[Remastered] TwigSnapped Prologue

TwigSnapped

by

TheWickedWordsmith


Prologue



It started off like any other day.

With my alarm blaring in my ear, followed by it's subsequent impact with the wall. It's alright though. The thing was built to last. The wall had a lot more to worry about, illustrated by it's numerous dents and dings. 

What can I say? I'm not a morning person. 

As I sat up in my bed and stretched my tired limbs, I felt the cold late Autumn air hit my bare chest and immediately wanted to retreat back into the warm shelter of my comforter. I knew I should have closed my window last night...

After gathering up the spirit to face the frigid air of the room, I tossed my comforter to the floor; making it impossible for me to stay in bed any longer. It landed in a heap on the floor next to me, one corner still snagged on the mattress. 

I placed my feet on the cold floor, the sudden change in temperature sending a jolt through my body and waking me completely. Now fully awake, I stood up, clad in nothing but a loose pair of boxer shorts. I trudged over to the window, despite the frigid air emanating from it, and closed it tight. No need to lock it however, considering I live on the 13th floor.

Now with the window closed, the warm air of the rest of the apartment began to replace the cold, a welcome change to say the least. I then began my morning routine, making a beeline for my bathroom. After waking up in an icebox, a hot shower sounded like heaven. 

I closed the door behind me, to make sure I kept in any warm air I could. I turned on the shower, making sure the water was to my liking. Once I was satisfied with the temperature, I discarded my boxers and stepped inside. I took my time washing up, savoring the hot touch of the water on my skin. Once I was feeling thoroughly refreshed, I turned off the shower and stepped out. I grabbed a towel and dried myself off. Then came my second daily routine. It was no secret my hair was an unnatural color, that being said it required maintenance to keep it that way. I checked my roots, to see if any natural color had started to show. It had not. Good, that dye cost a fortune. As my eyes trailed down to my torso, I noticed my shoulder tattoo had finally started to fade. It wasn't surprising, considering it's age. 

Satisfied with my appearance, I left the bathroom and headed back into my bedroom. Thankfully, the room was much warmer with window closed. I headed over to my dresser and grabbed a pair of slacks, a fresh pair of boxers, a sleeveless shirt and tabi boots. What are tabi shoes? They're basically parkour sneakers. I run faster while wearing them, and my footsteps remain virtually silent. I donned them all and proceeded over to my closet. I opened it's doors and rummaged for my favorite jacket, stopping only for a moment to admire another. A smile crept up my face as memories came back to me. 

I'd had this jacket since my childhood. I'd long since grown out of it, but I could never bear to part with it. It had sentimental value, you see. Green denim, with bleached stripes on the sleeves. As a kid, I had the bright idea of trying to use bleach to add some character to the jacket. It worked, in theory I suppose. On the right side of the jacket was a sewn on patch I had added after tearing it one day. I found a piece of material that I thought looked similar. In retrospect, it was a pretty dumb move on my part. It stood out like a sore thumb. To be fair, I was only 10. The fact I even was able to properly repair it at that age should count for something, right? I even kept the button on it. Sure, I could have added it to something I wear now, but I felt the jacket would lose some of it's character without it. I remember when my best friend gave it to me. I was being bullied for my appearance. It's hard growing up looking the way I do. White skin and red eyes aren't exactly normal. And kids are evil little bastards when they want to be. My best friend showed up with her dad. He chased them away, while she comforted me. That's when she gave it to me. A large smiley face button. It was her way of telling me to smile, that things would get better. Heh, she wasn't wrong. People think twice about messing with a guy with a licence to carry. Not that I would ever shoot someone. Outside of work that is. 

Work. That's right. I should stop reminiscing and finish getting ready. After all, it's nearly sundown. Did I mention I work nights? Cause I do.

I reached for my favorite jacket, taking a brief moment to admire it's design. Inspired by my childhood jacket. Some things never change, you know? Most people find it odd, however when you look like me you'd much rather have someone focus on your clothes. Navy sleeves, with mauve stripes ending in a spiral pattern, and a dark greenish grey vest center. Yup, its definitely an acquired taste of attire. 

I tossed it on and headed out of my bedroom. I walked down the hall that lead to my living room and kitchenette, my hands fumbling around in the sleeves, pulling it on myself and adjusting it. There's no time for a real meal, considering the workload ahead. Guess I'll just grab an energy bar and eat something substantial after the job. I headed into the kitchen and grabbed the aforementioned bar. I have two preferences, berry and chocolate, and today I was in the mood for the latter. I proceeded to stuff my face with it, washing it down with a large glass of milk, refreshing. After the quick meal and a satisfied sigh, I realized just how much time I still had before work. I could have probably had a proper meal if I had paid more attention to the time. Oh well...

As I walked out of the kitchenette, an old photo caught my eye. One I hadn't looked at in awhile. I stopped dead in my tracks to admire it. The photo was of me and my best friend, during her 11th birthday. It had been taken right after me giving her the handmade birthday present I made for her. After sewing up my jacket, I thought I'd try my hand at creating something more complicated. She was always fond of clowns, jesters especially. To be honest, I was scared to death of them back when I was a kid. Ironic, given my appearance and current musical tastes. Anyway, I made her this little jester plush in different shades of purple. It had always been her favorite color. The arms, legs and head were massively disproportional and it didn't have any hands, but she loved it anyway, it made me really happy. She was hugging it in the photo, with a big smile on her face. I was standing beside her, smiling and blushing over her reaction. Her dad snapped a pic of us while I wasn't paying attention. I've never liked taking pictures, but I let this one slide after I convinced him to let me keep a copy for myself.  

Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to reminisce. My work phone starting going off on my belt. I didn't usually get calls from it while I wasn't working, meaning it must have been important. As I answered the call, I heard the voice of my boss, Sergeant Harvey.

"Your TV on?" he asked me.

"No, why would it be?" I responded.

"Turn it on, flip to the news."

An odd request of my superior officer to be sure, but I complied regardless.

There was something big going on outside city hall. Reporters and cops galore.

"And why am I watching this?" I asked him, while keeping my eyes on the screen.

"Because it has to do with tonight's assignment." 

Now he had me interested.

"Which is...?"

"The Mayor of the city was abducted one hour ago."

"Alright? Since when is ACE a babysitting service?"

ACE was the name of my employer. It stood for Aid, Combat and Execute. Three branches, with three different objectives. Aid's name was self-explanatory. Combat's purpose was to fight off any threats to the country. And Execute? That was the branch I worked for. It's purpose? Execute what Combat could not. 

"Since now. The culprits are rumored to be The Court Jesters."

"The Court Jesters? Never heard of them."

"They are one of the most ruthless crime syndicates in the country. Their leader, known only as The Fool, has a very extensive initiation ritual involving torture and mutilation. Needless to say, these guys are as cutthroat as you can get.

"Sounds like a real cheerful bunch. They say why they took the Mayor?" 

"They did. They plan to hold him ransom, the price being upwards of five billion dollars for his safe return."

"These guys seem to have serious delusions of grandeur..."

"What did you expect? It's a crime family comprised of psychopaths."

"Point made. Anything else?"

My eyes trailed from the TV down to the table in front of me. For some reason, my laptop was sitting there. I didn't remember leaving it there. It was even still on. I brushed it off, as I can be very absent minded at times. I switched it off and closed it with a soft click. That actually happens a lot. Me misplacing things.

"Yes, in fact there is. The Court Jesters have also planted bombs around the city, threatening to detonate them if any authorities even come near the Mayor."

"Wait, they know where he is?"

"Yes, The Court Jesters had no issue revealing his location, due to their threat on the city."

"What ballsy bastards. So where's he being held?"

"In an abandoned funhouse on the edge of the city."

"Cute. Any idea why they'd target the Mayor in the first place?"

"We believe this has something to do with the upcoming reelection. His opponent, Carina Kismet, has long since been suspected to have crime connections. We are to believe she hired them in order to secure her win."

"Secure it? If it's a ransom, the mayor's filthy rich. What's stopping his wife from giving into their demands?"

"He's not 5 billion dollars rich. And the Jesters know that."

"So, the mayor's as good as dead..."

"Correct, which is why I called you. ACE needs it's Joeker."

"Jack if you ever make that pun again, I'll turn in my 2 weeks."

For a moment, all formality was dropped, and we shared a laugh.  

"All jokes aside, you are our best agent. So get moving, Ravengeist."

I stood up and shut off my TV.

"Will do, Sergeant Harvey." I told him, preparing to end the call. 

"Don't hang up just yet."

I could sense a change in his tone. I tensed up as I placed the receiver back to my ear.

"Alright, what's up?"

There was a moment of silence, followed by a long sigh.

"I needed to make sure we were on a private line. What I am about to tell you is classified information."

"Ok? Isn't everything you tell me technically considered classified?"

"I mean it's classified to YOU. But, as your friend, I refuse to let you go in blind..."

I paused a moment. What could be so important that even I wasn't supposed to know about it?

"I see... Well, I'm listening."

"There was a reason you were specifically chosen for this assignment. Not only are you our best agent but..."

"But what?"

"There's been some talk, and apparently the higher ups are questioning your loyalty to the organization."

"Excuse me?!"

"I've told them otherwise, but they still aren't convinced."

"And why the hell is that?!"

"Well, to be frank. It's your chain."

"My chain?"

"You know the one I mean. You wear it wherever you go, after all."

Of course I knew which one he meant. He was referring to my Hatchetman. A metal Joker card, with a running man holding a meat cleaver in the middle of it. It was my good luck charm.

"How does my taste in jewelry make me a threat?"

"That symbol; The Hatchetman, The Court Jesters have adopted it as their insignia."

"You've got to be joking..."

"Afraid not. That being said, this assignment will not only be a test of your skills, but your loyalty as well."

I couldn't believe my ears.

"So, you're telling me that because these assholes have decided to bastardize a perfectly innocent symbol, I'm now on the chopping block?!"

"Unfortunately that is the reality of the situation, yes. That being said, failure is NOT an option."

"Not to worry Jack. These assholes just made this personal. I will not fail."

"That's what I like to hear. Now get moving."

"Yes sir..."

And with that, he hung up.

I can't believe the nerve of those bastards, questioning my loyalty.

No time to fume though. I had to move.

I walked over the locked closet where I kept my "work clothes". I unlocked the door, and pulled it open. Inside was my weapon harness, storing two Springfield 1911 handguns and my weapon of choice, my M110 Marksmen rifle, complete with suppressor. These were my tools of trade. And I wielded them with absolute precision. I strapped on the harness, making sure it and it's cargo were safely secured. Its weight was nothing in comparison to the magnitude of the situation. A bead of sweat trickled down my face as I secured it's straps.

And with that, I headed for my front door, eager to silence the rage building inside me, not to mention quench the empty feeling left behind by those accusations. But as I opened the door to leave, I knew that wouldn't be able to.

Not until I've proven those bastards wrong...