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Mercenary
     
    I watched the world burn with glee. Fresh
off a paid mission overseas, I had spent several years building up
a reputation and career as a personal bodyguard for drug dealers,
heads of criminal organizations, mob bosses and anyone else who
paid upfront, asked no questions and didn’t care how many bodies
piled up. They were the only kinds of jobs I could find after my
two year murder trial ended five years ago. I was acquitted –
compliments of the politician who hired me to make the hit landing
me on trial – but I was also blacklisted from any sort of
legitimate employment anywhere, thanks to a Supreme Magistrate
determined to punish my former employer and anyone who worked for
him.
    So when I saw the
words, Supreme Magistrate feared
dead, scroll across the screen for the
fourth time, I laughed. I continued to grin as the news stations in
Washington DC, where I lived, scrambled for coverage of what was
happening around the world. Whenever they managed to grab a live
feed from another city, it ended up flat lining once the other
station was struck by the gods’ fury.
    “The gods show their true colors at last,” I
said, smiling. Earlier in the evening, the gods had begun to attack
humanity, everywhere but within the DC area and Maryland, an area
reportedly protected by Zeus. The newscasters weren’t able to
identify how far this safe zone extended, but they claimed Zeus’
priests had contacted them directly and assured them that DC would
be spared whatever wrath the gods were displaying across the rest
of the planet.
    My eyes glued to the television screen, I
loaded magazines into the weapons I spent the past hour cleaning
and piled my favorite knives on one side of the coffee table for a
quick inspection before I left my apartment.
    The world had descended into
absolute madness. I couldn’t conform to a society where my natural
violent tendencies were condemned but this … this was chaos. This
was me. An
environment where only the merciless survived? I was born for this!
The fatigue I experienced from nine months overseas disappeared
when I began to consider all the possibilities.
    My cell rang, and I grabbed it.
    “Yeah,” I said gruffly into the phone.
    “Good evening, Niko.” The polished voice was
quiet.
    Wariness crept into my excitement. “What do
you want?”
    “Are you watching the news?”
    “Who isn’t?”
    “Then you should know what I want.”
    I had been hoping this particular man had
been killed by the gods. I squeezed the hilt of a knife hard enough
for my knuckles to turn white. Setting it down, I leaned back and
allowed the sofa cushions to support my weight. “Humor me,” I
said.
    Cleon, the wealthy politician I allied with
seven years ago, called when he needed my particular skills. We had
a deal of sorts, one I wasn’t able to buck, when he alone knew what
to hold over my head to make me comply with his demands. The good:
he called infrequently, and it had been eighteen months since we
last spoke. The bad: the jobs he hired me for were rougher than any
of my other gigs. All the scars I had earned since we met were from
jobs I did for him.
    “I thought you would be pleased to know the
Supreme Magistrate won’t be crushing either of us beneath his heel
anymore,” Cleon said.
    “You never call to discuss the news.”
    “Very well, Niko. I try to make our
exchanges pleasant as my way of showing you I appreciate what you
do.”
    I rolled my eyes. It had taken me some time
to figure Cleon out. I was constantly surrounded by men whose
reputations for violence were a source of pride. I had developed a
sixth sense when it came to people and surviving strangers. Like
me, Cleon was a different animal. Brilliant, driven, and obsessive,
he was also capable of generosity and kindness. He fit the
description of a psychopath – except he valued the relationships he
shared with a select few too much to be incapable of empathy.
    He was complicated, and for some reason, he
genuinely