Assassin: Part 2
I took one last look at the bloody water that my leg was submerged in and started to move for the door. That was a mistake. I set my paw in a small pool of blood and slipped, the towel tearing off of my leg and sending a fresh gout of blood onto the floor. I yelped and looked downwards, my wound had reopened and blood was pouring out. I heard Q advancing up the hallway, but doubted that he would be able to get me to a hospital in time.
I looked back at my life and the chain of events that had led me to this moment, bleeding to death on a dirty bathroom floor in Belfast. It had begun just a month before, in London.
SIX MONTHS BEFORE...
"Hey, wakey wakey, get up, we're leaving today." I cracked open an eye open and saw Q standing over me, he was already dressed and I realized to my horror that I must have overslept, something I was guilty of quite often. I hauled myself out of bed and quickly tugged on jeans and a Chelsea shirt, I'd gotten into fights over my football team of choice just by wearing this shirt, but today was a Sunday and none of the usual hooligans would be out so I felt reasonably safe wearing it.
Q had been planning a trip to Belfast for quite a while, he had a cousin who lived up there and who had agreed to let us stay for a week or two. I had always wanted to go to Ireland, but was a little surprised when Q insisted upon Belfast.
"Isn't that where the IRA are?" I asked, reflecting upon the IRA's fondness of capturing English nationals like me for money.
"Yes, but they've gone underground as of late, nothing will happen, the Troubles are past, Belfast will be nice." So after a while I agreed and packed my bags, still distantly worried about car bombs and various other nasty things that could await us there.
We walked down to the docks where our ferry would be docked, chatting about the benefits of fine Irish whisky and pretty Irish femmes.
"What does your cousin do for a living?" I asked, Q laughed and rolled his eyes.
"He's a bartender, Pretty stereotypical for an Irishfur." I laughed and we both quickly boarded the ferry, handing our tickets to a squirrel waiitng at the top of the gangplank.
There were a few others on the ferry, but this being the Sunday ferry most of the furs that would usually be making the trip were either at church or asleep at home.
"Belfast here we come!" I crowed, not knowing how much trouble we were about to get into.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART THREE...