Agent Petrov must locate and kill 4 other agents of death.

Me? Well I'm TEA agent Petrov. 84 kills to my name, 23 missions, 4 of which were considered suicide missions. I grew up in Underground Moscow. A secret society built by Lenin in 1922 to make the next soldiers of Mother Russia. Nobody knew of our existence. Not even Stalin or Khrushchev. We maintained ourselves by our leader, Dr. Gregor F. Chekhov.  We were trained in everything from age 4. We learned English, Russian, Spanish, French, German, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, and Italian. We were taught to build new weapons, make traps, create explosives, and the art of exploiting ones weaknesses to obtain information, otherwise known as my specialty, torture. At 13 we were put in groups of two and group by group sent out to kill 2 pro-communist politicians. Why pro-communist you may ask? Because Lenin made this group so that if ever the party gets out of hand, the TEA Agents could wipe out every major communist leader in the world. Now, with Lenin long dead and the fall of the Soviet Union imminent, the only thing we lived for was to kill. Any time we were asked. Women, children, and even the old. It didn't matter. We were the coldest killers in history. 

January 5, 1980.I had just flown in from Moscow, it was 8:35pm on this chilling, and dusty night. My prototype G79R gripped firmly in my hands as I silently stepped through the dusty doorway. I crept up on the chubby dark skinned man facing the television. I slowly slipped out my boot knife, then quickly but quietly put my gloved hand over his mouth and drove all 6 inches of tempered black steel through his jugular and into his spinal cord. One down 3 to go. I lowered his heavy body out of the flimsy wooden fold-up chair to the packed dirt floor below. \"that was easy\" I thought as I closed the mans lifeless brown eyes. I stood up and gripped my rifle again. As I stepped over his body, something caught my eye in the dim room. Next to the chair, there laid a picture it was of his wife and child. Not even a second glance and I was swiftly moving into the next room.Two men stood over a table about thigh high reading maps and orders. Without hesitation I raised my rifle and sent two 7.62mm rounds through the mans head on the right. As he dropped to the floor the man on the left pulled out a silenced colt .45 and sent a round buzzing past my left ear. I swiftly sent  3 rounds through the mans chest, neck, and head.  The fourth and final man steps through the door behind the table and points a M-16A2 at my face. I have my G79R pointed on his face. We both smile and throw down the rifles, take off our pistols and throw down our knives. The monstrous blonde man stands half a foot taller than me. He bull rushes me and smashes me into the mud wall. I gasp in pain and loss of air. Only for a second though. After what seemed like forever I brought my elbow down with crushing force into his right ribs. He let's go of me and I knee him in the nose, he falls backward onto a chair that is crushed under his weight. I bring down my size 12 boots on his left knee breaking it in half. He picks up a knife from the ground and stabs my calf. I fall on the ground, unable to stand. He grabs my neck and grips tightly, sucking out my life, it seems. Just as I'm about to give in fighting, I reach down and yank out the knife in my leg. And with the last bit of energy I have, I lodge the knife into his ribcage, puncturing a lung. His grip loosens and he rolls over onto the pieces of broken chair. I pull out the Ivory handled curved blade Bowie and bring it down on his neck, ending his life. I close his eyes and the others in ceremony. I grab all my gear again strapping in, ready for hell and quickly I hobbled through the doorway, knocking over the television with my clumsy steps. As it crashed to the dirt floor I was moving into the still night. 


Submitted: June 25, 2012

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