"Something of a spectre then aren't you?" The interim CEO asks the project Progeny subject, formerly dubbed agent number 47,
"I prefer Newcastle" The agent says tightening the link of his cuffs,looking up at his superior "Tom, Newcastle."
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The cloning program was a wildly divergent tangent of mainstream science, combining metahuman healing abilities with the dead cells of the former President and CEO of Animus Corporations. The program had been started only weeks prior to the inauguration of his presidency, knowing full well that he couldnt prepare, either in defense or offense of hs enemies both foreigh and domestic, but never truly stop death. He had afterall died once and didn't find it agreeable.
forty seven subjects were created, each slightly better than the last. One may be intelligent, but lacked tact, one may be an excellent leader, but lacked wisdom. Each was a failure and success in it's own right.
Then out of the tube of project progeny was the perfect progeny, Agent 47. A man with an indominable will and a hunger for power that was off set by a a patience only learned through time and virtue. His confidence was undeterrable yet he never overstepped past his own incompetence. In truth, he wasn't Thomas Newcastle, he was better than him in every way.
"Good evening." Tom says, seating himself at the end of the bar with a lone exotic skinned woman with deep brown eyes that told a story of exhaustion and abuse from the long day behind her. "Would you mind if I bought you another one of those." He asks already waving over the bartender.
"The lady will have another of her drink of choice, I'll take a whiskey double malt with a napkin and pencil."
"You don't leave much room for objection do you?" She asked in an airy British tone, "Thank you...?"
"Newcastle. Tom Newcastle."
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The post-rain sky is exhaling magenta and orange streaks into the atmosphere, the sun edging over the horizon and lapping at the toes of the two lovers in the penthouse suite that overlooked the Thames.
The woman runs her finger over his pectorals, tracing each define line as though she were testing it's realism, "I noticed something about you."
"Oh...What's that." He asks staring out at the horizon while stroking her shoulder
"You didn't tell me I was beautiful once. Almost every man I've ever met has opened with some line about my gorgeous eyes or my skin tone...but you asked me about everything else. "
"I treat women like a fine wine. No judgments until I've actually tasted the full flavor." He says with a lazy smile, looking down with his icy blue eyes "But I'll tell you what every man has ever told you. Just in a way you've never heard."
"Go on..." Now her chin sat on her knuckles, which crossed on his chest, a childish smile on her face
"Your eyes aren't a gorgeous brown, their two pools of hot whiskey on a black counter top, offset perfectly and chased by the smooth milk of your voice. Your skin gives a sweet flavor like cinnamon accent, your long legs bring it all together like a stemmed glass, your smooth arms stir it all together, as they stirred me to come to you last night. You, madame, are a tall glass of fire, burning any who dont know how to respect and appreciate you."
"Mr.Newcastle...I'm speechless." Her lips press against his as if magnetized as his hands slip beneath the pillow, his lips skipping slowly past hers and down her cheek, then her neck, and back up to her ear, as he whispers
"Where was that speechlessness when you told the American Government about my private bank accounts."
A thin piano wire slips over her head just as shock hits her, fingers slipping between the wire in vein as she loses the tips of each hands' digits. Blood fills those hot whiskey eyes, and he watches. He didn't want to, the act of killing wasn't appealing in the slightest. But he owed her that respect. In an odd sense of moral obligation. He believed he needed to give her as much truth as possible after so much deception.
The spark in her eyes snuffs out, her body limp and lifeless, her breasts no longer jumping with the beat of her fast heart. Gently setting her head down onto the blood stained pillow, Tom stands up naked and makes a phone call, "It's done. Sin Fong is terminated. "
"Excellent work, Agent. That was your last assignment. Your ready...Animus "
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