Eh, my creative spark seems to be dying. That, and I'm constantly getting writers block, so i think I may make this the last in The Assassin's Tale, at least for a while.
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5
The man pounded what must have been his eighth glass of whiskey that night. Lucky for him, he had a very high alcohol resistance, a trait which he considered a blessing when under this much stress. He tapped shakily against the desk with his pencil, unable to fathom what he had discovered. In front of him was a small dictation machine, a microscope which stood sturdily, pointed at a small sample of human genes, and syringe full of viscous liquid. Raising his hand as steadily as possible, he flicked a switch on his dictation machine, and began to speak.
"March 18th, 1987.
Doctor Johnathon Albert speaking. Today was a breakthrough in genetic research for VeasoCorp. After 4 years of strenuous research, we have found a way of isolating undeveloped stem cells without the death of the host. However, we are keeping it strictly confidential; despite there being no risk of death, we fear people may abuse the cell's usefulness. We also believe we have found a way of accelerating the process of renewal, by mixing the cells with human blood. The cells seem to instinctively fix any physical damage that the body may have received." Albert took a deep breath.
"Our second discovery is even more unbelievable than the last. This morning, a young man by the name of O'Neil had found his way to our doors, claiming to have unnatural powers. When I told him of my scepticism, he summoned several balls of flame into the palm of his hand. After 8 hours of rigorous testing, I have found that human chromosomes are not as we know them. To most peoples knowledge, there are twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. This, it would seem, is false. The second chromosome on the twelfth pair is in fact a replication of the first. In O'Neil, or as we now refer to him, Subject 192, there are only 22 pairs of chromosomes, and the first of pair twelve. Although this does not change his species, it does give him the ability to do many things any normal human is incapable of, such as the aforementioned summoning of flames, or the ability to instantly gain muscle mass. Further research begins tomorrow."

After finishing, he flipped the switch once again on the dictation machine and stared intently at the needle in front of him. Temptation told him to pour himself another gl

3
"The Celands" He said, almost disgusted to utter the word "Are a group of incredibly powerful demons, who together possess the power and ability to destroy anything that stands in their path. They feel no guilt and are void of all morality, which makes them perfect for their jobs." A confused look spread over the assistants face, which had since recovered from her abash state.
"Their jobs?" She asked, enthralled. Denzel took a deep breath in.
"The Celands were created for one single cause- to find the Core Gem. Are you aware of what the Core Gem is?" He asked patiently. The assistant replied confidently and quickly.
"Yes, the Core Gem is a shard broken from the core of a now destroyed-or rather imploded-planet. No one has seen it since it landed in one of Area 51's hangars and was took by some kind of entity." She finished, looking slightly proud of herself. Denzel was impressed.
"Well done, I hadn't expected you to know that much about it. Is it part of your case study?" He questioned, and she nodded slowly.
"Thank you Mr. Avens, this has really helped" She said, standing up to leave and smiling softly. She reached out and shook his hand, before dashing off inside, pen and clipboard flailing madly.

Not long after, Denzel stood. An all consuming forest towered over him, enveloping all sounds that travelled inside it. Gorgeous flora of every species sprouted playfully from all angles, giving a great feel of peace to the area. Slowly, he made his way to the most open clearing he could find, between the trunk of a large sycamore tree and a set of creeping vines which was ensnaring what seemed to be another smaller tree.

As he entered the deadly silent forest, he was instantly taken aback by the aura of tranquillity that lingered. He inhaled and tasted the sweet, unpolluted air that his lungs had craved for years. A crystalline lake settled in the dead center of the area, the perfect centerpiece for the perfect forest. The grounds that his feet had firmly rooted themselves into were near untouched, only slightly cracked by the shallow footprints left by marauding animals. He felt himself becoming lost in a fantasy world, a world where the Celands had never existed, and where Denzel had been born into a normal life.

He was just beginning to regain his senses, when a freezing cold chill passed over him, defiling his body and leaving him with a heavily tainted feeling. He wasn't alone. A wild sc

2
Denzel was a man of skill, an expert in his field. It was no wonder then, that instead of sleeping that night, he stayed up wondering how he managed to miss Teuril from such close quarters. "It was just a bad shot," he reassured himself over and over, until the sun finally began to splinter across the earth, and Denzel Avens was yet again made to get up and see his boss. To most people, this would be a chore. To Denzel, it was a blessing. His job was his life. He had chosen this lifestyle for many reasons, and his employer was one of them.

Skipping breakfast, he proceeded to get dressed hurriedly, throwing on a brand new jacket and grabbing the nearest watch to him. He headed down to his sleek silver Audi R8, making sure he wasn't being watched or followed; in his line of work, it was particularly easy to make enemies, so Denzel was always cautious of his surroundings. He couldn't help but recall the countless times that he had been veered off the road by a well hidden landmine, and how common it was for a round of ammunition to be sprayed through his windscreen.
"Just another day on the job." He joked to himself.

After 20 minutes of driving through some of the most covert routes Denzel had ever known, he reached his bosses headquarters, and as he rolled up near silently to the door, he could have sworn he had seen a glimpse of someone run away into the nearby woods.
Someone or something. Something familiar.
Snapping out of his daze, he moved swiftly to the door and knocked three times, slowly and exactly, always striking the same position. The door swung open and a tall, bold, executive looking man stepped out and grabbed Denzel's hand, pulling him into the rather violent handshake Denzel had grown accustomed to every time he met with this man. The man of course, was his boss, a Mr O'Neil. Originally from Ireland, he moved to London after the murder of his wife and children and began a business in assassination. Denzel had always been fond of Mr O'Neil. Everyone always expected him to be some crazy bloodthirsty man, but really he was just a human being with a terrible, corrupted past.

Finally releasing his grip, he looked at Denzel and said peacefully
"Lets go for a walk. We need to talk." He began to pace away slowly, staying just close enough to Denzel so they could talk face to face.
"How did it go?" Asked O'Neil slowly and quietly, looking rather far off.
"Fine, Mensuta is go

1
The assassin perched himself on a small patch of tiles at the top of the building. He had been following his target for 2 entire months, and for what; a 10 second job for some easy money? "No", he thought to himself. He brushed a hand through his infinitely black hair, feeling the sweat from the sheer anticipation of what he was about to do.
"I'm not one to interrupt," Came a cold voice from his left "But I get the feeling your plans are less than innocent."
The assassin swung round to face his newest obstruction. The man in question seemed to emanate a sense of utter control, a sense that was reflected heavily in his attire; a perfect condition business suit, complete with steel-plated gloves and what the assassin assumed were steel capped boots.
"What is it to you?" He questioned, boring into the man with his powerful gaze. The faint light from the street lights below accentuated the emerald green of the assassins eyes.
"Mr. Mensuta hired me," Begun the man, extracting a high caliber handgun from his belt "To take care of any disturbances." He finished, a wide grin forming on his face. The assassin laughed.
"I don't waste ammo on straw targets like yourself." Replied the assassin confidently.
"So?" Questioned the man, who was beginning to become infuriated.
"So," Replied the assassin, facing away from the man, "Catch me if you can."
With that final comment, the assassin catapulted himself from the roof and through the window of a nearby dilapidated house. The man groaned.
"I hate assassins."

Not far away, the assassin was making his way through the back alleys of London; if he could lose the obstruction quickly enough, he could easily get back to his target. And with no ammo wasted, everything was effectively going according to plan. Traffic roared past at break neck speeds, something very uncommon so close to the center of the city. "Typical," muttered to himself, "The one night I get a chase, I can't even use the roads."
He pressed on, wary of leaving any incriminating evidence. He didn't appreciate people being sent after him. After all, he was the assassin.

After staying out of sight in the house for around 3 minutes, the assassin decided it would be safe enough to exit. As he approached the well worn door, he took a moment to ponder the implications of being seen; there would almost definitely be added resistance once the kill was complete, and when his assailant return