• WARNING: THERE IS EXPLICIT AND VULGAR CONTENT WITHIN THIS STORY, AND YOU WOULD BE ADVISED NOT TO READ IT IF YOU FIND IT OFFENSIVE. THANK YOU.


    LEGAL NOTICE:     THE CHARACTERS AND PLACES MENTIONED IN THIS STORY MAY OR MAY NOT BE REAL PEOPLE AND/OR PLACES, AND THOSE THAT ARE MADE UP ARE PROPERTY OF JACK MAY AND ZACK TANNER. THEY ARE NOT PERMITTED TO BE USED BY THE PUBLIC.

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    INTERFERENCE: SAMUEL CARTER'S STORY
    By Jack May, with help from Zack Tanner (5k3Tch_31ght)


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    Prologue:
    First Job

    MOSCOW, RUSSIA
    WORLD WAR TWO, 1942

    "Comrade Miron!" Nikolai cried.

    Sergeant Miron Konstantin, twenty-four years of age, company gunner, had been shot ten times in the chest by the damaged barrel of a dying Nazi's MP-44 sub-machine gun. Time seemed to have slowed; but he wasn't in pain. No, the pain wasn't there. He was trained to not feel pain.

    But he was also trained to live.

    Curse his luck!

    "Get a medic over here, now!" Senior Lieutenant Nikolai Petrovich, company sniper, shouted as the clouds from the gunfight finally began to die down. Company medic, Master Sergeant Yuri Yakobi, rushed over with his frost-covered medical kit. It was a dark night in Moscow, both for the residents of the Motherland's greatest city, which layed in ruins, and for the 47th Infantry Division. This mission was supposed to be simple; They were to meet up with the 56th Armor Division to deliver the necessary equipment for repairs on some of their tanks. They never saw the all-too-sudden ambush that came from all directions. First to go down was Alexei, shot in the back of the head by a sniper. Then went Mikhail, sprayed by automatic gunfire in the side. Then Pavlov, company heavy gunner. The battle lasted for an hour, sixty minutes of bullets chipping stone and nearly scalping heads. Sixty minutes of grenade explosions. Sixty long and grueling minutes of shouting, stabbing, and even smashing skulls with the butts of SVT-40 rifles.

    When it all came to a close, Miron heard the faint sounds of a cowardly Fascist and turned just in time to be met with one last spray of gunfire before he was silenced by Colonel Sergei Agostov, smoking pistol in hand.

    And now, he was fully prepared to welcome death...

    ~~~~~

    Years later, after the events of the Terran Wars

    ST. BINAH, FIGARO CONTINENT
    CURRENT TIME, 3445


    A small buzzing noise     came from a silver cell phone on Sam Carter's bedpost. His hand lazily reached out from under the covers and fumbled around, eventually reaching it, but accidentally slapping it off the table.

    "Damn it," Sam swore as he rolled out of bed and picked up his phone. It was way too early in the morning for any calls. Who in their right minds would need him to pick up the phone at 6:00 A.M.? He checked the caller I.D. It was a private number. The only way Sam would know who was calling would be to let it go to voicemail. Which was exactly what he did as he went to get dressed. Sam's dayjob was construction. A recent riot had left most of the shopping district in St. Binah in shambles, and he, along with some other volunteers, had opted to help rebuild it to save the government any hassle with trying to cover it themselves. Ever since the war ended, things had been a bit... under funded. It was hard enough as it was to find a way to repay some of the volunteers, though Sam was one of the many who said they could do without rewards to help the government out with the rebuilding process.

    Sam's other job, however, was one of the many reasons that people phoned in so frequently.

    Sam Carter was a Hitman.

    He had learned a long time ago about his heritage. An infantry soldier in Russia during World War 2. Miron Konstantin. He had also learned that his entire background was covered over with the false story that he was fighting for his country, when in reality he was slowly but surely eliminating some of the highest members. The man who helped cover his identity was a man of great skill who ditched Russia and moved to Germany when he learned of Miron's death. It was only after the man commit suicide in Germany that the Russian people learned of the cover up. Konstantin's body was burned that night.

    As for Sam, though he was technically a Hitman, people didn't hire him for assassinations of important government figures. People normally called him in to off criminals. Small fry, large hits, it didn't matter. So long as Sam got something out of it. Although there was that one person who tried to hire him to kill, maybe, the General of the St. Binah Military, or the President of St. Luna, but Sam never replied to those calls.

    He listened closely to the voicemail as he drove to the construction site. It was a message from a random female asking his services, and her reply would be waiting in his inbox. Sam shrugged and got out of his car. He approached the construction site and put on his hardhat, ready to begin a hard and long workday.

    A light punch to the back of his left shoulder blade caught Sam's attention. "I never would've guessed you were volunteering, too," said Sam's childhood friend, Peter Ingrid.

    Sam smiled. "Yeah, I've been at this a while. You?"
    "Only three days. I haven't missed much, have I?" Peter asked, surveying the area.

    "Not really. We're not moving very fast, and this place is a major hangout for teenagers. If we don't finish it soon, I expect they might just go tear it down again," Sam replied. Peter chuckled lightly, and that was enough to throw him into a fit of heavy coughing.

    "Jesus, have you been smoking?" Sam asked, a look of general concern crossing his face.

    "Nah, man, it's the damn dust around my house. It's getting in my throat."

    "You really need to clean that mess up," Sam commented.

    "Yeah. Don't remind me," Peter replied, standing up straight.

    The two chatted for a while longer and then set off to work.

    ~~~~~


    Nine hours later, Sam     returned home and checked his inbox. As promised, there was indeed a message waiting for him, from a Sarah Greene. Sam opened it. The message read:

    Hey there.

    Think you're hot stuff? I've been waiting for your answer all day.

    -Sarah

    Sam figured since she hadn't detailed what the target was or what he would be required to do, he decided that it might be best to ask first.

    Depends. What's the target? I don't work without a name, face, behavior pattern, and location.

    -Sam

    He shut down his computer and then went to bed. No sense staying up all night waiting for a response that would take hours to come.

    ~~~~~

    -END OF PROLOGUE-