly good positively selected memory.
Whatever... I still knew what mattered most: I didn’t care.
Or almost...
If it wasn’t for that foul taste in my mouth combined with a feeling of dizziness worst than I ever got drunk - yeah, hangovers is apparently part of the memories I wanted to retain...
So here I am.
Crawling out of that cryogenic capsule, spitting my guts and holding my head... Swearing the most insane my mind allows me to recall, whilst trying to make sure I am who I was...
A moment of silence passes... I wrestle with the fear of being shredded alive and impotent by some creatures I remember too well... Then I finally can get a hold on myself to get on my knees... To have a weary look around.
I do a slow 180 scan of a circular Spartan room filled only by cryogenic-capsules standing upright with their monitoring apparatus and myriads of meandering cables going from them, disappearing into the curved round wall.
Four poor bastards are still kissing their Cryogenic pillows in bliss oblivion; I push aside my disgust and anger for feeling sorry for them... Damn that surgeon for allowing 'pity' to resurface from my memory conditioning.
How long have I been sleeping... Why?! I decide to investigate my own capsule when its glass door throws back a distorted image of myself that makes me recoil.
I have shoulder-long jet black hair that might indicate I slept well over 2 years... And very dark eyes. I cannot say for certain but my iris looks almost black they are so dark. My face is angular with protruding cheekbones and jaw structure – very emaciated. No doubt the result of this long sleep.
It’s when I look down at my feet, dejected, that I spot a note laying there... Written in large poor hand writing, it says:
“You are Mr Oq. Go to Manhattan Chase Bank. If you value what little you now are, don't talk to anyone”.
Now I’m really hating this.
Thankfully, I can oddly remember and almost with passion how it feels to want to hurt people, and it makes me feel better.
I can also remember that this memory engram-selective surgery cost me my balls even though I can’t recall exactly how much... Well, at least I know I paid someone else to override not knowing who did that to me.
So now I have an added purpose.
I pause a moment, something didn’t feel quite right... Indeed, only now do I realise I am as naked as a worm. Before I can voice another chosen swear-word I see the package behind my capsule left here on clear display for my benefit that I rip open and riffle through..
It's with resolute delightful rage that I dress up in an impeccably cut dark grey alpaca suit I was certain was made to measure in my sleep, and rapidly pack up the few credits, ID showing a younger fresher smiling me (I assume fake of course) and several miniature apparatus that I decide to examine later, stuffing them in an overpriced looking cloth bag.
Then I make for the only visible door - out of here.
.............
I leave a strangely empty building.
Not even a security guard or sentry-bot as is customary where people pay vast amounts of cash to sleep over decades. I decide not to ponder too much on this for now - leaving behind me the eye-level giant Kishiro neon light pulsing with a soft hum as I walk by.
I know where I am, right in New Tokyo wealthy high Tech Business centre - the Shinagawa-Ku. A conglomerate of corporate and leisure as only Japanese of old knew how to mix. Day time it's a place of polite negotiations and multi millions Sirius credits deals; but at night, bars upon bars suddenly come to life lining the streets, each competing for attention using orgies of neon lights and blasting insane amounts of loud music decibels with armies of scantily clad models wiggling out of rhythm to street megabass speakers.
I soon manage to hail a taxi-bot spewing two out-of-worldly tall Kusari fake blondes - one of whom muttered a sly smiling deep throated guttural appraisal of me as her friend giggled grabbing her arm as if dragging her away from me.
I refrain from the gallant impulse to reward them with some attention; in my world, attraction is usually motivated by greater needs than purely a good night out. And rarely comes for free. As I slam the taxi door shut I think to myself "probably in theirs too..."
It's a dry hot night and the air is rare; one that makes you seek magazines, newspapers, anything... to fan yourself.
"Manhattan Chase Bank" I say
The car takes off gliding a few inches over the ground and I let the window down a bit to enjoy the wind on my face; and peek through the gap at multitudes of young people hanging out who's obvious only concern is wearing designer label, showing off their flash motors, swig liquor out of brown paper bags - hoping to copulate.
That brings a wry smile on, just as the cloth bag I set near me on the sit vibrates with a shrill beep... A call.
It can't be good news.
...........
"Darling, all is okay don't worry. But don't forget to pay our monthly bills as you go to the bank! And oh, please get us some take away; I didn't have time to do any shopping picking up the kids tonight!" a genial female voice says.
"Okay, no problems" I hear myself retort absently... A short silence then..
"Love you honey, see you at home". Her voice sounded happy like a Christmas present on its way. That's when I got my first clear memory of what a state of present and real danger feels. Strangely I didn't feel overly alarmed; I felt healthily distant as if philosophical about matters of death. I knew with dead certainty I could only do what I could do best, with what means was at my disposal... The rest was pure waste of analytical energy.
We soon leave vibrant New Tokyo and now drive through quieter residential areas, and a few minutes later we reach the area of a sea front; Japanese people with their legendary precision had even relocated this area where it used to be back on old earth. I knew not how I could know such thing... I just knew it. Again, that strange mix of detachment mingled with the lose focus that this might be important but not crucial...
I was still alive and I knew, not in immediate threat. Granted, all was a little more sour than sweet, but still, I felt reasonably good on the road to recovering my old own self. Yes, I suddenly felt a burning need to know a great deal more about why I programmed myself to forget...
"DNA confirmed, 2 Sirius credits payment finalised" says the taxi computer voice with a genuine Old Tokyo accent, as the door silently hinges open.
I step a foot down on the pavement twisting my head left and right checking my surroundings. Not a soul again, but this time it felt right. Things haven't changed much; unlike Cryo banks, Credit Banks prefer more secluded areas.
I climb up three steps to a humble front with little rococo but a massive bronze plate saying Manhattan Chase Bank New Tokyo. There, I face an eye scanner dutifully placing my hand palm flat on a receptacle as I say "Mr Oq".
"Confirmed, please sit and relax" says the machine. The outer wall suddenly surrounds me enclosing me in a small cocoon as a chair raises from the ground. Then the computer voice again "Yours is a very secure account, we shall descend deep; shallow breathing is recommended. Your health is being monitored".
The moment I sit I get strapped by safety belts and feel my blood going up my head by G force going upwards.
I am going down, very deep and fast. As this begins, for a brief moment I can glimpse flashes of memories from training in atmosphere flight air combat - and I soon regain some composure controlling my breathing trying to make myself comfortable, awaiting arrival. But before I can truly feel peaceful about what seems a descent to hell, a long hiss typical of a lengthy amount of breaking is heralding my soon-to-be underground destination.
"Please proceed forward". Safety belts unbuckle and I stand up, slowly engaging myself, then walking into a corridor which lights come on as I step ahead. Then a door opens to my right to what seems like a black maw, lights come on as the voice with an unmistakable Queens' British accent says
"Pray, do come in Mr Oq, what a pleasure to see you again"
....
No point acting coy. I then knew that whoever they were, they clearly had the means to eliminate me at any stage of my trip here. They certainly didn't need a dark underground bank private account vault to do so. I refrain from the impulse to resort to sarcasm telling him that he can't be my lovely wife, whom I don't know and just spoke to... But the matter of paying bills resurfaces with alacrity.
"First things first" I hear myself say "how much?"
The lighting in this room was elaborately arranged to conceal features, including those of people. Though part of this man's body is still shrouded in darkness, I can see him shift slightly on his chair and reveal half a jovial round face with blonde hair and deep blue eyes as he tilts his head amusedly.
"Now now, Mr Oq" he says smiling, allowing for a calculated pause. "Let us be acquainted first, please, will you join me". It wasn't a question as he points to the empty chair opposite him. "Though I appreciate your presence of mind, this place is after all a fitting location for such topics" he continues, now looking dead serious.
Clearly, money was of no importance to that man, but I knew I had been right to get straight to business. I regain some measure of control over this set up as I sit facing him across a table where a large thick velvet looking pouch lay between us.
The room is more chilled than cold, and like I said, the lights are arranged in such way that only the centre is focused; peripheries are dimmed...
"I cannot answer the questions you burn to ask Mr Oq" he says raising a placating finger. "But I can point you in the right direction".
He observes me intently, seemingly expecting an answer but as I remain silent he sighs through his nose smiling, his way to say he'll graciously deal with a man unwilling to cooperate and give anything away. In other words, he knew I wouldn't betray myself by interjecting with impulsive comments. It felt like I had scored a token point - but a point nonetheless.
To further establish this "rapport de force", without breaking eye contact I reach out towards the velvet pouch on the table and drag it towards me in a frank deliberate move, just a mere few inches. A way to say 'I take what I want, I justify nothing'.
A black silken ribbon knot keeps the pouch closed in an inviting way, the latter neatly folded in four layers.
With my index finger and thumb I casually seize an end of the ribbon and with a gentle twist of my wrist I pull, unravelling the knot effortlessly. I mark a short pause pushing the ribbon aside with a negligent finger... Then I begin to roll the pouch open, fold by fold, my eyes still clamped in his. When it is completely open flat it nearly covers the whole table.
He knows I haven't looked at the contents and nods appreciatively smiling again. "These are yours; of course. They mark the next stage of your journey Mr Oq."
As he says so he reaches for his inside breast pocket; my eyes follow his hand carefully. He raises his other hand palm facing me in a gesture of non aggressive intent as he pulls an envelop out that he gently puts on the table, pushing it towards me an inch.
"Here we are" I say to myself.
.......
Silence engulfs the room shrouding the atmosphere with sick tension; one so thick you could cut it with a knife. I decide to ignore the envelop for a moment.
My eyes now carefully scrutinise the contents of the open pouch on the table; I look up to signal I know. Now my eyes move to the envelop and pause several agonising seconds.
I stand up and in the same movement delicately take the envelop placing it on the open velvet pouch that I hastily roll closed.
"Anything else" I say in a flat tone to indicate he is to speak or leave it.
He smiles shaking his head. then waves me bye bye in an out of character way that contrasts brutally with this meeting so far. I pick up the pouch, turn my back on him, look around in the darkness, then slowly walk to the door where I pause a couple of seconds and leave the room with him seated there in half darkness.
As soon as I am in the corridor the same bank computerised voice begins "You now have three options Sir; say One to have access to a private booth for further transactions, say Two to leave the building, say Three to book a suite located in this facility."
"One" I say.
"Please follow the green light"
I do so about 6 steps before a brightly lit half circle opens in the wall to my right, I enter and it closes around me in a small space containing a table jutting off of the wall at waist level.
"I am awaiting your instructions Sir"
"Create a private retrieval box, this is the object to keep" I say placing the pouch on the table. A beam scans it back and forth once, then a square alcove the size of the pouch materialises ahead of me. I push it inside.
"Please, place those electrodes on your forehead and think your secret code for retrieval". I execute myself then the voice...
"Code complete. Is there anything else for your service Sir"
"No thank you. Take me out now".
The opening containing the pouch closes with no noise leaving a flat wall with the table folding into the wall at the same time.
"Very well Sir, please seat down".
G force now pushes downward as I climb fast to the surface and before too soon the door opens on the same deserted street.
......
Two cabs are waiting outside. I go for the second one.
"Edo Shi-tamachi" I say
"Any address in particular Sir" the cab computerised voice asks in its perfect old Tokyo accent
"No, I'll tell you where to stop".
"Very well Sir".
As we depart I am not the least surprised my interlocutor never told me his name, nor asked for any money after all.
A few blocks farther...
"Would you like some music Sir, conversation maybe?" says the computerised voice almost with emotion it was so articulate.
"Stop here" I find myself retorting brusquely. Without questions the cab indicates an immediate stop with flashing lights I can see reflected on nearby shop windows, and unhurriedly glides another few yards before parking perfectly legally in a cab bay.
I disembark as payment is automatically made accessing the Global DNA bank. As I trudge forward into the first dark alley I see, I cringe at the thought the whole world has an ID of me I know almost nothing about, but the name Mr Oq. It's high time I deal with that. That's when I sense them before my mind truly computes what is going on.
I slip into darker shadows than the alley already was, and to my surprise, move with eerie speed from one point to the next in an erratic pattern - one that would leave followers more lost than I was, I thought with a wry smile. Then I stand still, barely breathing.
It doesn't take long before I hear a voice calling in a whisper - so they are more than one... I use my advantage by remaining still another few seconds then a thought suddenly occurs, what if they use heat sensors! Before I could lose the element of surprise I dash out of the dark, right in front of a young man looking no more than 20 years old, smiling at him.
That sudden jovial apparition disables his defence mechanism as he freezes a fateful second, enough for me to do my deed. Amateur I think to myself as I dig my knuckles into his solar plexus in one swift stroke, before swivelling around him in a split second, covering his mouth and nose, smothering him. He could not breathe, nor scream. He knew his end was near and suddenly stopped jerking seeking air, instead, he used his last bit of life to scream from his throat making just enough noise to alert his companions - which is exactly what I wanted.
Two silhouettes bearing the unmistakable gait of people carrying projectile weapons appear on either sides of the alley.
I woke up in apparently good shape and with little, but seemingly good positively selected memory.
Whatever... I still knew what mattered most: I didn’t care.
Or almost...
If it wasn’t for that foul taste in my mouth combined with a feeling of dizziness worst than I ever got drunk - yeah, hangovers is apparently part of the memories I wanted to retain...
So here I am.
Crawling out of that cryogenic capsule, spitting my guts and holding my head... Swearing the most insane my mind allows me to recall, whilst trying to make sure I am who I was...
A moment of silence passes... I wrestle with the fear of being shredded alive and impotent by some creatures I remember too well... Then I finally can get a hold on myself to get on my knees... To have a weary look around.
I do a slow 180 scan of a circular Spartan room filled only by cryogenic-capsules standing upright with their monitoring apparatus and myriads of meandering cables going from them, disappearing into the curved round wall.
Four poor bastards are still kissing their Cryogenic pillows in bliss oblivion; I push aside my disgust and anger for feeling sorry for them... Damn that surgeon for allowing 'pity' to resurface from my memory conditioning.
How long have I been sleeping... Why?! I decide to investigate my own capsule when its glass door throws back a distorted image of myself that makes me recoil.
I have shoulder-long jet black hair that might indicate I slept well over 2 years... And very dark eyes. I cannot say for certain but my iris looks almost black they are so dark. My face is angular with protruding cheekbones and jaw structure – very emaciated. No doubt the result of this long sleep.
It’s when I look down at my feet, dejected, that I spot a note laying there... Written in large poor hand writing, it says:
“You are Mr Oq. Go to Manhattan Chase Bank. If you value what little you now are, don't talk to anyone”.
Now I’m really hating this.
Thankfully, I can oddly remember and almost with passion how it feels to want to hurt people, and it makes me feel better.
I can also remember that this memory engram-selective surgery cost me my balls even though I can’t recall exactly how much... Well, at least I know I paid someone else to override not knowing who did that to me.
So now I have an added purpose.
I pause a moment, something didn’t feel quite right... Indeed, only now do I realise I am as naked as a worm. Before I can voice another chosen swear-word I see the package behind my capsule left here on clear display for my benefit that I rip open and riffle through..
It's with resolute delightful rage that I dress up in an impeccably cut dark grey alpaca suit I was certain was made to measure in my sleep, and rapidly pack up the few credits, ID showing a younger fresher smiling me (I assume fake of course) and several miniature apparatus that I decide to examine later, stuffing them in an overpriced looking cloth bag.
Then I make for the only visible door - out of here.
.............
I leave a strangely empty building.
Not even a security guard or sentry-bot as is customary where people pay vast amounts of cash to sleep over decades. I decide not to ponder too much on this for now - leaving behind me the eye-level giant Kishiro neon light pulsing with a soft hum as I walk by.
I know where I am, right in New Tokyo wealthy high Tech Business centre - the Shinagawa-Ku. A conglomerate of corporate and leisure as only Japanese of old knew how to mix. Day time it's a place of polite negotiations and multi millions Sirius credits deals; but at night, bars upon bars suddenly come to life lining the streets, each competing for attention using orgies of neon lights and blasting insane amounts of loud music decibels with armies of scantily clad models wiggling out of rhythm to street megabass speakers.
I soon manage to hail a taxi-bot spewing two out-of-worldly tall Kusari fake blondes - one of whom muttered a sly smiling deep throated guttural appraisal of me as her friend giggled grabbing her arm as if dragging her away from me.
I refrain from the gallant impulse to reward them with some attention; in my world, attraction is usually motivated by greater needs than purely a good night out. And rarely comes for free. As I slam the taxi door shut I think to myself "probably in theirs too..."
It's a dry hot night and the air is rare; one that makes you seek magazines, newspapers, anything... to fan yourself.
"Manhattan Chase Bank" I say
The car takes off gliding a few inches over the ground and I let the window down a bit to enjoy the wind on my face; and peek through the gap at multitudes of young people hanging out who's obvious only concern is wearing designer label, showing off their flash motors, swig liquor out of brown paper bags - hoping to copulate.
That brings a wry smile on, just as the cloth bag I set near me on the sit vibrates with a shrill beep... A call.
It can't be good news.
...........
"Darling, all is okay don't worry. But don't forget to pay our monthly bills as you go to the bank! And oh, please get us some take away; I didn't have time to do any shopping picking up the kids tonight!" a genial female voice says.
"Okay, no problems" I hear myself retort absently... A short silence then..
"Love you honey, see you at home". Her voice sounded happy like a Christmas present on its way. That's when I got my first clear memory of what a state of present and real danger feels. Strangely I didn't feel overly alarmed; I felt healthily distant as if philosophical about matters of death. I knew with dead certainty I could only do what I could do best, with what means was at my disposal... The rest was pure waste of analytical energy.
We soon leave vibrant New Tokyo and now drive through quieter residential areas, and a few minutes later we reach the area of a sea front; Japanese people with their legendary precision had even relocated this area where it used to be back on old earth. I knew not how I could know such thing... I just knew it. Again, that strange mix of detachment mingled with the lose focus that this might be important but not crucial...
I was still alive and I knew, not in immediate threat. Granted, all was a little more sour than sweet, but still, I felt reasonably good on the road to recovering my old own self. Yes, I suddenly felt a burning need to know a great deal more about why I programmed myself to forget...
"DNA confirmed, 2 Sirius credits payment finalised" says the taxi computer voice with a genuine Old Tokyo accent, as the door silently hinges open.
I step a foot down on the pavement twisting my head left and right checking my surroundings. Not a soul again, but this time it felt right. Things haven't changed much; unlike Cryo banks, Credit Banks prefer more secluded areas.
I climb up three steps to a humble front with little rococo but a massive bronze plate saying Manhattan Chase Bank New Tokyo. There, I face an eye scanner dutifully placing my hand palm flat on a receptacle as I say "Mr Oq".
"Confirmed, please sit and relax" says the machine. The outer wall suddenly surrounds me enclosing me in a small cocoon as a chair raises from the ground. Then the computer voice again "Yours is a very secure account, we shall descend deep; shallow breathing is recommended. Your health is being monitored".
The moment I sit I get strapped by safety belts and feel my blood going up my head by G force going upwards.
I am going down, very deep and fast. As this begins, for a brief moment I can glimpse flashes of memories from training in atmosphere flight air combat - and I soon regain some composure controlling my breathing trying to make myself comfortable, awaiting arrival. But before I can truly feel peaceful about what seems a descent to hell, a long hiss typical of a lengthy amount of breaking is heralding my soon-to-be underground destination.
"Please proceed forward". Safety belts unbuckle and I stand up, slowly engaging myself, then walking into a corridor which lights come on as I step ahead. Then a door opens to my right to what seems like a black maw, lights come on as the voice with an unmistakable Queens' British accent says
"Pray, do come in Mr Oq, what a pleasure to see you again"
....
No point acting coy. I then knew that whoever they were, they clearly had the means to eliminate me at any stage of my trip here. They certainly didn't need a dark underground bank private account vault to do so. I refrain from the impulse to resort to sarcasm telling him that he can't be my lovely wife, whom I don't know and just spoke to... But the matter of paying bills resurfaces with alacrity.
"First things first" I hear myself say "how much?"
The lighting in this room was elaborately arranged to conceal features, including those of people. Though part of this man's body is still shrouded in darkness, I can see him shift slightly on his chair and reveal half a jovial round face with blonde hair and deep blue eyes as he tilts his head amusedly.
"Now now, Mr Oq" he says smiling, allowing for a calculated pause. "Let us be acquainted first, please, will you join me". It wasn't a question as he points to the empty chair opposite him. "Though I appreciate your presence of mind, this place is after all a fitting location for such topics" he continues, now looking dead serious.
Clearly, money was of no importance to that man, but I knew I had been right to get straight to business. I regain some measure of control over this set up as I sit facing him across a table where a large thick velvet looking pouch lay between us.
The room is more chilled than cold, and like I said, the lights are arranged in such way that only the centre is focused; peripheries are dimmed...
"I cannot answer the questions you burn to ask Mr Oq" he says raising a placating finger. "But I can point you in the right direction".
He observes me intently, seemingly expecting an answer but as I remain silent he sighs through his nose smiling, his way to say he'll graciously deal with a man unwilling to cooperate and give anything away. In other words, he knew I wouldn't betray myself by interjecting with impulsive comments. It felt like I had scored a token point - but a point nonetheless.
To further establish this "rapport de force", without breaking eye contact I reach out towards the velvet pouch on the table and drag it towards me in a frank deliberate move, just a mere few inches. A way to say 'I take what I want, I justify nothing'.
A black silken ribbon knot keeps the pouch closed in an inviting way, the latter neatly folded in four layers.
With my index finger and thumb I casually seize an end of the ribbon and with a gentle twist of my wrist I pull, unravelling the knot effortlessly. I mark a short pause pushing the ribbon aside with a negligent finger... Then I begin to roll the pouch open, fold by fold, my eyes still clamped in his. When it is completely open flat it nearly covers the whole table.
He knows I haven't looked at the contents and nods appreciatively smiling again. "These are yours; of course. They mark the next stage of your journey Mr Oq."
As he says so he reaches for his inside breast pocket; my eyes follow his hand carefully. He raises his other hand palm facing me in a gesture of non aggressive intent as he pulls an envelop out that he gently puts on the table, pushing it towards me an inch.
"Here we are" I say to myself.
.......
Silence engulfs the room shrouding the atmosphere with sick tension; one so thick you could cut it with a knife. I decide to ignore the envelop for a moment.
My eyes now carefully scrutinise the contents of the open pouch on the table; I look up to signal I know. Now my eyes move to the envelop and pause several agonising seconds.
I stand up and in the same movement delicately take the envelop placing it on the open velvet pouch that I hastily roll closed.
"Anything else" I say in a flat tone to indicate he is to speak or leave it.
He smiles shaking his head. then waves me bye bye in an out of character way that contrasts brutally with this meeting so far. I pick up the pouch, turn my back on him, look around in the darkness, then slowly walk to the door where I pause a couple of seconds and leave the room with him seated there in half darkness.
As soon as I am in the corridor the same bank computerised voice begins "You now have three options Sir; say One to have access to a private booth for further transactions, say Two to leave the building, say Three to book a suite located in this facility."
"One" I say.
"Please follow the green light"
I do so about 6 steps before a brightly lit half circle opens in the wall to my right, I enter and it closes around me in a small space containing a table jutting off of the wall at waist level.
"I am awaiting your instructions Sir"
"Create a private retrieval box, this is the object to keep" I say placing the pouch on the table. A beam scans it back and forth once, then a square alcove the size of the pouch materialises ahead of me. I push it inside.
"Please, place those electrodes on your forehead and think your secret code for retrieval". I execute myself then the voice...
"Code complete. Is there anything else for your service Sir"
"No thank you. Take me out now".
The opening containing the pouch closes with no noise leaving a flat wall with the table folding into the wall at the same time.
"Very well Sir, please seat down".
G force now pushes downward as I climb fast to the surface and before too soon the door opens on the same deserted street.
......
Two cabs are waiting outside. I go for the second one.
"Edo Shi-tamachi" I say
"Any address in particular Sir" the cab computerised voice asks in its perfect old Tokyo accent
"No, I'll tell you where to stop".
"Very well Sir".
As we depart I am not the least surprised my interlocutor never told me his name, nor asked for any money after all.
A few blocks farther...
"Would you like some music Sir, conversation maybe?" says the computerised voice almost with emotion it was so articulate.
"Stop here" I find myself retorting brusquely. Without questions the cab indicates an immediate stop with flashing lights I can see reflected on nearby shop windows, and unhurriedly glides another few yards before parking perfectly legally in a cab bay.
I disembark as payment is automatically made accessing the Global DNA bank. As I trudge forward into the first dark alley I see, I cringe at the thought the whole world has an ID of me I know almost nothing about, but the name Mr Oq. It's high time I deal with that. That's when I sense them before my mind truly computes what is going on.
I slip into darker shadows than the alley already was, and to my surprise, move with eerie speed from one point to the next in an erratic pattern - one that would leave followers more lost than I was, I thought with a wry smile. Then I stand still, barely breathing.
It doesn't take long before I hear a voice calling in a whisper - so they are more than one... I use my advantage by remaining still another few seconds then a thought suddenly occurs, what if they use heat sensors! Before I could lose the element of surprise I dash out of the dark, right in front of a young man looking no more than 20 years old, smiling at him.
That sudden jovial apparition disables his defence mechanism as he freezes a fateful second, enough for me to do my deed. Amateur I think to myself as I dig my knuckles into his solar plexus in one swift stroke, before swivelling around him in a split second, covering his mouth and nose, smothering him. He could not breathe, nor scream. He knew his end was near and suddenly stopped jerking seeking air, instead, he used his last bit of life to scream from his throat making just enough noise to alert his companions - which is exactly what I wanted.
Two silhouettes bearing the unmistakable gait of people carrying projectile weapons appear on either sides of the alley.