Tactical gear, sight mark optics, Pocket Omega SMG Magazine hip pouch, and an AR-15 hooked to a tactical gun sling were met with load bearing suspenders and harness.
These things and more were strapped and fastened to Hank the Tank after nearly 15 minutes of getting suited for cleaning duty. Of course, this kind of cleaning wasn?t exactly with a mop and bucket. A top of the line carbon fiber stealth pistol belt was met with a leather magazine pouch that was substituted as a pouch for the communication receiver that was wirelessly connected to a small black bud in his ear.
?Danguh close. Three tawgets. One is armed, the other is..? A blue eye was intently focused on a scope, its twin squinted closed. He lied on his stomach, on a black blanket with an opened suitcase. The gun sling slept on his back along with its decorative AR-15. ?..I t?ink the othuh?s some kind of freak.? That was his term for supernatural. ?Maybe a half animal type..? This was his morning job with coffee and donuts waiting for him in his truck that was barked at the base of the building he chose.
He chose the Long distance route. The better you were, the closer you got to your target. But he was lazy, and wanted some distance. Even though it took more time to get the job done, it was in fact safer. He wanted to see Emarie today. Today was NOT the day he?d risk that. Fewer days were allowed to be risked. The scary, or wonderful, truth was that the man had a lot more to lose than when he started out.
Hank was calm, watching the three through his scope. He got to know them, how they walked, if any had limps, their posture. All that was missing was the audio of the three as they walked. They were rushing, probably feeling that same discomfort anybody felt when they knew they would have to pay dearly for whatever it was they?ve done. That was another thing Hank loved being in the dark about. The more he knew, the more personal it was. And he didn?t like mixing his one-track opinions with work. Audrey liked when he didn?t ask questions, and he didn?t like to ask too many since he?d never remember it all.
?I got them locked. Time is..? He glanced at his wrist watch and replaced that one open eye to the scope. ?9:12 AM. Targets to be sanitized in 5.? He always gave 5 more minutes. Hank was a decent 400 yards from the target, high above and cozy where he was. The morning sun cast a shadow, and he noticed something else. ?Wait. Halt that time. Extremity spotted.? Audrey liked recordings of Hank?s jobs. It was a sort of transcript she kept. It was like she was there while being able to look after little Susie at the same time. Hank didn?t know the times she listened live, and when she didn?t. Audrey had an ingenious system to keep the man honest.
?Sh*t. Seriously?? He was pretty sure it was what he thought it was. He zoomed the scope into that alleyway they were approaching. That guy was either drunk or... ?Suspected Z spotted. I hope yuh listening. I want to request a test shot.? He waited, looking back at the 3 targets that were nearing the area. Whenever he saw a suspected Walker too close to anything that was when his nerves got scattered. Even if he was paid to kill them, something inside of him was always hurried and worried when he saw someone about to walk into a Zombie.
?Test shot requested.? Plainly requested with a rushed bark. ?Repeat. Test shot requested.? But there was no reply. Well, at least he was sure that she wasn?t listening live. But still, he didn?t like how close they were. The man?s ankles were green and yellow, while one of his arms was bent clearly out of the shoulder socket. The man, if he were alive, should be in excruciating pain given the sight of him. But no approval came. And this was a solo mission. He couldn?t even consult the voice of reason of the team, that soon-to-be married red headed vampire named Charlie.
?No answer acknowledged.? He hated times like this. The zombie was aware they were near. The shamble went from being drowsy and disoriented to driven a certain direction. ?Yeah, dhat?s a Z. Real hungry, too.? He said this through gritted teeth. But his scope went back to the three targets. They were nearly at the alley, a block away.
?Okay, I?m just gonna take the tawgets down. Dhen the Z. Business first, vendettas latuh.? He was doing the right thing. Focus on the priority targets. Always on the money. And he exhaled sharply. ?Target 1, marked.? And he exhaled and squeezed the trigger. It was only a hollow click that sounded like a door?s hinge clicking shut. And down went the tall man, like a ton of bricks. ?Target 1, finished.? The two women with him shrieked, both knelt quickly with the first fallen body.
And then that zombie was on the move a little faster, having a clearer idea where dinner was when the dinner bell rang for him. Hank underestimated how messed up his legs was. They were still intact enough to change that shamble to a rushed stagger. Hank zipped his scope back to the two targets. ?Two remainin?. Next shot locked.? He narrowed one eye and squeezed again.
?Target 2, marked. Target 2, finished.? Two hysterical girls turned to one that was louder than the two combined. And he didn?t wait to take down the third and final target, ?Target 3, marked. Target 3, complete. Three targets cleaned.? But he also didn?t wait on the new fourth mark he had in his sights. ?Now taking down the Z. Just a quick sweep.? And he aimed this one a little more carefully than the other 3.
Hank squeezed, and the groaning zombie fell down stiff, not making another move. ?Target total: 4. Intended targets: 3. Remaining targets: 0.? Hank heaved a sigh and stood up from the blanket to sit Indian Style.
He began to dismantle the Chey Tac .408 cal rifle.
The primer type was a large rifle, very high quality. One of the best money could buy. He had the best toys for his job, and he was insistent that it be American made. Hank glanced through binoculars down on the street, double checking on the three targets, and the fallen zombie.
?Four spills total, cleaning crew's gonna be on the way soon. Okay, I?m packing up for the day. Hank Emerson, out.? A button at his belt was pressed, ending the recording of the 'cleaning'. Hank knew they were expecting him down there soon, and began to walk to unpack his gear to put on a heavy briefcase. He hefted the suitcases into a cart he had on the rooftop that. It looked like a Janitor's cart, guns placed in the trashcan that was covered by a rag and the belts and guns placed in the bucket were brushes and rags.
When all the guns and accessories were finally hidden away in his janitor cart, he was reduced to a jumpsuit and matching uniform baseball cap.
Hank Emerson went from gunman to sanitation engineer in minutes, pushing the cleaning cart to the elevator lift that would take him to the ground floor. Aviator sunglasses were placed over his eyes during the descent to the ground floor, and he headed for the cleaning van of the company.
'A to Z Cleaners' was printed both under his name on the jumpsuit and on the hat he wore. It was also on the sides of the truck, as he drove over to the scene of dead bodies.
It was just another day for the A to Z cleaning crew.
These things and more were strapped and fastened to Hank the Tank after nearly 15 minutes of getting suited for cleaning duty. Of course, this kind of cleaning wasn?t exactly with a mop and bucket. A top of the line carbon fiber stealth pistol belt was met with a leather magazine pouch that was substituted as a pouch for the communication receiver that was wirelessly connected to a small black bud in his ear.
?Danguh close. Three tawgets. One is armed, the other is..? A blue eye was intently focused on a scope, its twin squinted closed. He lied on his stomach, on a black blanket with an opened suitcase. The gun sling slept on his back along with its decorative AR-15. ?..I t?ink the othuh?s some kind of freak.? That was his term for supernatural. ?Maybe a half animal type..? This was his morning job with coffee and donuts waiting for him in his truck that was barked at the base of the building he chose.
He chose the Long distance route. The better you were, the closer you got to your target. But he was lazy, and wanted some distance. Even though it took more time to get the job done, it was in fact safer. He wanted to see Emarie today. Today was NOT the day he?d risk that. Fewer days were allowed to be risked. The scary, or wonderful, truth was that the man had a lot more to lose than when he started out.
Hank was calm, watching the three through his scope. He got to know them, how they walked, if any had limps, their posture. All that was missing was the audio of the three as they walked. They were rushing, probably feeling that same discomfort anybody felt when they knew they would have to pay dearly for whatever it was they?ve done. That was another thing Hank loved being in the dark about. The more he knew, the more personal it was. And he didn?t like mixing his one-track opinions with work. Audrey liked when he didn?t ask questions, and he didn?t like to ask too many since he?d never remember it all.
?I got them locked. Time is..? He glanced at his wrist watch and replaced that one open eye to the scope. ?9:12 AM. Targets to be sanitized in 5.? He always gave 5 more minutes. Hank was a decent 400 yards from the target, high above and cozy where he was. The morning sun cast a shadow, and he noticed something else. ?Wait. Halt that time. Extremity spotted.? Audrey liked recordings of Hank?s jobs. It was a sort of transcript she kept. It was like she was there while being able to look after little Susie at the same time. Hank didn?t know the times she listened live, and when she didn?t. Audrey had an ingenious system to keep the man honest.
?Sh*t. Seriously?? He was pretty sure it was what he thought it was. He zoomed the scope into that alleyway they were approaching. That guy was either drunk or... ?Suspected Z spotted. I hope yuh listening. I want to request a test shot.? He waited, looking back at the 3 targets that were nearing the area. Whenever he saw a suspected Walker too close to anything that was when his nerves got scattered. Even if he was paid to kill them, something inside of him was always hurried and worried when he saw someone about to walk into a Zombie.
?Test shot requested.? Plainly requested with a rushed bark. ?Repeat. Test shot requested.? But there was no reply. Well, at least he was sure that she wasn?t listening live. But still, he didn?t like how close they were. The man?s ankles were green and yellow, while one of his arms was bent clearly out of the shoulder socket. The man, if he were alive, should be in excruciating pain given the sight of him. But no approval came. And this was a solo mission. He couldn?t even consult the voice of reason of the team, that soon-to-be married red headed vampire named Charlie.
?No answer acknowledged.? He hated times like this. The zombie was aware they were near. The shamble went from being drowsy and disoriented to driven a certain direction. ?Yeah, dhat?s a Z. Real hungry, too.? He said this through gritted teeth. But his scope went back to the three targets. They were nearly at the alley, a block away.
?Okay, I?m just gonna take the tawgets down. Dhen the Z. Business first, vendettas latuh.? He was doing the right thing. Focus on the priority targets. Always on the money. And he exhaled sharply. ?Target 1, marked.? And he exhaled and squeezed the trigger. It was only a hollow click that sounded like a door?s hinge clicking shut. And down went the tall man, like a ton of bricks. ?Target 1, finished.? The two women with him shrieked, both knelt quickly with the first fallen body.
And then that zombie was on the move a little faster, having a clearer idea where dinner was when the dinner bell rang for him. Hank underestimated how messed up his legs was. They were still intact enough to change that shamble to a rushed stagger. Hank zipped his scope back to the two targets. ?Two remainin?. Next shot locked.? He narrowed one eye and squeezed again.
?Target 2, marked. Target 2, finished.? Two hysterical girls turned to one that was louder than the two combined. And he didn?t wait to take down the third and final target, ?Target 3, marked. Target 3, complete. Three targets cleaned.? But he also didn?t wait on the new fourth mark he had in his sights. ?Now taking down the Z. Just a quick sweep.? And he aimed this one a little more carefully than the other 3.
Hank squeezed, and the groaning zombie fell down stiff, not making another move. ?Target total: 4. Intended targets: 3. Remaining targets: 0.? Hank heaved a sigh and stood up from the blanket to sit Indian Style.
He began to dismantle the Chey Tac .408 cal rifle.
The primer type was a large rifle, very high quality. One of the best money could buy. He had the best toys for his job, and he was insistent that it be American made. Hank glanced through binoculars down on the street, double checking on the three targets, and the fallen zombie.
?Four spills total, cleaning crew's gonna be on the way soon. Okay, I?m packing up for the day. Hank Emerson, out.? A button at his belt was pressed, ending the recording of the 'cleaning'. Hank knew they were expecting him down there soon, and began to walk to unpack his gear to put on a heavy briefcase. He hefted the suitcases into a cart he had on the rooftop that. It looked like a Janitor's cart, guns placed in the trashcan that was covered by a rag and the belts and guns placed in the bucket were brushes and rags.
When all the guns and accessories were finally hidden away in his janitor cart, he was reduced to a jumpsuit and matching uniform baseball cap.
Hank Emerson went from gunman to sanitation engineer in minutes, pushing the cleaning cart to the elevator lift that would take him to the ground floor. Aviator sunglasses were placed over his eyes during the descent to the ground floor, and he headed for the cleaning van of the company.
'A to Z Cleaners' was printed both under his name on the jumpsuit and on the hat he wore. It was also on the sides of the truck, as he drove over to the scene of dead bodies.
It was just another day for the A to Z cleaning crew.