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Richard Dolvin laid in bed, his eyes open. He was not dead, though at first glance he would seem to be. He was merely thinking of what he had to do that day, though it was not that day that would be important, it would be the next. He was going up to Washington to convince the top dogs to pass a bill. He stood in the shower, he then noticed a bottle of pink shampoo amongst his own shampoo and conditioner and sighed. The tramp of a wife had left him for some damned hotshot lawyer down in Miami. He came home one night to find her screwing him. It had taken immense control not to grab his automatic and leave two bullets in their heads. The beretta had been within reach, in his holster, but he didn't. He was enraged, more than enraged, he told her to get out. And flatly told her that if she came back, he would kill her. She never dared to go to divorce court, she merely signed the papers and left, a wise decision. Richard got out of the shower, dried himself, and walked to his bedroom, he put on a black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. He pinned a US flag pin to his coat and walked down to the kitchen where he suddenly saw the clock.
"Son of a-"
He grabbed his coffee, keys, wallet, and plane ticket and ran out to his six year old BMW sedan. He got in and quickly started the car up, he backed out of the driveway and drove off in the direction of the airport. He typed his destination into the GPS system and it told him to take the long way. He sighed and began driving the short way, ignoring the constant "Off route!"s the GPS system yelled out to him. A taxi cab stopped abrubtly in front of him, he cursed, as the sudden stop had made his coffee spill. He bent over to clean it up when his passenger window suddenly shattered. He looked at the window and jumped out of his car, he noticed two men stepping out of the taxi with MP5 submachine guns and gasped before lunging at his glove box, he opened it and grabbed a pistol and two magazines. A bullethole appeared in his passenger seat as his head moved away from it, hiding behind the driver's side of his car, he fired two shots at the two men approaching, hitting one in the leg and missing with the other shot. One man fell to the ground in pain as the other jumped behind cover. Richard shot a bullet at the wounded assassin's head, hitting it's mark. The other one fired a burst from his submachine gun. Richard used his driver's side door as cover. The government issue sedan had been well plated, no bullet short of a fifty cal. would penetrate through the door, but Richard faked death. The assassin jumped from cover and ran at Richard, he aimed the MP5 at Richard's head, but Richard shot one shot, hitting the assassin in the throat. Richard shoved his beretta in between his belt and his pants and grabbed the MP5 from the fallen assassin, a bullet zoomed down and missed narrowly. Richard reached into his pocket and realized that he had forgotten his cell phone, there would be no backup until the police arrived, and that would be too late. Richard shot a spray of bullets into the top of the building while running across the street, he bursted through the front door of an old bakery and the baker began protesting.
"No goin' up the stairs mister!" yelled the baker.
Richard ran up regardless of what the baker said and saw mirrors screwed into the wall, through multiple mirrors he saw the reflection of a leg running up the stairs. Richard followed him. Richard reached the top of the building to see nothing, no assassin, no rifle, no sign of anything. Richard ran to the edge to see that the bodies were being examined by bystanders, the sound of police sirens adding more tension to the scene. Richard heard a noise and turned to see the sniper with his rifle aimed at Richard's head. Richard raised his MP5 to fire, but it was too late, a bullet landed in between his eyes. Richard Dolvin fell back with a bullet between his eyes. The sniper approached the dead man and dropped a bicycle playing card, the Ace of Spades.

Agent Miles Johnson walked out of the airport. It felt good to be off the plane, if he had to spend one more minute next to that fat, sweaty man he would have seriously considered insulting him. The cool night air also gave him a small degree of comfort. Miles hailed a cab, opened the door, and got in.
"Where to mister?" asked the cabby.
"You know where the police station is?" asked Miles.
"Hell yeah! Bailed my cousin out last month, rat still hasn't paid me back," said the cabby before pressing his foot to the accelerator. The yellow cab flew forward and went off, the old FBI agent nearly strangling the insane cabby on the way there.

***

Miles jumped out of the cab and threw a bill through the window. He then turned and began walking up the small staircase leading to the station's front door. Miles walked in and approached the man sitting at the front desk.
"It's about time you showed up! The chief wouldn't let me leave!" yelled the man in the front.
Miles sighed and walked up towards the door that looked to say "CAPTION", but when you walked within twenty feet of it you recognized it as "CAPTAIN". Miles knocked once and walked in without waiting for a reply.
"This had better be important," said Miles, "My wife and I had a very special trip planned for this weekend."
"It is sir, a CIA agent was killed this morning on the roof of a bakery near the airport. The killer left a calling card, literally a card, and to be precise, the ace of spades," said the chief.
"Ace!" gasped Miles.
"That's my guess, either that or an imposter, and I doubt anybody is foolish enough to do that," said the chief.
"Good lord...you're sure?" asked Miles.
The chief threw a plastic bag with a slightly blood stained playing card inside. The ace of spades. Miles sat down.
"Why didn't you tell us you *beep*!? You wanted it to be a surprise!? We could have, could have caught him!" yelled Miles.
The chief flinched and almost fell out of his chair.
"But no! You had to say that we had to see for ourselves! And now he's gone, gone into the shadows!" yelled Miles, trying to calm down.
"One man gave a description, a baker was paid to let a man onto the roof, the man was dark skinned, around five and a half to six feet tall, he was black, he had black hair," said the chief.
"Well, that's a very clear description Sherlock, that narrows the description down to a majority of the Afrcian American population, well done!" said Miles.
"Fine, you go down and interogate him yourself! He lives in a room above his bakery, on Gorlon street," countered the chief.
Miles got up and walked from the room, not wanting to say another word.

The cab reached Gorlon street, the driver was calm, that was good, Miles would have probably had the man's license taken away if it had happened at that time. Miles knocked on the door a lady ran down to answer.
"Mister, we are closed for the night," said the lady.
"I am an FBI agent, my name is Miles Johnson, let me in," said Miles.
The lady, not wanting to get in the way of FBI business, let the man in. The last hours had been from hell for the poor lady, a CIA agent had been killed on her roof, and the baker had been bribed to do it. She didn't know why she didn't just evict him, the *beep*. Miles walked up to the room and knocked, the lady yelled "He's in there, the bastard...". Miles knocked again, then, after the third time, he called down to the lady.
"Give me a key, I'm too damn old to be kicking down doors..." muttered Miles.
The lady brought up a key and Miles opened the door and gasped. The baker's sheets were stained red, a hole in his forehead, a playing card on his chest. Miles approached the body to see that instead of an Ace of Spades, it was a Jack of Spades. Miles took out his cell phone and made a call to the incompetent chief of police...

*slaps Harry*

"Shut up, this story is getting good."

Agent John Huckson sat at his desk reading a certain newspaper article that caught his eye about the death of a US senator. The elevator he was in flew down the shaft and crashed down twenty-three floors below. The alarms hadn't sounded, nobody was alerted. One playing card, or the remains of it, was found burnt.
"It's his style Carl," said John.
"It's got Ace written all over it," said Carl.
The phone rang, it was early, so it must've either been important or annoying. John picked it up.
"John Huckson speaking," said John.
"John, it's Miles. I found something that could be quite interesting," said Miles.
"Your down investigating Dolvin's death, aren't ya?" asked John.
"Yes, he was killed by Ace. But that's not all. Two other men were found dead at the scene, killed by Dolvin, certain tattoos lead us to believe that Ace isn't only an assassin, but he leads a group of assassins. They were the five and seven of clubs. Last night we found a baker murdered, a Jack of Spades was found on his body," said Miles.
John was speechless.
"I thought it would interest you," said Miles.
"Interest me!? My God, this is big, huge!" yelled John.
"Coming down?" asked Miles.
"You bet your ass I am!" yelled John as he got up.
"See you soon," said Miles.
John hung up the phone and turned to Carl.
"Pack your bags, we're going to Hudson," said John.

***

Miles put the phone down and sat back. The phone rang again, startling old Miles. Miles picked it up.
"Hello?" asked Miles.
"Is this Agent Miles Johnson?" asked the voice.
"Who is this?" asked Miles.
"Nobody of your concern, stay off Ace or you're wife'll be his next victim," said the voice before hanging up.

John walks out of the airport, his neck in a bit of pain. He never liked flying, but the opportunity was too great to stay in his office. It was almost eight. Agent Miles Johnson was waiting outside next to a green dodge intrepid.
"John, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist, where's Carl?" asked Miles.
"He couldn't make it, where's the bodies?" asks John.
"Down at the mortuary, lets go," said Miles.
Miles got in the driver's seat, John in the passenger side. Miles put the key in the ignition, turned it, and drove off.

Miles parked his car and got out. He was able to park close, only one car was at the mortuary, probably belonging to the diener. Miles got out and walked in, John next to him. Miles approached the front desk and rang a bell, the diener ran out.
"Hello...officers," said the diener, "Here to look at some bodies?"
The diener laughed.
"I'm here to look at five-oh-two and five-oh-three," said Miles.
"Right this way," said the diener.
The diener led them down a set of stairs into a large room, he pulled open two doors and slid the bodies out. John examined the tattoos and smiled. He took out a digital camera and took several pictures. He turned to the diener.
"Thanks," said John.
"No problem," said the diener.
He began putting the bodies back in while John and Miles walked off. They signed out and walked out the front door. Suddenly two shots rang out, one hitting John in the shoulder, going through, the other hitting the glass door behind the two. Miles ducked and drew his gun while John fell to the ground in pain. Miles ran behind cover and shot at the unseen attackers while John got up, clutching his bleeding shoulder, and ran behind cover, he fell to the ground hard. Miles took out his cell phone and dialed 911.
"Get the police over here now!" yelled Miles, "I've got a wounded agent, I'm at the mortuary, quickly now dammit!"
Miles peeked out from behind the car. He could see nobody, he then looked at John. Another shot was fired from an unknown position, but it hit Miles in the left side of the leg. Miles screamed and pushed John over, John moved behind the car and Miles followed crawling. Suddenly a police helicopter appeared overhead and the spotlight searched the trees around the mortuary, a shadowy figure ran out from behind a bush, he was shot in the back by a police sniper. He fell down, knocked out. Police cruisers and ambulences arrived, they took Miles, John, and the unknown assassin to the hospital.

***

A pale man with round glasses walked into a parking garage, he was wearing a long brown raincoat and was carrying a black umbrella, it was raining heavily outside. He approached a car and looked around, he saw nobody. He dropped down and rolled underneath the car. He took a small black box from his raincoat and placed it underneath the car, near the fuel tank. He quickly rolled back out and walked casually away from the vehicle. Thirty minutes later a tall man in a tailored Italian suit approached the car, he got in, backed out, and drove off. After driving for around a mile the box picked up the heat of the car and detonated. The car exploded in a ball of fire, the driver obviously dead. A man stands on the roof of a nearby building, a brick with a playing card tied to it in his hand. He throws the brick at the car, the brick lands two feet away from the burning wreckage. Ace then turns and walks away.

[[OOC: He is doing various assassinations throughout the world...I'll finish Septim's Travels and come back to this, I have a lot of time to kill.]]

A doctor walked in and approached Miles.
"You are being moved to a treatment center, we did all we can for you, and in all honesty we need more space," said the doctor.
"Where are you moving me?" asked Miles.
"A treatment center in town, not far from here," said the doctor casually, "Wounded cops go there sometimes, it's quite a nice place."
"Alrighty then," said Miles, attempting to get up. The doctor gestured for Miles to sit, and Miles did so. The doctor had him put in a wheelchair and a man wheeled him down into the parking garage, where he got into the front seat of a comfortable blue sedan. The man got in and put the key in the ignition. After turning the key he backed out and drove out of the garage, at that point a needle entered Miles's neck from behind. A hand covered Miles's mouth and the driver looked over.
"Hey, keep it quick," he said as the man put his hand over Miles's mouth.

Pentuple-post? XD

"Wake up Johnson," said a voice.
Miles opened his eyes, the room was blurry, he saw a shadow against the light.
"Who are you?" asked Miles.
"Call me Jack of Spades!" said the voice.
"Jack!" yelled Miles.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions, you may or may not know the answer to them, but I will. Every time you get it wrong I break a finger," said Jack, "Where is your wife?"
Miles had a horrible feeling in his stomach, if the man was asking that and knew the answer, then she would soon be dead.
"I have no idea!" yelled Miles.
"Oh, I know, I listened to the conversation you had with your wife," said Jack as he grabbed one of Miles' fingers. He pulled it back and bent it all the way, he heard a crack and Miles yelled in pain. The man asked three more times, and every time Miles had a finger broken. The worst part was when he ran out of fingers and extracted a tooth with a pair of pliers. As he was about to blow off a finger, four men in kevlar armor broke the door down and aimed their MP5s at Jack. Jack drew a silenced pistol and was shot five times in the chest, once in the neck, and twice in the head. A medical team rushed into the room and took Miles out on a stretcher...

***

Miles laid in a hospital room once again, his hands in casts. A man Miles didn't recognize entered the room and sat down across from him.
"Well, Mr. Johnson, you've had a rough week. I will explain the events, I hope you aren't too angered. While you were unconscious we put a tracking device inside of you, we knew you'd probably be kidnapped or killed, no matter what we did, so we decided to use it to our advantage," said the man.
"Advantage!? ADVANTAGE!? I was tortured! My tooth was ripped from my gums! My fingers were all broken! Have you found my wife yet? Or is she dead!?" yelled Miles.
"I thought you'd have that reaction, know this, the world's second best assassin is dead, and we are currently well into interogating the ten of spades," said the man.
Miles said nothing as he laid in the hospital bed, and the man sighed, he walked from the room and the door closed behind him. Ten minutes later the door opened again and the doctor walked in.
"Mr. Johnson, it's time for your shot," said the doctor.
"Shot?" asked Miles.
"Of course, the readings showed that you might have been injected with a very common poison, we have an antidote, now I am going to give it to you," said the doctor. The doctor injected the antidote into Miles' arm, and Miles began to feel weak, he reached for the call button, but it was out of reach. Miles looked up at the face of the assailant and came to a realization, the man looked like the doctor, but it wasn't him. The man threw a card down onto Miles's bed, the Ace of Spades, and walked from the room...

Oh no, now this is on the front page.

Is it over already? =/

So... just wondering, does Miles die?  Or do we have to wait for the freakin' sequel? =P

He was poisoned, but it never said he died...

ZOMBIE!! lol =P