Vargas Fatima

Vargas stood still with his eyes half closed, listening to the sounds of the city at night. His long flame colored hair was tied back in a pony-tail with a rough leather band. His hands were a similar color of red, bathed in the blood of the man at his feet. The man was a Cryn assassin who had been ordered to kill him for his own **** work. It had taken the assassin several months to track him down, and then he had failed to kill Vargas because he had thought his tracking had been wrong. Vargas was in his mid thirties, but looked seventeen. His long red hair usually masked the eye patch over his left eye. There was nothing wrong with the eye, but it gave the illusion of a handycap when he could still make out movement through the fabric.

Vargas was Veertor's answer to the Cryn assassins. Code named the "Hound" after the war dogs bred for the infantry, Vargas was a hunting and killing machine. Unlike the Cryn's elite unites, he killed out of a sheer sense of pleasure. He was a blood thirsty criminal until a unit of Veertor soldiers managed to corner him in a ratty shack on the western coast of the country. Some bigwig general had come in alone with just a bottle of moonshine and the two had drank for hours like old friends. When the pair came out together, Vargas had gotten on one knee and sworn to serve as their "Hunting Dog." For seven years he had made a living doing what he loved best: Killing.

Vargas thought back to the general. It was a man named Alexander Zarkov. Zarkov was off on some top secret mission now but had given him some more fun. He was hunting a woman with hair as red as his with orders to bring her to him by any means necessary. He had been doing some checking around some of the free islands when the assassin had caught up to him. Vargas checked his dagger and his six shot pistol, Nightmare, and then turned and fired into the shadows to his left. A hooded man fell dead.

"Idiots. You're too predictable. Plus you always work in groups."

Vargas pulled a folded paper from his pocket and went over the message once more. The woman sounded hot. Getting his hands on her might be more fun than killing off assassins or political guys.

"Sasha Grey huh? Hold on sweet heart. Daddy's coming to play."