The Watcher: Adaptability Of A Bounty Hunter

Chapter 3) Hooded Figures

The Watcher stood atop a rooftop, the sea of bright lights of the eastern district were seen in the distance, dotting the horizon like stars in the night sky above. The eastern district which was a bustling metropolis, with a vibrant nightlife. In stark contrast to the western district, which was always barren once the sun set. The moment the clock struck midnight all street lamps were shut down to conserve power, the S.C.S android’s pre-programmed patrol routes changed, commanding the majority to report to the Eastern district. Inside the Watcher’s helmet the visor was projecting the details and identifying photographs of possible bounties. None of the targets listed stood out to him, although this was far from unusual. Day after day, death after death, it all became second nature to the Watcher. Even though he portrayed himself as a monster, he found no pleasure in his profession. It was just a part of his everyday life, he was numb to it all.

While he half heartedly scrolled through the pages of listed targets he noticed something of note. There, listed alongside the names and details was his name. Well, his alias at the very least. The bounty on his head was one million credits on the dot. The only specifications listed was that he must be brought in alive, he’s no good to them dead he assumed. This wasn’t the first time a bounty had been placed on his head, but what made this particular instant unique was the requirement of him being delivered to whoever issued the bounty, and that wasn’t all. Under the rules of the site the Watcher used to find new bounties, Users who submitted the targets were not required to reveal their identities. As long as they transferred over payment to the assassin's account, digitally or physically their info would be secure. So unlike most anonymous posts, this one had a listed name, The Shadow’s Requiem. It seems the infamous Dulvian extremist group wanted an audience with him. Fighting off a few assassin’s wasn’t much trouble, more of an annoyance than anything. In Tafabid, the Watcher was at the top of his class, only a select few could even go toe to toe with him in combat.

To each side of the Watcher, laid two giant television screens embedded into the towering skyscrapers that sandwiched the moderately tall building between them. Messages of current goings scrolled past the bottom of the screen as harmless pictures of beautiful Ifrailian landscapes filled up the rest of the space on the massive television. The A.C.G had hoped the sight of lush forests or sprawling Alexandrian cityscapes would provide the poverty ridden western district with a momentary escape from their daily life. But instead, it came across as an insult, the population of the western district of Tafabid was almost completely poor factory workers, who struggled to make rent on their one bedroom apartments. They saw those images as a mockery, they lived in poverty and yet were reminded of the wealth of the very government that was responsible for the terrible living conditions they were forced to endure.

The Watcher had closed the browser built into his helmet, deciding that tonight he’d provide the city with free security instead of taking on a job. Every night, petty crimes were committed in the western district. Who was there to stop them, the large squads of androids that patrolled the city during the day were reduced to maybe a single unit per block. He understood the irony, he himself was a criminal, one who took away the lives of others so he could survive, yet here he was, passing judgement on others. He accepted this contradiction, he understood what it’s like to hit rock bottom, being forced to commit crimes just to survive. However there are plenty of scumbags who pushed their disgusting desires onto others. Random assault, r**e, and human traficking, these were crimes that the Watcher found unaccptable. Anyone who participated in these acts weren’t doing it because they had to, no, they were sadistic monsters who took advantage of good people.

The clock struck 12:00, and the images on both screens shifted into a pre-recorded message of governor Lamar Wolf. Like every single night before, Lamar smiled into the camera, placed his hands on the desk in front of him, and spoke in the same contrived tone anyone pretending to be your friend would use.

“As the day comes to an end, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for your hard work, and remember, secure the future,” and with that, everything in the western district shut off. And the only light for miles, was the Watcher’s helmet.

He took a step towards the edge of the roof, looking down at the empty streets. Watching as men and women stumbled through the dark on their way home, spotting a squad of androids on their way towards the far more attractive district in Tafabid. 12:01, far too early to start, to many people out and about, the Watcher decided to give it another hour before he commenced his vigilante justice.

A gust of wind generated enough force to waft his cape to the right, without the cover of darkness, his hobbled together suit of armor would be out in the open. Raising his right arm, his helmet’s scanners took less than a second to identify the metal alloy used in it’s construction. Even identifying its similarity to the steel used to produce the Standard, Civilian, Security line of humanoid androids. The Watcher relied on his tech, it wasn’t just an extension of his abilities, it was his crutch. This ultimatum never bothered him, being an assassin in a world dominated by magic and witchcraft, he needed every advantage he could get. Luckily, most of the enemies he faced fought with nothing above a low-level thug’s arsenal. An assortment of knives, blunt objects, and the occasional firearm scavenged from a destroyed S.C.S droid. The analytical program built into his helmet was typically enough to deal with these opponents. But as a precaution he built up his defense. 

Armor plating lined his arms, a hefty chestplate guarded his torso, the Achilles heel of his set up was his unprotected legs, the only semblance of armor he had there was a pair of knee pads. The chances of coming across enough material to create protective leggings that would fit his standards was slim. Thankfully, very few were smart enough to take advantage of this weakness, most either fled with their tails between their legs, while others took a gamble on a confrontation. Even then, most of their attacks were directed at his head or stomach.

The gentle bleeping of his motion tracker sounded off inside his helmet. His eyes drifted to the bottom right of his heads up display where the info from the tracker was projected inside his helmet. He had assumed this to be an error, the tracker had given him false info before so it wouldn’t be much of a stretch, however this was not a malfunction. The mini map listed two gray dots behind him, gray was used to distinguish an unknown presence from that of an ally or enemy.

He quickly spun around, standing roughly 10 meters away from the Watcher were two hooded figures. One was significantly shorter than the other, his helmet zoomed in, attempting a facial recognition scan, the more information he could gather about those unknown individuals, the better. No luck, the hoods obscured just enough of their face to make identification impossible. Inside the Watcher’s hood, he gripped the handle of his weapon tightly, ready to draw it on a moment's notice. They’re body movement gave away zero hints towards their intentions, a tactic he was all too familiar with. 

They all stood in silence, no one moved a muscle. Preparing for the worst, he changed the color of the strangers on his hud, now they were represented by bright red dots, signifying immediate danger. The Watcher had assumed these two were the first bounty hunters of the night, after all the million credits on his head was nothing to sneeze at, thankfully the bounty offered him one advantage. Listed in the requirement section of the post, it stated that the Watcher must be brought to the client, alive. Whoever these people were, they wouldn’t be able to use any lethal means to take him out, they’ll have to incapacitate him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a subtle movement under the larger figure’s cloak.

The Watcher’s visor magnified the image, zooming into the taller individual’s cloak, he couldn’t make out what he was holding. He assumed it was a weapon, if he was able to conceal it under the cloak it couldn’t have been anything larger than a submachine gun. His grip loosened on the handgun, if he was going to live he would need to go on the defensive. He could feel himself break into a cold sweat, the anticipation was driving him mad. Nearly everyone who had engaged him in combat were cocky and hotheaded, nothing like this. His eyes darted to the left, catching a glimpse of the smaller figure as they bent down to one knee.

Without warning, both of the hooded strangers sprung their attack. The taller one revealed what was hiding behind his cloak, a submachine gun, which confirmed what the Watcher had suspected. The hooded figure pulled the trigger, showering him in a hail of bullets. 

The Watcher extended his left arm, opening his hand which generated an energy field that acted as a net, catching the bullets as they sped towards him. The hooded figure continued to empty his clip, these shots weren’t precise, it was almost like they were testing the Watcher. A small cloud of bullets hovered in front of the Watcher’s palm, growing in size by the second as more and more shots were added to the collection. Without exchanging so much as a glance to each other, the smaller one leaped twenty feet into the air while the gun wielding figure pressed his attack, closing the distance between him and the Watcher as he inched closer, step by step. Just as the Watcher suspected, whoever his attackers were, they were both Mages. While he couldn’t determine the class of the larger man, he was certain that the person who had leapt above the towers to each side of the building they were fighting atop, was either a brawler, or a swordsman class mage.

The Watcher’s visor was tracking the elevation of the smaller mage’s jump, which peaked twenty feet in the air. Then as they started to descend, the numbers in the top right of his display started to flash bright red, emphasizing the impending danger. He was in a tight spot, if he dropped his energy field to fend off the Mage who attacked from above he’d succumb to a hail of gunfire. But if he focused on absorbing the bullets, he would be ignoring a glaring gap in his defense, one the shorter mage would surely exploit. If he was going to turn the battle in his favor, he’d need to wait for an opening. His heart started to pound out of his chest, he grit his teeth, and held his ground, the Watcher was thankfully for the helmet, because he found himself fearing for his life. 

The second mage was almost on top of the Watcher, 19...18…14 feet, she was rapidly descending. Thud, the assailant firing the gun had switched out the magazine, this was it, the opening he was looking for! The Watcher tilted his head upward, he moved his arm up, twisting his hand back, and then formed a fist. Flinging all the bullets he had collected at the aerial attacker. The mage crossed their arms, protecting their face while the bullets ripped through their cloak. The Watcher dived to the left, evading a barrage of bullets. 

The smaller assassin made contact with the ground, landing next to their partner. The mage snarled, their cloak was torn to shreds, resembling swiss cheese with the numerous bullet holes that dotted what was left of the hood. They grabbed ahold of their ruined disguise and yanked it off, letting the wind blow it away. Her curly blonde hair drooped down her shoulders. What surprised the Watcher the most wasn’t the reveal of the assaulters gender, it was her distinct amber eyes. The Watcher zoomed into the mage’s face, snapping a picture while he had the chance. If he survived this encounter, he could use this to ascertain the identity of the assassins in the future. The woman shot the Watcher a dirty look before turning her attention to her accomplice.

“Ugh, I thought you said this guy couldn’t counter us,” the female mage said, peering back at her partner who didn’t respond to her, he instead slammed another magazine into the gun. Tilting his head to the side, the male mage opened his mouth and spoke.

“Your hood,” his voice achieved a depth of tone the Watcher sought to emulate with his voice filter. Facial recognition was impossible to determine, that hood still acted as a shield, protecting his identity. The Watcher knew he needed to unmask this illusive mage, the question now of course, was how? The woman reached into her pocket and plucked out what appeared to be a swords hilt. Upon further inspection and with help from his analytical program, the Watcher determined that this woman’s mage class was a swordsman.       

“He’s probably already sent your identity over to the police.”

“Oh, I’m soooo scared, are the big scary robots going to take me away? Get real, even if they knew, they couldn’t do anything,” the woman shouted, to her credit, the Watcher had already scanned through databases and couldn’t find a single trace of this woman, it was as if he was confronted with an anomaly, a person who doesn’t exist, yet is standing before him. The man shrugged and aimed his weapon’s iron sight on the Watcher.

“I’m just trying to follow protocol M,”

“Since when have you cared about protocol, now tell me why this guy was able to catch your bullets.”

“I’m not sure, his file didn’t have any mention of telekinesis,” the man, gun still drawn, turned back to the Watcher.

“Why don’t you tell us how you did that?” Maybe it was to get the Watcher to drop his guard, but the male mage lowered his weapon. Seems like the Watcher wasn’t the only one taken aback by this decision, considering the fact that his partner raised her brow, and turned her attention to the man who towered above her. Under the Watcher’s cloak, he still held the pistol’s grip, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. The Watcher felt his right eye twitch, his mouth felt dry and his body shook ever so slightly. His thoughts had been reduced to a series of disjointed theories and plans of action, no real base to anything, and most came off as unrealistic to the Watcher. This wasn’t right, and that feeling of the unknown shook his core more so than anything else. 

After activating the voice filter, the Watcher spoke,

“Judging by your friend’s orange eyes, you both are Dulvian.”  Gauging his assailants reactions, nothing, not even a single twitch. The Watcher pressed on,

“I suppose the allure of one million credits was too much to pass up on, I’m sure you saw my bounty and thought of it as your escape from this hell hole-” cutting off the Watcher’s speech, was the deep chuckle of the male mage.

"You know, you're quite the funny guy,” the mage said, pulling the clip out of his gun and throwing it off the roof. He then proceeded to squeeze the handle of the instrument, the steel of the weapon’s handle soon fell to the man’s strength, it crumbled in his palm before he tossed the mangled weapon to the floor. The Watcher could feel a fire sparking to life inside the man’s spirit as he cracked his knuckles, creating a distinct pop sound. “Thinking you're better than everyone else, when in reality you're nothing more than another coward hiding behind a mask.”

“Aren’t you also hiding behind that hood? Seems like a contradiction,” the Watcher pointed out. A sharp breeze swept over the rooftop, blowing the woman’s air in the breeze while also ruffling both of the men’s hoods. The atmosphere was tense, although that may have just been how the Watcher perceived the world around him. The Watcher noticed the subtle movements in the man’s cheeks as they contorted into a devious grin. The man took hold of his hood with both hands, gently pulling it back as he started to speak.

“I’m already forced to take s**t from a masked freak, and I’m not about to take orders from another brat with a hero complex,” the man peeled back the shell that hid his identity, revealing yet another pair of amber eyes. The male’s jawline was sharp and prominent, his hair was a dark brown, like the dirt after it’s been drenched in water. A soft layer of fuzz covered his chin, which crawled up the sides of his face. His stubble had the same coloring as the full head of hair that covered the top of his head. Yet again, a facial scan brought up no results when cross referenced with the A.C.G’s databases, could these two be foreigners? Interrupting his train of thought was the female, who scoffed,

“Wow, looks like you really pissed Cliff off guy.”

“You have no idea Mari, shame we have to bring this guy in. I’d like to snap his neck.” The male formed fists and adjusted himself into an offensive stance, Mari followed suit, channeling her mana through the sword’s hilt creating a neon purple blade to extend from the catalyst. She swung her blade through the air, creating a breathtaking arch of bright colored light, she then held the blade by her side, letting the fear build in their opponent a bit more before ultimately pouncing on her prey. 

 “Well, Agma didn’t say anything about damage,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a giggle, “We can still rough him up a bit.” The Watcher finally brought his custom made firearm to bear, aiming it right at the pair of assassins,

“I’d like to see you try,” contrary to the Watcher’s threat, he could feel his arm shaking. All he could hope for was that his advisories were oblivious to it.