It’s cold.  I hate the cold.  But a job’s a job and I’ve been hired to come out here.  I’d go to hell and back if the pay was good enough.  Right now though I agree with the Norse that hell is a cold tundra.  I’d have probably died out here if I wasn’t wearing a snowsuit.  Goggles keep the wind out of my eyes but some of my face is unprotected.  I’m wearing snow shoes.  That makes it hard to move fast, but they keep me from sinking too into the snow.

I pause at the forested edge of a wooded basin to take in my surroundings and reconfirm by bearings.  So gently the snow falls through the cold, clouded sky.

To avoid detection I cut through the wooded basin.  As I descend I startle a racoon that scurries into a burrow I hadn’t noticed.  As I continue on I see a fox on the ridge.  It probably would have gotten the ‘coon if I hadn’t scared it away.  As difficult as it is to find food in this kind of weather the fox might starve.

The snow’s starting to come down heavier now.  That’s good; it’ll cover my tracks.

I wanna get out of this snow.  Into a shelter or something.  That’d be nice, out of the freezer and into the fridge.  A shelter’s not really warmer, just less cold.  Less wind too.  The hard wind makes it difficult to breath as it blows into my face, sweeping away the air too quickly for me to catch any.

What I wouldn’t give for a snowmobile right now.  Or a snow tank for that matter.  Instead I come across a digital alarm clock.  Amazingly enough, it’s still working: I can see the display flashing twelve o’clock.

As I pick it up to examine it the radio alarm goes off.  Startled, I drop the clock and fall backward, reflexively trying to jump back while the snowshoes weigh me down.  I had let my guard down.  That was stupidifyingly dangerous.

The radio is playing “Rock Around the Clock”.  I could use a wireless digital radio alarm clock next to my bed, so I turn it off and put it in my rucksack.

* * *

It takes me an hour and a half to cross the basin.  Another two hours later I reach the primary stakeout point: A forested mountain side, overlooking a mostly abandoned town, nestled into the canyon crivass.

It’s amazing how thick the forest is, what with the climatological changes that came after the war, and the resultant short warm season.  Mostly deadwood anyway.

I wip out my snow-crusted binoculars to scope out the town.  Actually, it was more of a bustling city complete with subways and skyscrapers before most of it was covered by the toppled mountain to the east.  There are a few penthouses left, one of which I have to infiltrate.

I look for a way down into town.  The only suitable paths for skiing are too exposed.  I’ll have to continue by foot.

I reach the town by sunset.  Of the few residents wandering the streets everyone is too frightened of the looming threat to notice that I’m not from around.

When I reach my target building there’s no mistaking it; it’s the least crappy looking one.

Security is light.  All the windows on the first few floors are blown out.  I can see a guard by the stairs.  He’s leaning on a “dead man’s switch.” If the button is depressurized an alarm sounds.  A steel tipped arrow from my crossbow tacks him to the wall, ensuring that his limp body doesn’t slide off the button.

I’d be detected too easily if I take the stairs, so I pry open the doors of the broken down elevator.  Once inside the cabin, I climb out the maintenance hatch in the ceiling.

As I had hoped for, there’s a maintenance ladder.  That means I don’t have to climb the cables.  I leave some of the heavy stuff I no longer need on top of the cabin and I begin my ascent.

It takes me only ten minutes to reach the top floor.  Rather than announcing my intrusion by popping out the elevator doors to say hello I climb into an adjacent vent.  I crawl slowly to minimize the noise I make; I seriously doubt that these ventilation ducts were ever made of kevlar.

After scurrying around a bit, I find where the vent empties into a custodial closet.  Busting the vent grill might attract lots of unwanted attention, so I’ll have to act fast.

I kick the grill free and it clatters to the floor.  No sooner than I get on my feet than some bozo with an uzi flings the door open.  Sounding matter-of-factly, I say “Uh, I’m embarrassed to say this, but um, I’m lost and I was wondering if you could tell me where the bathroom is.”

Rather than the expected sound of bullets penetrating my flesh I hear the bozo say “Down the hall and to the right.  You stupid new recruits are always so good at getting lost.”

What stupid luck! He thinks I’m one of them! I guess the fact that he’s wearing sunglasses in this kind of light doesn’t help his vision.  Better safe than sorry though; I’ll have to ice this turkey right now.

He turns away, and that’s when I make my move.  Knife in hand, I leap on his back and slit his throat.  He dies too quickly to realize that happened.  I pluck the uzi off the dead guard since it’ll come in handy.

Now onto the big fish: Rafael Avanccini, one of the many warlords to rise up after the war.  It’s been 20 years since the war, and this bloody idiot is threatening to irradiate the world a little more.  That makes this particular job personal.  While I may be just a mercenary hiring out my “services” to the highest bidder, no one screws with my world.

It’s not hard to find Avanccini; he’s using the ballroom as his throne room.  The door has been left ajar and I can see eight bored guards positioned around Avanccini.

I get an idea, but I have to go back to the custodial closet to use the tools there.  I take apart the digital clock I found on the tundra and wire in some explosives.  After putting it back together I set the clock.

I return to the ballroom.  I set the alarm on the clock for the next minute just before throwing it in.  Two guards investigate the object while the others stand their ground with hopeful looks for some excitement.  One guard picks up the clock and turns it over in his hands while the other gives baffled comments to Avanccini who in turn gives looks of annoyance.

The next minute comes and the radio flares to life.  The D.J. on the air says “This is K-B-O-M, K-BOM, and we’re blowing away the competition!” The guards might have thought it humorously ironic and laughed if the exploding alarm clock hadn’t blown off their heads.

Six guards left.  Before they can react I burst in as I throw my knife into one’s heart and dispel two more with my crossbow, the arrow passing clear through both of their bodies.  Three guards left.

I get two of the thugs with quick spirts from the uzi.  That last one throws a table on its side for cover.  I get him by shooting away the supports on the chandilier directly above him; if that didn’t kill him, he’s out cold.

Avanccini pulls a gun of his own but I shoot him in the forearm, causing him to drop it.  He’s lucky I didn’t hit a major artery.  I run over and knock him down with a right hook before he can retrieve the gun with his good hand.

Expecting enemy reinforcement any second now, I just grab the back of Avanccini’s collar and run for the stairs, regardless of what I drag him over.

Upon reaching the roof I throw him down on his butt.  Two guys are manning the anti-aircraft emplacement, so I pump two more baddies full of lead.

Turning back to Avanccini I say “So you like Nuclear Holocaust, Avanccini? How about spending Christmas at ground-zero^[1] with one of these old-fashioned non-nuclear missiles?” All he can do is throw threats at me and curse in Italian as I mount him on one of the anti-aircraft missiles so that it’s stuffed down the back of his pants.  I program the missile to travel a loop.  As soon as I launch it I run for the edge of the roof.  More goons burst out of the stairwell and fire at me as I leap away.  They stop firing and slowly look up as the sound of a man screaming hurtles from above.  Avanccini plunges into the roof and the missile explodes.

My rucksack is actually a parachute, so I drift to safety as secondary explosions tear the building apart.

Another job well done.  The evac team should be here to get me in just a few hours.