Leopard and Reed Meet Again

"And then, we retired to her rooms." The young ambassador waggled his eyebrows less than subtly.

"...Is that so, sir?"

Reed Bishop knew the man walking in front of him was in effect his mission for the week, but he could already see why people wanted to kill him. No matter how he tried to change the subject or hint that he was their for body guarding and not chitchat, the man simply would not shut up about his travels in Europe and all the women he had slept with. His migraine worsened with each anecdote.

It could be worse, he supposed; at least this mission was easy. As an up and coming young special agent, he had been assigned to protect the ambassador's life from potential assassins during his stay. However, any assassins after this man's life would likely be bumbling terrorists, trying to light themselves on fire--it was more of a vacation than a real mission.

"Did you know that Lebanese women have the nicest nipples in the world?" continued the ambassador, who had realized he was being ignored.

"...No, sir."

"Ah. Well, they do."

Leopard grinned as he put out his cigarette on the pavement. He buttoned up his plain dress shirt with his free hand, while the other carried an eerily heavy briefcase. His hair was carefully shoved into a fedora, so as to hide his rather unnerving scar. He pulled the hat down over his face, walking towards his target.

Purpsefully bumping into him, he gasped.

"Oh my!" he said, lifting his hat slightly. "I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking."

He nodded, and went on his way.

However, now, there was a bomb in the man's pocket.

"And then, she spread her legs right there on the couch and said--"

"Sir, stop walking and put your hands in the air."

"Excuse me--"

"Sir, do it immediately."

Reed's tone was urgent enough to get the man to comply, though he still rolled his eyes and grinned as he was patted down.

"I'm afraid if you want a taste of this, you'll have to get in li--"

"Found it," said Reed, zapping the bomb with what looked like a pen but most definitely wasn't. The little thing fizzed pathetically, and he gently placed it on the ground.

"It seems our friends have arrived, just as scheduled, Ambassador."

"Friends? What friends? What is that thing you just pulled out of my pocket?"

Reed wasn't listening; he was too busy scanning the room, his hand twitching slightly as he considered reaching for one of his guns. At least he wouldn't have to hear another story for a few minutes.

Leopard had lit another cigarette, waiting for the explosion. And he kept waiting. And waiting. When it didn't happen, he cautiously looked behind him.

That pesky bodyguard! He knew it. He ground his teeth together, his grip on his briefcase tightening. He hadn't wanted to, but plan B was looking to be his only option.

"Sir, perhaps we should retire to the hotel cafe?" suggested Reed, his eyes still flicking from corner to corner. "I'll be able to protect you better in there--less points to attack from, less people. Let's go."

The ambassador, who was still wholly confused, shrugged and shook his head.

"Really, young man, I am exclusively straight--I do not wish to date you."

"Trust me, sir," said Reed, forcing a smile and ushering the ambassador toward the cafe, "All I desire is to protect your life."

To be honest, it would be nice if the guy couldn't talk anymore, but Reed wasn't willing to risk the black spot on his record. A single slip-up could ruin all his plans, everything he'd worked for.

Scowling, he followed the two. He gripped the briefcase, debating on what to do. He had more than a couple guns stashed away he could use.

He really hated the organization guarding the man. He would just have to kill them both. And he'd only take joy in one of the killings.

Once Reed had forced the ambassador to sit down and order an omelet, he ordered a dry martini for himself that he had no intention of drinking and glanced around. All the people at the other tables seemed moral enough, but that wasn't a guarantee of anything.

If the person was smart, they would have left by now. Reed detested killing like he detested the organization he belonged to: both were evil and far too commonplace in his life. However, terrorists were rarely smart.

Leopard growled to himself, staring them down from the bar. He inhaled his cigarette, watching them from the reflection on the beer bottles.

That was it, he had to make his move. He grabbed his briefcase, and took out his gun, aiming it directly at his target. He narrowed his eyes angrily, as he pulled the trigger.

Reed was jumping before he even realized it was a gunshot. The next thing he knew, he was on top of a shouting ambassador and there was shattered glass all over them and fallen table. The bullet had struck a mirror.

Though there were people gasping and even screaming, he pulled his gun and signaled to the ambassador's other guards.

"I'll find the shooter--you guys get him out of here!" He glanced at the bullet hole and tried to imagine the trajectory, tried to think of where he had seen it come from...of course. The bar.

He sprinted across the room, gun at the ready.

"Don't bother trying to run, we already have you!" he shouted, though he had no idea who the terrorist was.

How had he missed? How?

He clenched the gun in his hand. He had failed. Now, he had to redeem himself. He would massacre everyone in the bar. No one could see his failure. He would find the man who had thwarted him, and he would massacre him in cold blood.

He shoved through the crowds, before he found the man he was looking for.

"Fucking die!" he shouted, shoving the gun into the other man's face.

Though Reed had been running through faces in his mind, trying to determine the terrorist's identity, such a bold confrontation also worked. He instinctively dropped to the ground and kicked the would-be assassin's legs, a trick that normally worked.

"Everyone evacuate the room!" he shouted, though most people were doing just that at this point.

"Who do you work for?!" he barked, aiming his gun at the man's head. Now, at least, things were more even. Though his heart pounded in his chest, Reed found himself oddly calm; adrenaline always made him feel like this. He was Mister Cool Under Pressure, Agent 277 with the trashy past and few words to say about it.

Leopard did a backflip, narrowly missing getting his feet swept out from under him.

"It doesn't matter who I work for, only that you work for the organization I hate more than anything!" he shouted angrily. Getting angry wasn't helping anything, but it made him feel a little better.

"Of course it matters who you work for," he replied immediately, "because I've been assigned to destroy you, and you pull out weeds by the root. Now tell me who you work for before I give you an extra breathing hole.

"I'd take the deal, if I were you--you've already attempted an assassination, there's no other hope for you now. I'm giving you five seconds."

His finger hovered over the trigger, and he smiled without emotion.

"Four. Three."

Leopard didn't take the deal, as was evidenced by him grabbing the gun pointed at him and flinging it across the room. He reached to choke the man to death, getting close enough to realize that he looked extremely familiar.

He hesitated, though he knew that even this much hesitation could get him killed. But, the man he was trying to kill looked exactly like his brother.

Reed kneed the man in the gut, struggling to breath. After another good kick, he was free, if sputtering; he glared at the assassin. His suit was wrinkled. Now he was angry.

"Tell me who you work for, before I kill you with my bare hands!" he spat.

He just stared.

"...you...you look like," he mumbled, unable to move.

"Like death? Yeah, I imagine I do!" he continued. "Now tell me your name, and tell me who you work for, unless you want your next breath to be your last. Go on--do it!"

"Is that you...?" he asked, confused. "I'm...my name is Chase. It's me."

He swallowed nervously. It couldn't be, could it?

Ignoring all of his training, Reed tackled the man to the floor and wrung his neck.

"Who told you?!" he screamed. "Who told you that name? My brother is dead, you sick fuck--who told you about him? Was it the organization?"

"It...is you!" he shouted, trying to shove him away. "Brother, Reed, it's you! I've found you!! Come home with me!"

"My brother is dead!" he shouted, punching the man in the face.

"Who told you our names?! Who do you work for? Who told you? You sick, disgusting fuck--how dare you use my brother's name!"

"Reed, it's me!" he shouted, attempting to pin him to the floor. "It's Chase, it's me, please, come home with me!"

"Chase died!" he yelled. "They told me he died--if he was alive, he would've come after me! How dare you pretend to be Chase!"

"I did come after you! What do you think I'm doing?" he asked desperately. "You have to believe it's me!"

He paused, lowering his fist, though he didn't let go of the other man.

"...Prove it. Tell me something only Chase would know."