Hewoo
966 Words
Hewoo
Cooky smiled at the hitmen that had come tonight to kill her. It was her birthday, after all. There were two of them, and they were properly armed. All she had was her trusty dagger.
Not that she needed anything more.
“Hewoo!” she cooed as she charged the one on the right. Only idiots waited, the correct action was to catch them flat-footed. Nobody ever expect a head-on attack when they were the ones getting the jump on someone.
They both raised their guns at her.
“Too laaate!” she giggled as she drove her dagger between the man’s armour plates and straight into his neck. He had barely managed to raise his gun half-way before she had closed the distance and had daggered him. Another rookie mistake, people think that a gun draw is quicker, when in fact, a knifed attacker can do-
Well, exactly what Cooky just did.
She twisted the knife to make sure she got the jugular. She had aimed from five meters away and straight between his protection, but getting through it and actually delivering a killing blow were two different things. She was good, but she wasn’t that good.
Thick, warm blood spurted into her face. “Jackpot!” she smiled, then turned to her next attacker. He had lost precious seconds being stunned by her attack, but his training seemed to kick in and he had raised his pistol at her.
She smiled at him eerily, her face sprayed with red.
He fired at her.
Cooky pulled the dying hitman in time between them. The bullets struck the guy’s Kevlar.
The hitman with the pistol froze in place, waiting to see the result. After a few endless seconds passed, Cooky poked her head from the side. “Peek a boo!”
The hitman yelled, “Aaah! Die you crazy b***h!” and emptied his clip.
Cooky poked her head out once more, her mouth in an ‘o’ shape. “Your peepee doesn’t work,” she said like a little girl.
Then she thrust her dagger under the man’s jaw and into his skull. Something crunched. She put her palm to the handle of her dagger and punched upwards, driving it further in. She saw the glint through the man’s teeth.
Then she put her knee to his chest and grunted, and pulled, and huffed, “Nyehhh!” and the dagger came loose, sending her tumbling down on the street and landing on her butt.
Cooky tilted her head. She heard some muffled sounds. She walked close to the first hitman’s face. She slapped him, then pushed his lips together. “Hah! You’re a fishy now. Are you talking?”
She could still hear something. She reached in with her fingers inside his ear and pulled the comms. “Ear wax, yucky…”
“I thought you said her name was Cookie! How f*****g hard could it be to kill a girl named like that?” a man squealed through the comms, terrified. “I don’t- No, I don’t care. We’re done. Contract is off, I just lost two men in five seconds. Never call me again, I will f*****g gut you.”
Cooky stood tall, as tall as a featherweight like her could possibly be. She looked down the alleys. There it was, a van. The lights just came on and the driver revved up the engine.
Now, what would the best course of action be in this situation?
She tapped the bloody dagger on her chin. Huh.
Oh, right.
Charge it headlong.
She ran up to the incoming van. The driver actually tried to swerve out of the way to avoid hitting her, but she sidestepped and jumped right into its path.
Slamming on the front with a hollow thud, she drove her dagger inside the metal. She barely had any footholds and held onto the dagger with both hands.
The driver cursed at her and turned the wheel, driving the van scratching into the sides of the parked cars. He was frantic, spitting and cursing. “Just f*****g die, already!”
Cooky held herself from one hand on the dagger and swung around like a pendulum. “Weeee!” she squealed in delight.
The van revved and went into the main road, forcing other cars to stop and honk at him in anger.
Cooky could feel the wind hitting her, it made the various cuts on her body sting. They were going too fast, they really needed to stop. So she dug out her dagger, held herself with the other hand, leaned to the side, arched her body aaaand…
Sliced the tire.
The van came tumbling in the air and landed on it’s top. Rending metal was all she could hear for many dizzying seconds that adrenaline stretched to feel like entire minutes.
Bam. Crunch.
“Wha- Nonono…” the third hitman said, shuffling away, pulling himself by his arms.
There was fire all around them. Oil slicks. Bits of metal. And in the middle, Cooky, coming at him with her dagger and a big smile.
She cut his arm carefully. He screamed all the way until he passed out.
Oh well. He was gonna bleed out anyway, no way an ambulance would come so fast in this neighbourhood, and she doubted that second-rate hitmen like these bozos could afford Apollo Tripods.
She lifted the man’s severed arm and checked his implants. They weren’t exactly military-grade, but they were black-market ones with encryptions she didn’t have the patience to crack otherwise. She fiddled with the severed arm until it popped up an augmented reality display. There it was, her location and an exact time for the hit.
Only one man had that information.
Cooky stepped inside her house, waving the severed arm around, staining the hallway. She faced her husband in the study, who was drinking expensive whiskey while watching the flames crackling in the fireplace. His eyes met hers, then he gulped and frozen, he waited for her reaction.
A long moment passed. Then she squealed, opening her arms wide, “My hubby!” She ran up to him and gave him a big hug. “Best birthday present, ever, muah, muah, moo-waah!”
The End
- Writer
