The Hunted Assassin Read Online Free PDF Page A

path, you might want to make a stop by the doc’s office. That stab wound on your shoulder looks pretty severe.”
    “Will do, nurse,” Jaxon said, winking at her.
    Without another word, Jaxon turned and walked out the door.
     
     

     

5
     
     
    Jaxon stood in the shadows of a synthetic Beachwood tree and surveyed the landscape ahead of him. The simulated environment lighting was set to synchronize with the time zone of earth below, which happened to be just before 9 PM. Through the dimness of the various streetlights, level seventeen appeared deserted, with most of the inhabitants likely to be at the Founders Day celebration.
    The area right near Jaxon’s apartment was wide open, giving little to no coverage for a stealthy approach. From years of experience, an ambush scenario should be expected. Time was of the essence, as the multiple weapons discharge alarms blaring across the station would certainly make for a difficult escape.
    He adjusted the strap on his shoulder bag and slipped his hand inside his jacket and gripped his pistol firmly.
    “Here goes nothing,” he muttered as he took a solitary step toward his front door.
    The repetitive crack-crack-crack of what must have been an illegal railgun echoed throughout the three-story courtyard.
    Jaxon dropped to the ground and rolled beneath a park bench for protection. Slowly, he inched himself forward until he had a clear view of where he thought the shots came from. Second level balcony—he spotted the new assailant. He was kneeling at the edge of the guardrail, a reflective glint bouncing off of his night scope. It was pointed directly at Jaxon. He knew that if there was one, there were probably more. Just how many, he couldn’t guess. He also knew that they wouldn’t stop coming until he was dead. That’s the way he would’ve done it and that’s what worried him the most.
    Sliding back beneath the bench, Jaxon removed his satchel and rummaged through the contents. From the bottom of the bag, he withdrew his MP-96 and checked both clips—they were full, with one in the chamber. He flipped on the infrared laser scope and peered through the magenta eyepiece. The off-colored lens allowed him to see the invisible target almost as clear as day. He raised the barrel up and to the left until there was a solitary dot on the chest of the second-floor assailant. Calmly, he exhaled, completely, then squeezed the trigger. A single projectile shot ahead and eliminated the threat, only millimeters off of its mark. Jaxon quickly chambered a new round and began to scan for more assassins. He waited for another discharge alarm, but it never came.
    Before Jaxon could locate another target, one of the residents of his quad came out of her apartment, no doubt drawn out by the clamor. It was Mrs. Jarvis, a reporter for the Taloo Tribune. Jaxon wanted to yell out to her, to get back inside, but it was too late. A sniper on an upper-level balcony—just up and to his right—took her out, placing a well-aimed round into the middle of her forehead.
    Where the hell were the alarms? he wondered. He wasn’t completely disappointed by their absence, giving him a potential edge on escaping the station, and certain death, but they should have been blaring nonstop now. Unless … they were disabled.
    Jaxon rolled out from beneath the bench and into the clearing. In a swift, fluid motion, he raised the barrel of his gun up to where he thought the second assassin was. The killer was right where he’d expected. Jaxon flipped the pistol into automatic and placed three rounds into the side of his neck, nearly severing his spine with the last penetration. The killer dropped to the ground, lifeless.
    Rapid fire shots then began to echo throughout the courtyard from multiple locations, all focused on Jaxon’s position. Jaxon scrambled to his feet and bolted for the cover of the balcony above. He landed, his back plastered on the wall directly beneath one of the other shooters. In the