Scott the Assassin-Part 3
With disciplined patience, Scott waited in the supply
closet, his ear pressed flat against the door, one hand resting
on the knob, the other hanging by his side. Amongst the commonplace
items- mop with bucket, racks housing bottles of cleaning solutions,
stood this very uncommon male specimen - a young, Korean-American
with a bodybuilder's physique that was expertly skilled in the ways
of killing. His tight, drawstring khaki shorts were almost bursting
with thick quadriceps muscle and did nothing to conceal the glorious
shapes of the two firm bulbs that was his ass. A black under armor
shirt was plastered around the contours of his forward-thrusting
chest, the groove between each pec deep, while below the beautifully
carved nooks and ridges of his abdominal wall were suctioned-sealed
against the material. His arms were sleeveless with perfectly
proportioned and wide slabs of bicep and tricep muscle hanging
loosely by his sides, truly awesome even when unflexed. He heard
the distant sound of radio static and chatter, and as his hand held
the doorknob, the muscular striations in his forearm perceptibly
jumped and tensed, his physique poised and excited by the quickly
approaching opportunity to do what he had so rigorously trained it
for.
He heard two distinct sets of footsteps nearing him, the
clop-clop of hotel security officers walking side-by-side and
making their rounds of the basement. The footsteps got closer
and closer until, as expected, they passed the maintenance closet.
Scott's hand swiveled the knob, swung the door open and he leapt
out. Before the two black-suited guards had a chance to swing
around, he immediately drove his knee up into the small of one
man's back.
"UH!!" The guard cried as he spasmed in pain and dropped
to his knees.
Scott curled his arm up and knocked his elbow into the
base of the skull, instantly plummeting the man into unconsciousness.
With hasty panic the arm of the second guard was fumbling to
unholster the firearm from inside his jacket. Scott pivoted and
swung his muscle-laden leg out high, a devastating roundhouse kick
delivering his heel to the man's temple. The guard was thrown
against the wall and slowly slid down before flopping to the floor,
one hand clutching his head.
Scott pounced on the man's back and pinned him down. He
needed to extract information from him and he wasted no time. He
seized the man's wrist and wrenched the arm behind his back.
"No, no, no, no-Wait." The guard began to moan as he felt
his own arm quickly being twisted behind his back, being unstoppably
manipulated into unnatural angles the joints were never designed to
go. He suddenly let out a girlish scream and almost vomited as he
felt a shocking flash of sharp pain and heard the crisp snap of his
lower arm splitting in two. Scott tossed the broken limb back to
the floor, seized the man's other wrist and jerked it behind his back.
"This arm is still in one piece. Answer my questions and
it'll stay that way." Scott said, "Otherwise..." he trailed off,
giving the man's wrist a painful downward tug that sufficiently
completed his sentence.
"Okay!" The man cried out, breathing heavily with fear.
"This hotel just admitted several new guests. VIPs. Foreigners."
The guard was trying to think rationally now, sorting
out his thoughts amongst his dread of death, the agonizing throb
of his broken arm, and his desire to avoid any such similar pain
elsewhere on his body. "You...you mean...those gooks?"
Scott's palm and thumb pressed straight down on the man's
wrist, compressing the joint until it emitted a few playful pops.
The guard yelped and his legs kicked out.
"No please!" he begged.
"I think you meant, 'those Japanese'. Hiromi Takahashi
and guests."
"Yes! Yes! They just came in tonight....leaving tomorrow
morning"
"What room are they staying in?"
"Ah...the...the 3rd Executive suite. 23rd Floor."
"Are they there now?"
"I don't know. I got a radio call... one was heading for
the massage parlor."
"OK. and where is that, chief?"
"Th...third floor."
"You did very good, chief." Scott crouched in close to
the man's ear, "But that comment about 'gooks', bad fucking mistake."
He jerked the arm, his strength bending it into some
absurd pretzel until he heard the cartilage in the elbow pop and
the joint surrendered entirely with a grisly crunch. The man let
out a long sustained howl and his body began to writhe under
Scott bodyweight, desperate to escape. Scott dropped the mangled
arm, reached into his pocket, pulled out a 5-inch knife and slid
it out from its leather sheath. He cupped his palm over the man's
forehead and yanked the head backward. Reaching forward, he
promptly cut the man's throat, the blade slicing deep across the
larynx and severing the carotid artery. The screaming was instantly
replaced by a pathetic combination of gurgling and gasping. Scott
let go and the man's forehead smacked back down to the floor. The
man's broken arms twitched and shifted uselessly, as he
instinctively wished to bring his hands up and cover the wound,
but to no avail. Scott stood up, confident the man's frantic heart,
which had now become his own worst enemy, would efficiently bled
him out within 90 seconds. He heard a groaning from the first guard
awakening from his nap. Scott stood over him for a moment, then
raised his right leg in the air, his thick quads and hamstrings
hanging off like a meat rack, before savagely stomping his foot
into the brain stem and twisting his heel. He heard the tell-tale
crack and the man's groans were abruptly cut short.
Scott didn't concern himself with the bodies, figuring
it would take another 30-45 minutes before their disappearance
was noted, and he fully expected to complete his job before that.
He took off, bounding down the corridor, his pecs bouncing beneath
his shirt as he turned a corner and ran up a stairwell.
Who he hoped to find on the 3rd floor was Hiromi Takahashi,
boss of one of Japan's most notorious yakuza organizations. Barely
sixty minutes ago Takahashi had departed from a meeting with Scott's
employer, Sal Petrone. The graceful Japanese elder possessed a
seemingly endless supply of heroin and international ambitions,
and had already begun distributing his goods along the eastern
seaboard of the U.S. The meeting did not go well. Communicating mostly
through his interpreter and boss of the American operations, a slick
young man from San Francisco by the name of Ken Ninoyama, he mocked
Petrone and expressed that he was only here to take the money of
"American scum", not form unnatural partnerships with them. Minutes
after they left, Petrone dispatched Scott. "When they go back to
Japan, they don't go first class, they don't go second class, they
don't go coach. They go in fuckin' storage. Understand?", was his
command.
Scott opened the door marked "Level 3" and stepped out into
long, brightly lit corridor. It was nearly 1am at the Millennial
Hotel and the halls were virtually deserted of guests. Yet, as one
on New York's most exclusive and premiere hotels, its staff offered
its services around the clock. Scott walked down the hallway till he
came to any open door, a plaque next to it reading "Massage & Body
Care". He pushed the door open gently with his knuckles and noticed a
man seated and reading a magazine next to a collapsible massage table.
Wearing a set of headphones and bobbing his head along with the music,
he looked up with sudden surprise at Scott and tore his headphones off.
"Oh. Sorry!" He blurted standing up embarrassed and somewhat
flustered by Scott's thick bodybuilder physique. "I'm not supposed to
be doing that, but you know it get's pretty slow here at this hour. My
name is Kevin. Are you Mr." he looked down and read off a piece of
paper "Nino-yama?"
Scott looked the man over. He was very young, perhaps a
college student moonlighting as a masseuse while working on his
physical therapy degree, or perhaps one day planning to open his
own massage parlor, or perhaps he had entirely different intentions
in life. Either or, it didn't matter. Scott had found the right room.
Scott didn't respond to the young man's question. He walked
straight up to Kevin and immediately gut-punched him. All the air
was forced from his belly as his body jerked up. Scott fired four
piston-quick blows into the mans' chest with a thud-thud-thud-thud,
causing Kevin's arms to flail like a spastic puppet. The Asian
muscle-man slapped his palm on the back of Kevin's head and yanked
it forward. He snaked his muscle-swollen arm around the neck and
secured it tightly in a reverse headlock. Scott's forearm began to
unmercifully compress the man's trachea, cutting off oxygen and the
opportunity to scream. Kevin's fingers seized the bulbous tricep and
desperately tried to pry it away, while the other slapped futilely
against the expansive wing of Scott's lat muscle. Scott straightened
his posture and then hoisted up, yanking Kevin's shuffling feet up to
his shoe tips . This maneuver transferred virtually all of the stress
of the young man's bodyweight straight onto his own neck, which was
now stretched and bent taut Scott jerked his arm downward and heard
an immediate clean snap of cervical vertebrae and felt bone separate
against his bicep. Kevin's legs gave a spastic kick and the fingers
clamped on Scott's hard tricep gently relaxed before slipping off,
his arms now swaying lifelessly in the air.
Scott sighed to himself as he continued to prop up the
dead bodyweight in the crook of his arm and felt the man's
short-circuited nervous system spasm out the last bits of life.
"Sorry about that buddy." Scott said, giving Kevin a pat
on the back. "Wrong place, wrong time."
He heard the sound of someone walking down the outside
corridor, talking on what was most likely a cell-phone. Scott flipped
Kevin around, grabbed him under the armpits, and dragged him across
the room. He opened a storage closet, dumped the limp body inside and
shut the door.
Just in time. Into the room walked a young, handsome man who
was finishing up a call on his cell phone, Ken Ninoyama. He pocketed
his phone, looked up at Scott and the smug smile from his face disappeared.
"You the massage guy?" Ken asked after a moment, looking Scott
over with arrogant contempt.
"Yep." Scott smiled, his thick, sleeveless arms hanging
exposed by his side.
"Well, Let's get started," Ken said, pulling off his suit
jacket, "And better make it good. My people are paying a lotta fucking
money to stay in this place."
He threw his jacket on a chair and began to climb onto the
massage table.
"Ah," Scott cleared his throat, "It's better if you take
your shirt off."
He looked Scott over for a moment, unenthusiastic about
removing his shirt and exposing his own inferior body. The bodybuilder
masseuse simply smiled back at him, and Ken couldn't tell if it was a
genuine or a challenging smirk.
"Fine. OK. What happened to the guy who was here last night?"
he asked, grumpily slipping his tie off, unbuttoning his shirt and
tossing it on the chair as well.
Scott slapped his palms together and rubbed them as Ken
laid belly-down on the cushioned table.
"Oh. He took a break." Scott smirked. He laid his palms
Ken's shoulders and began to gentle squeeze the man's soft muscles.
His fingers squeezed deep into the muscle tissue in a slow pattern,
causing Ken to emit a soft moan of pleasure as he felt tension begin
to slip from his shoulders. His consciousness began to drift, his mind
receded as he felt these strong hands knead his backside.
"So, you in town on business?" Scott asked.
"Look," Ken opened his eyes, "Just mind your business and do
your fucking job."
Scott grinned, "Relax. I'm getting to that."
Scott quietly crept onto the table. Kneeling over Ken, his
leg muscles compressed and bunched up, his meaty pecs hanging over
the man. Scott brought his thumbs within a half an inch apart and
ran them down along Ken's spine. The prone man let out a soft purr
as he felt two thumbs press deep and slide soothingly down his long
erector muscles. Scott brought his hand up and placed his thumb
gently on the man's neck. His thumb then proceeded to sweep down over
the bumps of the man's vertebrae, tracing a circle around each delicate
bone. Scott possessed the pure muscle-power to break any man's spine
easily. However, severing the life-giving spinal cord presented hidden
dangers and was unpredictable. He had once broken a man's lower back
with the intention of only paralyzing him, but the man's lungs stopped
working and the fucker quickly died. His thumb stopped and settled midway
down at the base of the thoracic spinal column. His fingers straightened,
plied together tightly like a spade set to stab downward. He breathed
in deep, focusing his mind and his body. He quickly realized a fracture
at this region would cause cause catastrophic kidney failure and a too
quick death. Correcting his mistake, he shifted his hand down one more
vertebrae, his two straightened middle fingers pressing into the groove.
"Hey. What are you doing?" Ken mumbled as he opened his eyes.
His eyes went wide as he noticed the door to the office closet had
creaked open. Heaped on the floor and leaning against the wall was
the kid who had massaged him last night. Something was vaguely askew
about the tilt of his head. The kid's eyes were open, but they stared
back at Ken emptily and unmoving. A flashpoint of dreadful realization
shot through Ken's brain.
"Holy Shi-"
Scott's two middle fingers thrust down. He heard a gruesome
crunch and felt the spinal column split. Ken's eyes flew open wide
and his mouth opened, gasping dumbly. Scott was only halfway done
though, as he had merely broken bone. His five fingers stabbed painfully
into the man's flesh, seized the lower half of the broken spine and
jerked up. The muscular striations of Scott's forearms swelled with
definition as he lifted the spine up half an inch, effectively severing
the vital nerve encased within, the intricate skeletal details of the
broken spine clearly etched against the thin, stretched skin. He let go
and the demolished fragment of bone sank back into the man's backside.
Ken's face was a fixture of total shock, his lower body paralyzed, his
arms hanging off the edge of the table and swimming slowly in the air.
Scott leaned in close to him, his firm pecs pressing into
the backside and his lips near Ken's ear.
"Now Ken." Scott whispered as both hands gripped the immobilized
man's shoulder blades and began to pull them back. "Tell me. Where
is Takahashi? Huh? Can I expect to find him upstairs?"
"Uhhh...UHH..." Ken groaned. He felt thumbs sinking ruthlessly
into his flesh and prying his shoulder blades unstoppably back. He
struggled to breath as a growing ache and tremendous pressure built in
his upper chest. "Uhhh..FffUCK you..."
The definition in Scott's biceps bulged and the V-taper of his
lat muscles spread as he gave the shoulders a brutally powerful jerk back.
Ken's chest lifted off the table and his entire body shuddered under the
strain. He let out a long anguished groan that was cut short by the
sound of ribs popping free of the sternum like firecrackers, followed
the sharp crack of the sternum itself breaking. Scott let go of the shoulder
blades and let the man thud chest first back to the table. He reached down,
grabbed Ken's dangling right arm, cupped his palm over the man's wrist
and gave the compression lock a tweak of pressure that caused the man
to yelp.
"I can do this all day, asshole." Scott growled, "So many bones
left to break. Where...is ...Takahashi?"
Ken's eyes were barred and he sputtered. "Sauna. He's in...sauna."
"How many men with him?"
"I don't-uh-four-five I dunno."
Scott flung the arm in his grasp away. The compact bodybuilder
reached forward, grabbed a clump of Ken's hair and yanked back. He
wrapped one arm around the man's forehead and without a moments hesitation,
jerked Ken's head hard to the right, snapping the most important bone in
his body. A brief convulsion shot through Ken's entire body and a last gasp
of air slipped form his lips. Scott's lips hovered next to the dead man's
ear and whispered "Thanks." He hopped off the table and for a brief moment
starred down at Ken, impressed with his own handiwork, the man's backside
contorted and the unnatural ridge of the spinal fracture clearly visible
against the skin.
Time to get back to work. He shoved his arms under Ken's
body, hoisted him off the table and took him outside, where he dropped
him against the wall. Scott leaned back into the office, flipped the
lightswitch, pressed the lock on the door knob and shut the door, leaving
Kevin quietly in his closet grave.
Amid the still white haze of the Millennial's enormous,
white-tiled steam room, six men sat on a wooden bench their backs
leaned against the wall. They were arranged in hierarchical fashion,
with Takahashi in the middle, his eyes closed and sweat dripping from
his face. He felt completely placid, as if today's brush with the
grotesque and fat Italian mobster was being cleaned from his pores.
He was flanked by his bodyguards, those he had entrusted with his life.
They were or various heights and shapes, most with elaborate and colorful
tattoos coating their skin, sitting in a heat-induced stupor, naked save
for the dampened towels around their waists. They had left their firearms
along with their clothes, which now lay bundled in the locker-room.
At the far end, the men heard the sauna door open and two feet
slap on the tiles. Takahashi opened his eyes and watched the figure
that walked toward them through the white haze slowly acquire definition.
It became clear the man was carrying something. Takahashi quickly
recognized the "package" in the man's arms. I was his own employee
and servant, Ken Ninoyama. He was clearly dead, for his backside sagged
between the man's arms like a shapeless, heavily loaded sack of groceries
and his head was flopped entirely backwards, his eyes and mouth wide open
in frozen shock. With a sneer of disgust, the muscled man dropped the
corpse and it struck the tiles with a smack.
Now Takahashi could get a good look at Scott. As a Japanese, he
could easily distinguish the figure before him was of Korean descent.
The man stood there almost completely naked save for a pair of small white
underwear that barely covered his ass. His physique cut an incredible
impression in the steam room; his deltoids were like bowling bowls, his
chest hard packs of meat, with two thick wads of muscle flanking hanging
off his flanks, the muscle gliding down and fattening into two solidly
thick and powerfully built legs, which tapered down to the beautiful shapes
of his balled calves.
"Hideo! Yoshi!" Takahashi barked.
Two men suddenly leapt up and dashed for Scott. He leapt back,
pivoted and swung his leg in a dizzying arch through the steam, his foot
impacting with Hideo's jawline with a crack and sending the man sideways,
his skull ramming into the wall and shattering tiles. Scott had completed
the kick and gracefully swung around in a full circle to address Yoshi's
incoming punch, which he deftly countered by striking the man's elbow
with the side of his palm and knocking his swing off course. Scott's
fist delivered a flurry of blows in rapid succession; three to the chest,
one to the head. The man momentarily stunned, Scott's hand reached out
and his fingers seized Yoshi's adam's apple like a pincer and then
violently swiped his arm away. Yoshi immediately stopped his attack
and stood their gasping, his face contorted into an expression of pure
horror as his fingers fumbled frantically over the gaping fresh hole in
his throat. Scott smiled and held up the piece of flesh between his
fingers for Yoshi to see, the bloodied chunk of his own larynx. Yoshi
slowly crumpled to his knees, still clutching his throat and sputtering.
The other man lay slumped against the wall. He was still, his head
flopped forward and two rivulets of blood streaming from his nostrils
and into his lap, something critical in his brain broken.
Takahashi barked another command and two more of his goons
hopped up and ran for Scott, one nearly tripping over a corpse. Scott
swung his right fist and struck one man in the temple, then immediately
ducked to avoid the other's swing, twisting to deliver a sharp uppercut
to his chest with a thud. He seized the towel around the man's waist,
yanked it off and quickly looped it around the man's head. Scott's hands
tightly gripped both ends of the towel and he began to swing the lassoed
man around in a full circle, the man's feet desperately trying to follow
Scott's lead, keep up with the building momentum and maintain his balance.
Scott's biceps erupted into a solid hard bulge as he suddenly jerked the
towel hard in the opposite direction and heard the man's neck snap. He
forcefully swung the body around and released the towel, sending the
corpse flying into the second man who had already resumed his attack, both
of them falling to the ground. The man grunted in disgust as he struggled
to push the naked corpse off him. Before he had a chance to fully rise
to his feet, Scott slammed his knee straight up into his chin, knocking
his head back against the wall. Scott reached down and roughly positioned
the man belly-down on the floor. He swiped the towel off the floor,
slipped it around the dazed man's forehead and held it tightly with one
hand. His left arm hoisted the man's legs up over his own back. He
yanked back on the towel with convincing strength and the man let out
a cry of pain as his chest rose off the floor and his spine bent
backward, his body now contorting into a U shape. Scott straddled the
man and then suddenly thrust his entire muscular bodyweight down on
the forward bent legs, hearing the fatal crack of the spinal column.
"UH!" the man cried sharply, and then nothing more.
"Kazuo!" Takahashi barked. The mast remaining bodyguard stood.
The man looked Scott straight in the eyes as he slowly stepped over
bodies and approached. He was taller than average with a lean muscle
frame, his long black hair dampened and behind his shoulders and a
beautifully ornate tattoo of a dragon across his chest. He assumed
a combat stance, fists ready. Scott swung out his leg but the man
ducked and suddenly lunged, delivering a whirlwind of strikes that
Scott deftly blocked, Scott jumped back, crouched, pivoted and swung
his heel to the man's flank. Kazuo grunted and stumbled to his side.
Taking advantage, Scott swung his fist in a tremendously fast and
relentless arch until it collided with Kazuos's temple. He gripped
the man's hair with one hand, while his knuckles fired another five
times in violent succession into the skull. The barely conscious
Kazuo bent forward, exposing his back, and Scott simultaneously
rammed his elbow down into the backside while his knee thrust up
and crushed the nose into a flat stub. His hands gripped Kazuo's
shoulders, keeping the battered man from collapsing. Scott's dick
was now pushing out the fabric of his underwear, the mushroom-head
and his cum filled balls screaming for release. He threw the limp
and unresisting Kazuo to the ground, his naked flesh slapping against
the tiles. Scott looked up at Takahashi. The older man had not moved
once since the Korean-American had entered the sauna, his face still
placid and calm as always. There was a slight smile on his lips as
his eyes noted Scott's hardon, then darted up to look the Korean-American
in the eyes.
"You have won. He has lost. He is much shamed and no longer
worthy. Do with him as you please. I will not stop you."
Scott eyed the man suspiciously as he slowly crouched down,
hooking his thumb into his underwear and pulling them down his quads,
his hard cock pointing straight out and yearning to penetrate a target.
He ripped the towel from Kazuo's buttocks, pulled the ass cheeks apart
and pushed the mushroom-tip into the unresisting and inviting hole.
"Mmm..." Scott briefly moaned as he began to rhythmically gyrate his
hips up and down, the heavy muscle that hung from his thighs at first
contacting Kazuo's soft ass-checks with a gentle, persistent pats.
The rhythm soon increased, the tingling pleasure in his dick building
unstoppably to a delirious peak as his heart raced with excitement
and his thighs now slapped with vigorous abandon against Kazuo's ass.
The fallen man was now weeping quietly to himself, fully ensconced in
his own failure and humiliation. Scott hooked his arm under the man
and pulled him closer, his face pressing into the backside, their
sweat mingling. His face was tensed with excited exertion, his
breathing increasingly rapid when his face suddenly seized, his
perfect body tensed, his eyes clamped tightly and his mouth opened
wide and shot out a sharp groan: "AH! Ahh!". The piston movements
of his hips seized for a moment, his ass clenched and an intense
shudder shook his body. He gave a few more pumps, his hips slowly
winding down as his muscles were visibly flooded with relaxed relief.
The tension from his body dissipated, now almost overcome with the
heat of the steam room and his own exertions, Scott was tempted to
lay and sleep on top of Kazuo, drool dripping from his partly opened
lips onto the man's backside. He still had work to do and Scott
forced his eyes open, extracted his dick and used his knees to shuffle
forward. He slipped his arms around Kazuo's neck and secured a rear
naked chokehold cupping one palm over his wrist. The defeated man
began to gag as Scott's arms constricted. The flow of blood cut from
his brain, the man quickly lost consciousness. Scott kept the deadly
pressure on the neck for a full two minutes. Several violent spasms
shot through the unconscious man's body as his lungs, his brain and
his heart simultaneously struggled futilely against death. The twitches
soon ceased. Scott felt confident the man was gone, but to make sure
the fucker had no surprises left, he jerked the head back until he
heard a rapid popping sound and felt Kazuo's skull break free of its
anchor. He unwrapped his arms, let the head plop to the floor and
stood up, panting and looking exhausted.
"I'm tired Takahashi." He said approaching the seated man,
his fist clenched and prepared to administer a killing blow to the
heart. "So let's make this quick."
"Oh?" the man asked, smiling "Are you so eager to waste
such an opportunity?"
"What do you mean?" Scott furrowed his brow.
Takahashi sweep out his hand, gesturing to the five dead
men whose bodies littered the steam room.
"They were among my best. They are defeated. But that is
okay. You are worth one-hundred of them."
He looked into Scott's eyes confidently, "What loyalty do you
have to that fat-man? None! You wish only to destroy. To kill.
And to be paid well for it. Both of which I can provide limitless
opportunities of. That is what I speak of."
Scott wiped the sweat from his brow, sighed deeply and
placed his hands on his hips.
"Let's talk about this outside, old man. It's hot as hell in here."
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