Hunting Will by Alex Albrinck Page B

entirety of each eye was a deep blood-red.
    The man had developed a powerful ability to project empathy Energy into his victims. He could increase their fear to the point where they were unable to fight, and the executions were quick and painless. The Hunters didn’t understand how that could be much of a challenge, but The Leader had impressed on them that The Assassin’s bloodlust could never be fully quenched. He would kill without reason, or mercy, or remorse, and ask for more. He wasn’t looking for a challenge; he was looking for mass slaughter.
    “Speaking of someone who doesn’t need a Halloween costume,” Porthos muttered.
    “Where is the picture of the target?” The Assassin asked. He’d managed to hone his voice to have an icy edge to it, a tone so ingrained in him that he used it with the Hunters just as he did with his victims.
    Aramis flipped through his notes and pulled out a printed picture of the target. The Assassin accepted the photo, looked at it once, and committed it to memory. “Where is the target presently?”
    “She’s going to be at a costume party tonight at our target’s house,” Athos replied. “We’d recommend that you attend with us and follow the woman home when she leaves. Aramis’ research didn’t turn up an address for her.”
    The Assassin merely grunted. That was his indication that he’d understood. The Hunters knew he’d prefer to simply exterminate the entire house of humans. Such actions were strictly against orders of The Leader, though, and nobody dared violate such orders.
    “And no ‘accidents’ involving anyone nearby,” Athos cautioned. “Wait until she’s alone.”
    The blood-red eyes stared at him with an even greater degree of malice, if possible. That was as near to consent as Athos could hope. The man had been warned; failures would be dealt with by The Leader.
    “Rest up, gentlemen,” Porthos said. “We have a party to attend tonight.”

    ●●●●●

    Porthos managed to convince the Hunters to modify their traditional attire to make it look “costume-y,” and a means of having a bit of fun with their work. Porthos managed to find a wide-brimmed hat with a feather and went as one of the Three Musketeers. “I’ll go as Athos, though I’ve heard he’s pretty dull.”
    Athos, after much convincing, agreed to attend as a pirate. He wore a patch over his right eye along with some silks and a stuffed parrot attached to his shoulder.
    Aramis insisted that his costume include his beloved top hat; they swapped out his glasses for a monocle and stuffed his pockets with fake paper money to create the look of a board game character. Like the other Hunters, he’d wear his short sword on his belt. “Tell them you’re a rich ninja,” Porthos suggested. “Nobody will believe it, because you look like a complete loser, but try it anyway.”
    The Assassin went as a cold-blooded serial killer with blood-red eyes. “If anybody asks you, you’re wearing something called ‘tinted contact lenses,’” Porthos said. Nobody else said anything. The Hunters thought it unlikely anyone would engage the man in conversation.
    They parked their rental car near the end of the driveway and walked roughly a half-mile to the house. “I can feel him close by,” Porthos subvocalized into the communicator implanted under his ear. “I hope I don’t gag at the smell.”
    “Try not to lose control,” Athos said, putting as much sternness as possible into words spoken at such low volume. “And no chatting with the ladies. We have a job to do.”
    “Yes, Dad. I’ll have the car home by midnight.”
    “This party is going to attract attention,” Aramis muttered. “People will start to ask how he can afford such extravagance. This may qualify him for tentative charges under a few more laws.” He started to reach for his hat, before Athos cut him off. For now, they needed to inject the man with the sleeping serum, leave, and wait for him to fall into a deep