Some would say that murder is the best part of the job, the grand catharsis, the euphoric climax of the chase. She'd like to argue that notion.
Tracking is without a doubt her favourite part of any assassination.
The way Ingvild sees it, it's fairly similar to the shy moments of elation before having sex with someone for the first time. First, she picks up their scent, tracing the person's steps one by one like a small predator - a fox, cunning and wise. She'd learn a target's behaviour, sometimes for days, observing them from a distance to learn their manoeuvres, vices, and even their darkest secrets.
People let on so much when they think no one is watching.
When the time is right, when her little prey gets comfortable in their little cove, she plunges in, all piercing teeth and sharp talons, penetrating the feeble flesh and tearing them apart. Sometimes a gun is handy, sometimes a knife specifically when her target is a man. There's an intimacy to it, vile erotism one cannot argue.
Before each kill she imagines herself inside the target's skin, dancing within like a dormant possession that awaits the right time to manifest itself.
This is why she is good - why they will never let her go.
Slipping into August's body is a treat; the man ensnared her curiosity beyond any other job she had in the past. On the plain surface, Walker had it all; high ranked, superiorly handsome, and she imagined he had the brains too if he managed to fool the CIA for so many years.
In a world filled of mindless sheep, August Walker was the wolf who fucked them all and then ate them alive.
But he gave it all up, why?
'Words may hinder,' Ingvild muses, thinking about the manifesto which was conveniently missing from August's file.
Whatever is the reason why the CIA covers this up, still hunkers on her mind. 'Unruly curious mutt,' Liam would always call her. But the Manifesto will have to wait - first, she needs to find her motorcycle. In his perpetual arrogance, August had stolen the only thing this she ever loved; her precious Kawasaki Ninja 400.
But unfortunately for him, this only makes it easier for her to track him.
Ingvild begins her morning dressed for a run. Scanning the hotel areas in the city, she treads toward the harbour. Another day of calm weather graces the city, the sunshine bright yet frigid on her pale skin as she makes her run across the red and yellow houses and watches the little fisherman boats sailing across the Northern Sea.
Her first attempt is to see whether the good people of Bergen spotted a light Kawasaki bike or perhaps if anyone offered to sell one. If August murdered and robbed a random tourist back then, it was safe to presume he was in a dire need of resources. But her investigation deems fruitless; none heard or seen a bewhiskered man wearing an inappropriate T-shirt.
Looking at the harbour, it befalls her that a man on the run like Mr. Walker would probably choose a place where he can easily disappear and so she changes her course to the northern side of the city, venturing forth to Bergen's Fjellstrekninger - the great forest.
The woodland will always be an ally to a man who wants to vanish amidst the great magical green. Standing at the outskirts of the thicket, she inhales the piney air and licks her lips, almost able to taste August's desire to become one with the trees as well.
"If I were you, August, I'd build me a tent in the clearing..."
But from her short introduction to August, she senses that man of his previous status would, for now, settle for a warm bed. He is no Ted Kaczynski after all. Her eyes travel to the other side of the road, peering at the hotels and bed & breakfast properties that stand segregated from the face of nature
World's most ironic anarchist.' she snorts. It would be his arrogance that will lead for bad decisions once again.
Her bike, however, will certainly be hidden in the thicket. Climbing up the mossy ground, Ingvild makes her way into the forest. The air becomes thicker and the sun is devoured by the trees the deeper she goes.
There, not too deep, against an old oak tree, stands her motorcycle with mud splashed all over the white paint.
"Prick," she mutters with a frown and pets the dirty surface of the bike as if it was a living creature.
She leaves it as it is for now, not wanting to raise suspicion in case August will return. At least now she knows of his whereabouts and the arousal for the kill begins to thrum through her warming blood.
*~*
The city centre is peaceful. With a population of about two hundred thousand and hardly any tourists this time of the year, he manages to enjoy a silent morning. His first stop is at some fancy clothing shop. He buys himself several tailored suits, neckties, and a pair of black Italian leather shoes. Trying on his new clothes in front of the mirror, he nearly feels like the man he used to be. Suave, confident, menacing.
Fully suited up, he picks a leather travelling bag on his way to the cashier and winks at the busty redhead standing behind the counter. His hungry gaze follows the blush that runs all the way from her neck down to her ample cleavage.
"Too bad, dear," August murmurs, never lifting his gaze while collecting the change along with his receipt, "At any other occasion, I'd love to fuck your tits."
The girl covers her mouth, muffling an ecstatic peal of giggles that bursts from her thick orange lips while August departs with another wink.
The digital hardware store is his next step. A new computer and a mobile device are in order if he wants to contact the apostles and fulfil his mission. Naturally, reaching them via regular means of communication won't be possible which is why he will need to access his old server at the Darknet.
That bleak and slimy pit, reeking sewage full of nightmares.
The first time August encountered the dark web was during an investigation when he was a junior agent. It was then when he discovered every horrifying evidence of the rot that exists in the system; human trafficking, modern slavery, government officials indulging in paedophilia.
Though, August wasn't phased nor was he mortified; he knew back then, these are the fruits of a sick world - a world that needed curing.
After picking up his electronic, he makes his final stop at the hunting gear lodge.
"Good thing this country approves hunting," he mumbles to himself while his eyes beam by the many rifles that hand on the wall, decorated by different antlers and dead animals hide.
'Never quite got the point of killing someone unarmed and unaware. Where is the glory?' He huffs with disrespect before approaching the man at the counter to request the gun and ammunition he will need.
Sitting at a half-empty gelato shop, Ingvild licks a strawberry cheesecake-flavoured scoop of ice cream while peering her silver eyes follow the bewhiskered man while he runs his errands.
The August that appears before her now is a different man from the one she met at the gas station; his messy bundle of curls is now combed neatly to the side, a dark grey suit and a tie decorates his firm posture and to finalise his elegant gait, he purchased the most expensive long coat he could find at the store.
'Such arrogance. Maybe he wants to get caught...'
Ingvild nibbles her bottom lip while carefully registering his behaviour, it dawn her that the strict and organized man might be the real him.
'The devil will always be a gentleman.'
Her phone abruptly chimes. Liam's name appears on the screen with a screen saver of an angry raccoon snarling his teeth.
"Yes," she answers, her tongue scooping a handful of ice cream with a hum of delight.
"What's your status?"
Ingvild's eyes follow August while he finally steps out of the hunting store.
"On it," she replies and hangs up. Getting up on her feet, she steps outside and makes her way to the opposite direction while casually licking the remains of her ice cream.
Accidently, her elbow hits his rib as she passes right by him.
"Uff!"
She hears him grunting in pain and feels something move in the side of his ribcage.
'A broken bone? Interesting.'
"Unnskyldninger," she apologies in her native tongue and pretends to be surprised as she recognises his face.
August glares with slight irritation; the last thing he needs right now is a pierced lung. Though she ignores his grimace and offers a playful smile instead, her tongue then dips out and slowly strokes around the white scoop.
His eyes follow, absentmindedly, he suckles his bottom lip.
"Destiny entwined," she greets and allows her eyes to glide down his body as if it wasn't what she did in the last couple of hours.
"You look much better, Luke."
'Luke', now he remembers, that's the name he gave her, though, he hardly remembers her name, something Nordic, with a G? These fascinating grey eyes, however, are memorable and now he will also remember that skilful long tongue which works the cone in ways that make his cock stir.
Too bad, tonight he won't have the time for that anymore. If he plans to be gone by tomorrow, he cannot be distracted by a pretty little girl. Come to think of it, he is not sure how he feels about this pretty girl in particular. It seems odd that he bumped into her twice in the last 24 hours.
'Better be out of here even sooner, you may never know, especially with women.'
"Our destinies have an off timing, angel," he offers a false pout, gesturing to the shopping bags in his hands. "As much as I'd love to spend an evening pleasing you, I have some important matters to handle."
"That makes me sad, Luke.'' Ingvild gives him the best display of sadness she could conjure while licking her lips clean. 'Don't worry, you will still please me tonight.'
Staring down at her, he can't help but smirk sincerely. The girl is quite intriguing, thoughts about running his thumb across these lips and tasting her sweetness pervade his mind. He wonders what secrets she hides beneath those plain clothes, will she still run cold with his cock speared between her parted thighs? Or will she burn beneath him?
"Perhaps, since our destinies have already fulfilled their purpose once, we can count on meeting again in the future."
"I'll be counting on that, Luke." She bids him farewell with a little nod and watches as he marches away. His steps gradually becoming urgent, signalling his rising suspicion.
'I'll see you later...'
~*~
The days seem shorter in this place, dawn crawls through the cracks of the heavens around 9 and by 5 afternoon the sky is already washed by the deepest shades of blue.
Though he prefers it that way - easier to hide in the darkness.
Tonight the moon appears prodigious, its soft glow illuminating the crowded pines outside the Bed & Breakfast's window. Sitting by the small mahogany desk, August peers at the dark wilderness while waiting to connect into the Apostles' server.
'You could always just disappear, be no one, be free'
'No one is ever free. Not yet.'
With his belt hanging loose, and his shirt semi-unbuttoned, he sips some cold brew coffee and groans as it runs through his throat. After a few seconds of waiting, Code name J_Lark@1983, finally connects to the server.
"Let there be light."
He executes the command and stares at the screen. Red letters shine brightly upon black while he awaits the replies of whoever is online.
AtomicKitKat: "Welcome back, Lark, where is the big bang you promised us?"
Judas_69: "We waited, nothing happened, did you lie? Are you a liar?"
Knight_of_Darkn3ss: "The plutonium, Lark, you lost it"
August snarls, displeased at the onslaught of complaints.
J_Lark@1983: "It's coming, I keep my promises."
J_Lark@1983: "Need to reorganize. New plans - run the list of nuclear physics professors again, we will go with someone else"
He leans back in his chair, watching the comments that follow. Like children, they argue amongst themselves. If not for them to lead, the Apostles would have mounted to nothing but petty crimes.
'They should bow before you, even though true anarchy has no king...'
A sudden knock on the door rudely interrupts his current affairs, making him reach for the gun laid on his desk. It doesn't take a genius to realise he's been made. Carefully, he lowers the laptop's screen and saunders toward the door.
The eyes that greet him shine like daggers, their lustre cuts deep. Dressed properly for a funeral, she is in a fully black tactical suit and her hair is raked into a long french braid.
'Who the fuck are you supposed to be? Lara Croft?'
It takes less than a millisecond to put pieces into place, of course, she was an assassin. Ravenous eyes, and a cold unpleasant smirk, the girl must have tracked him since they met at the gas station.
'Fucking dumb as fuck.' She could have had him back then in the ladies room had she had the guts. He was unarmed 'cept for the hunting knife he always carries with him.
"So the CIA is recruiting children now?" August mocks, holding his gun ready behind his back.
Cruel and unamused, Ingvild returns a sneer. "Nothing personal, it's just a job."
With one smooth gesture, she withdraws a silenced gun and aims at his face, her finger pulls the trigger but August hits her elbow within seconds, forcing her arm higher and making her miss the shot and hit the window ledge instead.
Before she manages to aim at him again he hoists her by the braid and hauls her into the room, his foot kicks the door shut behind them and briefly he spins her off balance and violently throws her into the room.
Feeling the hair nearly yanked from her scalp, she grunts in pain. August wraps her braid around his hand and twirls her in his grasp, forcing her back against his wide chest while trying to point the gun at her temple.
Unlike Ingvild, his gun lacks a silencer, shooting her now will be loud and messy, and he'll need to leave this place right away.
"Don't make me Jackson Pollock your brains all over the walls, little girl." he warns her, "drop your weapon, yield."
His threats do nothing to frighten her, neither does the searing pain at the back of her hair. Inhaling sharply, she counters against his firm body, her heel slamming at his foot and her elbows knocks back into his cracked rib. Blinded by pain, August roars and stumbles back, losing his grip on the gun which lands beneath the bed.
"Fucking bitch!" August spits hatefully trying to regain his control. Battling the woman is like fighting a crazed cat - he is far larger yet she must have molten fire for blood.
Rageful yet precise, she turns to face him, her silver eyes glint like the edge of a blade as she aims the barrel at his face once more and pulls the trigger.
Crack!
The bullet leaves thin creases on the glass surface of the window as August seizes her wrists and pulls her toward him the way a lover hauls his mistress into a passionate waltz, though their dance ends on the floor with her pinned beneath his heavy body and her gun parched mere inches from her wriggling fingertips..
"No you, don't, angelcakes"
August laughs breathlessly at her futile attempts. With his hands latched around her shoulders and his thighs forcing her legs open, she can no longer fight him off, and just when she thought her situation was dire she can feel the growing hardness pressing against her groin.
An unbidden shiver slithers down her spine though she finds the situation far more confusing than frightening.
"Are you hard?!"
August offers a fanged smirk, his thumbs squeezing further into her collarbone while she huffs and writhes beneath his grasp. "Don't flatter yourself, princess, it happens during combat, but to be honest I am not rejecting the idea of fucking you."
"Only in your dreams," Ingvild spits. She manages to release her hands and slaps them around his neck, attempting to twist and break it.
Though August overcomes her within seconds and twists her wrists and flips her onto her belly. Ingvild swallows her fury, her knees and elbows hitting the hard floor as August presses his full weight to subdue her. His hand weaves through her messy hair, pulling her head back to rasp in her ear.
"Trust me, love, you don't want to know what I'm dreaming about."
There's a limit to how much she can maintain her strict composure. The bitterness of failure sears, causing her to catch in flames and forgo her training. Attempting her last stand, she sends a hand forward, trying to retain her weapon.
Just as her index finger brushes the handle, August presses her head to the floor and seizes the gun.
Three warning shots are fired at each side of her head. Dejected, she halts her movement and her breath.
"Do you want to use your safe word now, princess?" August mocks.
"Fuck you!" she hisses, panting with ardour.
Her spite pulls a dry chuckle from him. Menacingly, he grinds his rigid bulge against the small of her back. "Don't provoke me, sweetheart, unless you want them to find your body with my cum up your ass."
August observes if she accepted defeat and carefully turns her to face him. He straddles her chest and points the barrel right under her chin, making her tilt her head somewhat.
"Ain't nothing more beautiful than a strong woman down on her back," he taunts while gently caressing her jawline with the cold metal. She remains composed through if eyes could kill his throat would be severed by now.
"Who do you work for, little girl?"
"No one you'd know," she answers calmly, taking slow, measured breaths - a trick Liam taught her in order to maintain stamina. Quiet, careful, she learns her enemy, making notes of every muscle twitching in his face. It's when she notices a shadow in one of his blue eyes, a brown discolouration that reminds her of photos of nebulas and bursting stars.
"Try me," August suggests, glaring with rapt. The girl was somewhat interesting before, but now he finds himself intrigued, wondering what other secrets hide behind those frigid orbs. She gave an honourable fight, her skill and agility tell a story of a girl who's been trained for over a decade and the icy reaction to her nearing death tells she was moulded into this life in utter darkness.
"Icarus," she answers.
August hums, he heard of Icarus - what the CIA used to describe as a cancerous hitmen organization. No wonder she accepts her death so coldly. Their assassins are practically bred.
"Are there any other after me?"
Ingvild's lips slowly stretch into a grin so unkind it brings shiver even to a man like him. "There is a price on your head, August Walker, right now every organization on earth wants you dead."
His nostrils flare and his brows arch hatefully. Unable to admit her mistakes, Sloane refrained from informing the media and planned to sweep this under the carpet, squash him as if he was nothing but a bug on her windshield.
'You'll suffer my wrath, Erica.'
"But it shouldn't bother you, August Walker," Ingvild says, returning his attention back to her catlike stare.
"Why not?" he asks, his eyes downcast to her face again, witnessing that smile becoming further malicious.
"Because you didn't restrain my hands."
Before the words manage to sink in, her hand claws his ribs at the spot where his rib is cracked, her slender finger digs into the fracture, feeling the bone shift within his chest.
A husky gasp pushes out from his lungs, the pain so intense it engulfs him in black fog. As darkness takes his sight, he feels a powerful blow to his forehead and falls into a sudden sleep.
Still laid on the floor with his body on top of hers, she sighs with relief. It takes a great effort to push him off. It will take an even greater effort to tie him up.
~*~
A soft grunt leaves his lips as consciousness creeps in. The room is fuzzy, the image twisted and for a moment he forgets where he is but the pain throbbing in his skull is keen on reminding him.
'Fucking Bergen.'
His eyes manage to spot a dark figure that stands by the door, her voice is muffled as she speaks, yet he is not sure what language it is while his senses still battle to catch up.
Another grunt escapes him, this one louder as he tries to move and finds himself immobilized.
"Don't bother, princess." Her voice is now sharp.
Slowly, he lifts his eyes to look at her, pure wrath burns through his reddening glare. The girl stands in the middle of the run, holding his laptop open with scorn bathing her face.
'No way in fucking hell that I'm bested by a girl that weighs less than my luggage.'
"Fuck you," he grunts, unable to think of anything witty as anger surges through him.
"No, thank you." Ingvild smiles sweetly and runs her talons across the keyboard, trying to figure out the password. The manifesto, she wonders if she can find it there.
"Leave that alone, that's not for children," August warns, unbothered as there is no way in hell she can figure this one out.
Sighing calmly, she places the laptop on the desk and glares at her victim. Dishevelled, drenched in sweat, August still hangs onto his arrogant pride with icy composure. Hubris - not something of an attractive trait, yet with him it's somehow... appetising.
Perhaps it's the notion that she never held a conversation with a target before, yet she can't help the whimsical desire to torture him the way a cat toys with a little helpless mouse. Marching toward him in long confident strides, her boots stomp heavily on the wooden floor.
August snorts, wondering how someone this lithe has such a hefty stride.
With generous flexibility, she lifts one leg straight and moves to straddle his thick thighs.
"What, you're gonna give me a lap dance now?" he mocks though never bothers hiding the impressed look on his face.
Ingvild wraps her arms around his thick neck and offers him a malicious grin. "Oh princess," she nearly mewls, her voice soft as silk as she shifts slightly on top of him, eliciting an unbidden growl from her captive.
"It's sad that I have to kill you, you are rather fuckable."
August lifts his chin and shoots her a lustful leer. "Untie me love, and I'll show you just how fuckable I can be."
A scornful scoff leaves her nostrils and she shakes her head. It was an honourable battle, she owes him as much. "What's the password to your laptop?" she asks, pressing her ass hard on his thighs to increase the pressure on his legs.
"Don't act stupid, it doesn't suit you," he replies. There is nothing to bargain here, she will kill him with or without the password.
Her fingers claw his cheek, forcing him to stare deeply into her eyes. August growls in awe at the symphony of colours that spirals within them; pale blue, grey, and a bright eruption of bright green.
'If you're going to die, at least it will be at the hand of a Valkyrie or a vengeful angel...'
"What do you care if I know? You're gonna be dead anyway. Do you know what happens when you die, August Walker?"
"Nothing."
"Exactly," she smiles, pleased with his answer, "no gods, no heavens, no hell, only blackness."
August's frown somewhat softens, a slanted grin appears on his face. '
She would have made a fine apostle.'
"Tell me something, angel, are you always this curious about a target, or am I special?" his voice drops lower all of the sudden, becoming smooth and sonorous the way it was when he was trying to get inside her panties.
Ingvild beams, "Only..."
A loud hiss rips from her flaring mouth as sudden shock currents through her flesh. Pain; piercing, icy, she feels it rapture her muscles, tendons and bones, so intense everything turns white.
"See?" his breath is hot against her neck, "I told you I'd fuck you eventually."
August offers a smile of triumph as he presents his untied left hand, his right one still forces the blade inside her gut, angling it upward to pull more whimpers from her pretty little mouth.
Dark and thick, the blood coats his fingers, trickling down her belly and staining both their trousers.
"A little further up and I'll be inside your lungs, do you wish to drown in your own blood, beautiful?" he suggests, his timbre now a low, groan as if this is some sort of twisted foreplay.
"No!"
Crying out, she pulls away, stumbling back imbalance with her bloody hands holding onto the gaping wound. The pain itself is enough to make her nauseated. "What?..." she mumbles incoherently and shakes her head.
August studies the look on her face, quickly realising she was never injured on a mission before. 'A virgin of some sort... well not anymore.'
"Awww, your first time?" he teases viciously and stands up. The cut rope falls to the floor.
"Did I just pop your cherry, love?"
With pure confidence and an absolute sense of victory, he marches toward her, his gait slow, his gaze cruel as he drinks in the sight of her suffering. He takes his time, knowing she won't be able to make it far in her current situation.
Though there is still spirit in the little valkyrie, watching him make his way, she kicks the wooden desk, shoving it in his direction which causes the laptop to fall off the edge. Alarmed, August catches it one moment before it hits the ground. When he looks up again she is gone.
Flexing his muscles with ease, he places the laptop back on the desk and glares at the doorway. Dark droplets of blood mark the floor, leaving a fresh trail to follow.
~*~
Clattering teeth and shivers are not something she experiences before.
Suddenly the cold is a nuisance as she fights her way through the wilderness of the forest. Liam would say she is to blame, she was reckless, never bothering to check August for additional weapons. He was an assassin after all, possibly trained for situations like this.
Holding onto her bleeding stomach, she pants and checks behind her every now and then. In her aching bones, she knows that August is not the type of man to leave a job unfinished.
Though she thinks she might have a fighting chance as she knows the forest since she was a child. Back when she still believed in fairies and trolls and breathed in the misty woods.
Now the forest is drained of magic, the wisps burnt to cinders, yet her memory did not betray her.
Bright shimmering light welcomes her into the clearing, the frozen lake that runs through reflects the moonlight, making the surface look like pale crystals. Carefully, she makes her way through, leaving droplets of her blood behind her.
"You left quite the trail for me, love."
Ingvild's muscles stiffen at his voice, her head now so light she can hardly keep her eyes focused. Still, she hopes to escape him, maybe he won't be able to cross the lake running, his weight won't allow it. Ignoring the threat, she attempts to make another step only to be stopped by the click of his gun being cocked.
Hopeless she turns to look at him. Damned if she'll go without a fight.
In her last stand, she pulls out her gun and aims at his head, her bloodied hand shaking. Trying to stabilize her arms, she thinks she never cared about living, but now, she feels like she doesn't want to die.
August snorts lightly, appreciating her defiance.
"Time to say goodnight, princess."
Bats fly frantically as the sound of gunfire echoes through the forest, their winged bodies blanket the sky with darkness. The pain is worse than being tormented by shards of glass as the arctic water seeps between her bones.
In his cruelty, August saved his bullet to shoot the ice beneath her feet. Patient, he checks his watch and observes as she struggles to get out, her bare hands slipping on the ice, unable to grasp onto anything before her powers wane.