The Last Request (Part One)

12,000 AD, that’s the time I live in. The technological achievements possible by now are staggering, but like always, men achieves greatness and screw it up. My time is like the 14^th century, a great empire like Rome has fallen and the world has been plunged into a Dark Age. In other words, the Medieval times with big fucking guns.

My name is Cade Lamberd. At least that’s the name I chose for myself when I was old enough to figure out that I needed a name. I could go on and complain about my awful childhood, but I don’t remember a lot, and the parts I do...well let’s just say my mom didn’t serve milk ‘n cookies. How do I know my childhood was so horrible? Heh. You haven’t seen my time. Rich landholders are the only ones with money and homes. The rest of the people are peasants or crime lords. There are no police, and the government is almost non-existent. Every day I live to survive and to land on top. There’s just one more thing you should know about me: I’m an assassin. In fact I’m the most feared assassin in all of Carona City, which is really more of a country. Its location is about where Mexico and some of southern United States used to be.

Right now, I’m in a small metal box and I’m waiting to die. Unfortunately my claustrophobia has become somewhat public. But wait; let me start at the beginning...

"Five million credits. That’s what you get Donador, and not a single credit more." The man shifted his eyes and loosened his tie. I could get at least another two million credits out of him, but he seemed desperate and I guess I took pity on him. That was my first mistake. Besides, I wasn’t gonna do a very good job any way.

He seemed to know my reputation; he called me Donador. My nickname is Donador del Deseo. Roughly translated, "The Wish Giver." My trademark is that I always give my victims one last request. One smart guy asked me to shoot myself in the head. I probably could’ve done it too. A little surgery work gave me a head that could be called...hard. I ain’t indestructible, but the ammo I was using wasn’t that great. I had a few other adjustments; one major one was having my adreno gland in my pancreas massively enlarged. In other words, if I break a sweat I can punch through concrete. Course it hurts, but with my bones being hard from surgery, my skin is the only thing that suffers. I had one other adjustment done, but don’t have to use it much.

"Well do we have a deal?"

"Yes, yes we do. So give me the breakdown."

"His name is Clay Johnson. He’s also called ‘The Clay Pigeon.’ He’s the leader of the Red Dragon Clan. Although he’s a young man and not very talented in fighting, his goons are all trained in deadly hand to hand combat. They’re trained in Tong Song Dong martial arts."

I smile; one of the martial arts I know is called Kaga To, a very deadly art. Especially since it’s made to counter Tong Song Dong. Which means, these guys don’t even have a prayer. "Give me a picture and his location."

He hands me a picture, handsome fellow. I see a girl in the picture, pretty too. Short blonde hair, green eyes. "Who’s the chick?"