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Unknown, Unknowns	By : DanceofDarkness Category: +1 through F > Boondocks, The Views: 2772 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Boondocks, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Authors Note: Ah this part of trilogy is almost finished. Please I know Gin is a little out of character because he doesn’t do diplomacy…well to be an assassin he cant go guns blazing so to speak as I have said before…I think he may act different when Ed isn’t around him.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Boondocks nor the elements of Hitman

Rated NC-17 for sex, language, and intense gore and violence. (Dedicated to Mystical-Fairy who keeps me company in the gutter where my mind resides this is in Italics which means THIS IS A FLASH BACK/DREAM
IF YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND TERMINOLOGY, LOOK AT THE ENDING NOTE, I HAVE BEEN KIND ENOUGH TO PROVIDE ALL NEEDED INFORMATION.

Unknown, Unknowns Part Five

Dreams and Drowning

Paris France

Budapest Hotel

7:50 p.m.

2005

Gin leaned his head back against the leather seat, his fingers lightly running over the extra magnum ammo clips in his pocket. He absently glanced at his watch he had about ten minutes.

Silently he went over the information that ICA had given him: his target was a rich young man who was to inherit a vast fortune of a tycoon somewhere on East Coast.

Apparently this businessman had fucked over the wrong person, and now he was about to pay the price by losing his only heir. The Agency hadn’t provided him with a picture, but they had given him the room number and hotel that he was staying at which was enough.

His client had ordered a clean hit, nothing brutal or to bloody. After this young man had done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to suffer unnecessarily, he just deserved to die for his families mistakes.

When Gin had first signed on with Agency, assassinations like this had bothered him, it seemed like a sin to slaughter someone so unsuspectingly. But after years of conditioning, slicing throats, poisoning foods and wine, of witnessing how weak flesh and bone were and how easily they were split and ripped away by the bullets from his Silverballer.

It didn't snare him like it used to, his bloody past had made him ruthless, almost wicked in how cold heartedly he carried out his missions.

Which was why he was favored over the rest of the agents, he didn't fuck around with witnesses, if someone was unfortunate enough to get in his way, or became a threat to the mission, then he would simply kill them.

The aerial chiming of his watch filled the inside of the car, tearing him from his demented thoughts. Gin took a deep breath and reached into his pocket pulling out a pair of black leather gloves. They were standard issue, thin and skin tight, allowing him to easily slide his finger around the trigger of a gun or tightly grip the handles of his fiber wire

Quietly opening the door, he stepped out of his Jag gripping the steel long-slide on his Silverballer drawing it back until there was a soft metallic click. Turning his back to the street he checked the laser sight and made sure the silencer was twisted into place. Then slipped the deadly weapon into the inside pocket of his suit

Ahead of him twinkling though the fog were the lights of Budapest Hotel, sparks of holy fire in the shrouded darkness. Gaining entrance would unfortunately pose a serious problem.

From the information that ICA had given security was tight due to a recent murder that taken place on the buildings ground floor. And the police were swarming all over the damn place, weary of letting even current guest’s walk though the door

If he ran into any opposition or if this plan failed, he could always scale one of the walls or gutters and swing up onto a balcony

He loathed doing this from a ground floor because it always increased his chances of being seen and more often, the results were…unintentional messy.

The thought made Gin pull his custom jacket tighter around his body his eyes flicking to the many black Mercedes that lined the curb. Antique street lights burned hazy thought the gloom trying in vain to cut though the dense fog but only succeeded in illuminating the interior of the cars.

He slowed his pace when he saw a man dressed in a silk Armani suit, carrying a black brief case emerge from a Lexus

The blond shifted his gaze to the front of the hotel, the entrance was blurred by the fog. If he timed this just right, no one would able to see him. He glanced back at his temporary target watching him as he checked his Rolex.

Muttering a low curse in French, he gripped his brief case in one hand, balanced a cell phone in the other,and slammed the car door with his elbow.

Gin waited until the Frenchman mounted the small path and began striding towards the hotel.

The blond moved swiftly his footsteps silent, his hands slipping into his jacket pulling out a syringe of sedative. He caught the man just as was about to emerge from the protective curtain of fog.

Gin wrapped his arm around businessman’s neck violently twisting him around so that he was jerked off his feet. In the same fluid movement he skillfully plunging the needle into the soft flesh of the man's neck, firmly clamping one hand over his victim’s mouth.

There was a scream muffled by the leather of Gin’s gloves and the man arched backwards convulsing in Gin’s arms before slumping against him unconscious. Gin withdrew the syringe smashing it against the pathway. Allowing his burden to slide to ground,he gripped him by the collar of his jacket and began dragging his limp form back to his Lexus.

Gin laid his victim down on the wet asphalt, his nimble fingers digging around in other man’s pockets until he found his keys and personal invitation to the enter the hotel. He opened the trunk and heaved the body inside throwing the brief case in after him and slammed the lid.

He tossed the keys onto the front seat, slipping the invitation and cell phone into his pocket. Adjusting his rumpled tie he began walking again, making sure his foot steps rang loudly against the ancient flagstones that lined the small path to the elegant atrium.

He knew the lay out of this hotel because he been there before a few years ago he had been ordered to assassinate a mobster who had dealt his client the hideous grief having to bury his only son. It had been a brutal killing, but only because he been requested to make it that way.

There had been renovations being done to the hotel’s interior, so it had been simple to steal a nail-gun with out gaining any attention. He took his time…and when the man’s mangled, nail-riddled body had been found, papers all across Paris had hailed it as one of the most disturbing, cruel slayings that the city had seen in decades. Budapest had gained national attention and had almost fallen into ruin, and now he was there again to stain its walls with more blood.

As he drew closer he saw that the entrance was flanked by French officers and Gin glimpse the uniforms of two more looming on the other side of the door. He strode purposely toward the doorway hardly surprised the two guards barred his path.

“Pardon le moi Monsieur, mais necessitez en visionertes invitation.”

Gin slightly bowed his head opening his jacket and taking out the delicate slip of paper and the identification.

“De cours, Monsieur,”

“Merci,”

Gin watched as the officer glanced at the invitation and the I.D. while the other stood behind him, his hand resting on his gun should Gin be foolish enough do anything aggressive. After a brief moment the guard handed both of them back his voice pleasant, though his companion never took his hand of the handle of his gun,

“Icites identification et invitation jouis tes rester Monsieur,”

Gin smiled tucking the papers back inside his suit,

“Je volonté merci,”

He moved past them, absently nodding his thanks as the door was held open for him. Budapest was magnificent hotel, and when he stepped though the entrance he felt as if he had been flung back to the elegance and grandeur of the eighteen thirties.

The floors were covered in lush velvet-red carpeting laid with intricate designs sown in silver and emerald thread that twisted and slithered around the clawed feet of antique furniture. A golden chandelier twinkled above his head, dripping with garnets, and shimmering with crystal.

The walls were lined with sconces and portraits of past rulers from the countries bloody past; and huge elegant stair case made from black marble towered before him curving in two different directions leading to the third and forth floors of the hotel. Both entrances were being watched by French officers who were standing beside metal detectors.

Fuck.

Gin softly bit his lower lip, and then turned toward the reception desk; he paused before he stepped up to the young man behind the counter. Behind the scrolled portrait of the hotels founder and just above one of the candelabras was a video camera…he would have to take care that later.

The receptionist smiled at him an expression he was sure made woman swoon,

“Pouvoir je aider te Monsieur?”

“Oui faiste parler Anglais?”

The young man nodded his long hair swaying around his neck,

“Of course I do sir, do you wish to check in?”

Gin leaned against the desk slightly bowing his head resting his hand against the side of his face. Effectively hiding his features but not so much that it looked suspicious,

“Yes, the name is Cropse,”

There was a brief moment of silence as his name was looked up on the slim screened computer, the receptionist reached under the desk and pulled out a key card.

“There you are Dr. Cropse room three hundred and seven,”

Gin silently took his room key his eyes flicking back to the metal detectors, his gun suddenly heavy against his hip. He glanced around the lavish atrium, his eyes yearningly settled on many of the antique doors that lined the walls.

Directly across form him there there was a double egress with a yellow police tape swathed diagonally across the oiled wood, a guard was leaning against it his eyes roaming across the lobby.

There was no way that could reach any of these doors on the other side either with out being seen by the other two officers standing beside the main entrance. He could wait until they changed shifts but that would take too long, he even toyed with the notion of using an RU-AP mine

Sadly that meant an innocent victim might get killed and that could draw attention...still the idea was slightly tempting.

There was only one other way, beside the stairs were two other flights of steps that led down to another level that Gin presumed was the restored Theatre de Trépas. The Theatre was the hotels most precious treasure, a gem that had severed the chains of ruin that Gin had caused and had redeemed Budapest from the pits of destruction.

The chances of there being an easy way to the third floor from that route were slight; he would probably have to venture outside and scale a wall or be forced to pick one of the locks. He was hoping for the latter.

He wandered over to the stairs, and quietly slipped down the steps brushing past tourist’s and guests as he went. A vast hallway that glinted with antique gold leaf yawned up before him. Great double doors, ornate and beautiful lined these walls, there were the entrances to the Threate de Trépas

Gin began to make his way down the curving passage, feeling the eyes of several security guards bore into his back as he passed by them.

As he walked he nonchalantly ran his hands of the door handles lightly tugging on them checking to see if any of them had been carelessly left open. Even if any of them were it would be difficult to get back out if were a wrong room for every few minutes an officer would pass by him patrolling the hallways for possible invaders.

Eventually the soft noises of conversation and the other patrons of the hotel faded and were replaced with a certain unsettling silence. Every now and then, Gin would hear the gentle strains of a concerto, but it was difficult to tell if the delicate music was coming from inside the theatre of from farther down the dimly lit ingress.

It was haunting and made a shiver crawl over Gins skin, it kept him tense so that when a shadows loomed against the walls his hands would automatically travel to his hips and lay comfortingly on his guns. The frequency of French Officers were fading and soon Gin could sense that he was the only one in this section of the hotel.

With every step he took the ethereal harmony of the music grew more intense twisting down the hallway, wrapping its fingers around his hands, and tugging him forward like an eager lover...

As the hallway arched into another turn, Gin caught a glimpse of an open door way the reveled a gloomy stair case it was from here that the gentle notes drifted. Fiercely hoping that the steps didn't lead back up to the first floor Gin slipped into the narrow opening and made his way up the spiraled steps.

Taking the stairs two at a time he swiftly reached the top, an ornate door loomed before him and he quietly twisted the gilded handle not surprised to find it locked. He knelt down to his knees and slide his hand into his suit and with drawing a wickedly slim device, a master tool of an ICA agent, a Craft Shultz Lockpick

He slipped the thin piece of metal into the keyhole, and silently began to pick the lock. The gentle clicking noises of metal scrapping against metal lingered in the darkness. He froze when he heard a footsteps waft up the stairs followed by the melodious sound of indistinct French. Silently cursing Gin twisted the Shultz harder his fingers beginning to tremble as the voices crept closer.

Just a few more moments god damn it that’s all he needed! The muffled sound of footsteps echoed in his ears and he could almost feel them breathing against his neck. His heart clawed at his throat, choking him…panic beginning to twist down his spine.

Sweat trickled down his nose,and he fingers slipped from around the handle. Gin clenched his jaw and viciously retched the lock pick from the door. He didn’t have time to be fucking around with this shit.

Savagely shoving his Shultz back in his pocket he drew out his Silverballer. Leaning against the door, he pressed the nozzle to the lock and pulled the trigger. There was the screaming sound of bullets ripping though steel and the door swung open.

He almost fell though the doorway, relief coursing though his body when he saw he had staggered into a vaulted passage way that was lined with doors that glinted with golden room plates. He hastily strode forward, slipping around the corner and through a door brimming with archangels, cherubim’s and silver.

Alcoves that held marble likenesses of beautiful French queens and their stately husbands whisked by in an elegant blur, he rounded a corner his breath ragged in his ears just as he heard the muted sound of door to the staircase crash against the wall.

He paused, his breath caught his throat straining to hear…but there was only silence.

Shit…

Wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand Gin slumped back against the wall automatically tucking his Silverballer back into his suit. Adrenaline still sang though his veins, making every movement seem hot and electric.

Panting he glanced up at the door he was slouched against, three hundred and five, he rolled his eyes to left the scrolled numbers of three hundred seven glimmering a mocking color of gold. Gin stood, running his hands though his hair and straightened his suit, and took out his key which had some how managed to stay his pocket during frenzied flight.

He slid the thin piece of plastic into the magnetized slot, smiling when he heard the dead bolt snap back. Turning the scrolled handle he pushed the door open, flicking on the lights. The room opulent, an exquisite mixture of French Baroquean ornamentation and modern flare, it was breath taking.

Across from the doorway and draped with lace curtains were two double French doors…they lead to the balcony. He meandered across the room, pushing the delicate curtain aside opened doors stepping out into the night.

The smell of rain washed over him, and the fog rolled thick into his nose and mouth. His targets room number was two hundred and seven, just below his feet. He moved toward the iron railing and leapt over the side. Balancing on the ledge, he let his him self drop catching onto the stone edge of his balcony. He dangled there a moment before arching his body forward swinging onto balustrade

He landed in a stealthy crouch, a predator hidden in the mist. From here he could glimpse the interior of the room, and a guard in a pinstripe was looming next to the door his hand resting on his hip smoking a cigarette. Gin crept forward until his back was pressed to the rough stone wall, and reached into his pocket his fingers wrapping around a coin he kept there.

He tossed it against the glass of the door the soft sound loud enough to catch the attention of the escort. Gin heard a chair scrape against the wall and the click of a lock sliding back. The blond swallowed his hands trailing inside his jacket gripping his fiber-wire; he watched as the guard stepped outside.

Gin waited until he had walked to the edge of the railing and was peering down into the courtyard below before he stole forward wrapping wire tightly around first two fingers, the assault was swift and oddly silent.

The only sound was horrid snap of tendons as they were torn away from bone as the cable sank into his victim’s neck. The guard convulsed against him clawing at this throat, gouging his flesh as he tried to rip away the wire.

Gin grunted tightening his grip; only relaxing when the body pressed against his gave one last shutter and collapsed forward. Gin carelessly shoved the guards lifeless form over the railing and made his way to into the hotel room

He turned and relocked the balcony doors pulling the curtains closed. The interior of the room was far more lavish then his. There was a king sized bed covered in a thick velvet corvette that was the color of a dying sunset. Elixir green pillows were strewn across the comforter and propped against the head board.

Brand name cloths made of silk and pure Egyptian cotton were flung across the backs of chairs and Turkish rugs embellished with the likenesses of far off realms and long dead kings were scattered about the marble floor

The heady scent of expensive cigars and rich cologne drifted to Gin’s nose, the fragrance mingling with the scent of hot water. The bathroom door was closed and though it Gin could the sound of water spattering against stone.

He slipped over to the door his fingers curling around his Silverballer, and gently pushed the door open. Lurid steam clouded his vision and settled heavily against the silk of his suit. The lighting with sensually dim but Gin glimpsed the silhouette of his target against a muslin shower curtain.

He moved closer so that he could hear the other mans even breathing, almost touching the flimsy cloth that masked his victim from view. He paused when he heard the water shut off and shadow shift to step out of the shower.

There was a glint of silver followed by the wet sound of bullets ripping though flesh and the snap of splintering bone. Crimson arched back and spattered against the white marble. His target recoiled back clutching the shower curtain tearing it from the hooks

Emerald eyes, terrifyingly familiar regarded him with shocked agony and blood that matched the garnet hue of his hair dripped from between parted lips. Gin heard a voice, raspy and hoarse whispered against the sickening plop of blood.

“E-Ed…”

Gin felt his Silverballer slip from his numb fingers heedless of the weapon as it clattered to the floor. He fell to his knees crawling though water warm with fresh blood, his hands smearing gore across the floor.

A howl laced with grief gripped at his neck, snarled against his throat, causing his breath to catch. He tried to avert his eyes from the gapping holes in Ed's chest, to ignore the horrid sound of his breathing as air made wet by blood slurped into his mouth.

Bloody water seeped into his suit as he took his lovers mangled form in his arms. Eye’s glazed with suffering looked up at him, and hands made strong by the throes of Death twisted in Gin’s shirt.

Crimson oozed from between Ed's teeth and dribbled thickly from his lips as he tried in vain to speak. But he only coughed, blood bubbling from his throat choking him...drowning him; his eyes slipped closed and his head tipped back lolling against Gin’s heaving chest.

A violent shutter lashed against Gin’s body and tears spilled from his eyes and a scream tore from his throat, primal with grief and soaked in carnage.

End Notes:

Please don't kill me...its not what it seems!!!!

If you are curious here was the conversation between Gin and the guard, and receptionist

Guard: “Excuse me sir I need to check your invitation and I.D.”

Gin: “Of Course”

Guard: “Thank you sir”

Guard: “Here is your invitation and identification, enjoy your stay sir,”

Gin: “I will thank you”

Receptionist: “Pardon me sir may I help you,”

Gin: “Yes, do you speak English?”

The name Cropse is just a pseudonym of Corpse…just in case you give a damn.

Theatre de Trépas- roughly translated means “Theater of the Dead”

Tools of the Trade:

Silverballer- an elitist assassin pistol with little to no recoil, its totally silent until its too late for anyone to hear, is equipped with magnum ammo a type of bullet with can penetrate walls, shatter locks, pierce armor, and mangle flesh and bone.

RU-AP- a slime device that he be tucked into crevices or even placed on bodies, can be detonated by an agent when they are a safe distance away. Its messy but works in a tight pinch.

Craft Shultz Lockpick- obviously it’s a lock pick, but its designed in Germany and allows for an agent pick a lock with out wasting time…to bad it wasn’t fast enough for Gin.
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Unknown, Unknowns