One day ability did not make it to a story yet:
she examined her room on the seventh floor, then set out to take a look at the layout of the hotel before retiring to bed. She had business here. Being the sportish type, she took the stairs, rather than the elevator.
Night 5 remaining stories:
He followed the unassuming man with the earnest face for most of the night, as the architect moved in and out of bars and restaurants, never staying anywhere for longer than it took to drink a beer or snack on tempura or okonomiyaki. Not a lot of fun stuff, but he had been patient throughout his entire life and he would continue to be so tonight. On impulse, he bought an omelette with cabbage and several types of vegetable, some sort of weird pancake. His glasses steamed with the heat of the egg, coming directly off a hot iron plate. Neither of them noticed the man with the golden chain who watched them both from a distance, making sure they would do nothing to harm the cause.
~~
The young spokeswoman entered the toilet, and was then grasped from behind, pulled into a stall, and dumped unceremoniously with her behind in the toilet pot. Her wild flailing triggered a few of the buttons, and her pretty brown skirt was drenched by a fountain of water. She squealed, and the other woman used the moment to push a dirt crusted handkerchief in her mouth. “Sorry, I do not have anything else,” a hoarse whisper in her ear said. She tried to struggle, tried to spit out the gag, but nothing worked, and she ended up with her arms tied to her legs, a wet skirt and a mouth full of dirt. “I’ll do you one favour,” her captor said. “I’ll make sure it is a woman who finds you, not one of these tentacle loving freaks who think rape makes a good read.”
~~
He set out, gun in the sportsbag. He knew where to find the leather clad woman, and though she had co-operated in the past, she now was obsolete and a danger to his employer. He confronted her on the twelfth floor of her hotel, and she backed away from his expression. He chased her into a room, and she flung herself out from the window before he had a clear shot. He watched her go down, then, impossibly, grasp a windowsill and haul herself in. Eighth floor. He ran to the lift, and saw all were going down. Damn, she had beaten him to it, and could now be anywhere. Fuck.
~~
She had just finished her instructions and written her will when he came through the door, bull pup assault gun at the ready, teeth bared under his moustache, but before he could do so much as pull the trigger, four of her men jumped him. She left the building, calmly, confident her trap would either kill him, or at the least keep him occupied.
Inside, the assailant employed brutal hand-to-hand techniques, breaking arms, necks and legs, smashing kneecaps and cutting throats with a vicious combat knife. Finally, all was silent. He picked up his gun and left, thoroughly dissatisfied but unharmed save for several bruises. Amateurs. To add insult to injury, some shadowy figure tried to slow him down with throwing stars. If he ever caught that one, he’d have a quiet talk on how to run a proper commando raid, before he killed him, of course.
~~
She dove out of the window, pulled herself in, and ran for the lifts, calling them all down, then taking the stairs three floors up, back to her room, to grab her kit. Within seconds, she had thrown her clothes off and replaced them with the tight but comforting leather of her catsuit. She left the room through the window, creeping up several storeys to a suite where a woman was calling with her stockbroker, and entered through the bedroom window, spending some time on the iMac which stood on the bed. Satisfied, she climbed down again, and set out on foot to a small two-star hotel, where she rummaged through the belongings of another woman, who seemed to possess nothing of note, save a matrushka doll, which stood opened on the small desk, one of the dolls containing anti-depressants, the smallest a gram of what could only be cocaine.
~~
She watched the funny bald guy keeping his balance on one hand on a spikebed. He had been doing that for quite a while now, and while she didn’t know what it could possibly be for, she decided to play a few tricks on him. She reversed her grip on the kusarigama, keeping the blade at her side, instead flinging the weighted end at the man, aimed at his hand. Let’s see how composed he is when he’s face down on those things, she thought. Unbelievably, he made a tiny hop, throwing himself in the air by flexing his fingers, avoiding the chain at the last moment, and landing on that hand again.
“We can do this all night,” he said. Her expression soured under the high tech mask with night goggles. This would be no fun after all.
no-one died, I'll now send all the results through, then start the day again.
This post has been edited by Path-Shaper: 26 May 2010 - 03:25 PM
Reason for edit: edited to add day story.
Only someone with this much power could make this many frittatas without breaking any eggs.
Mockra 
Omtose, on 26 May 2010 - 02:39 PM, said:
Help
