Diary of a Barefoot Assassin ' Delores

Your name is Delores. You stand 5'8" with long wavy black hair that you wear in a ponytail that extends to the middle of your back. Your skin is a light golden brown, representing your Afro-Brazilian heritage that you're quite proud of.

And you're a Barefoot Assassin.

You belong to a select group of women who are trained by a division of the Brazilian government to encounter enemy spies from covert agencies like DOOM, COIL, or any other rival organizations and take them out, using nothing more than your martial arts skills and the well-developed muscles of your body.

In your career thus far, you have sanctioned a fair number of spies, from low-level operatives to deep cover mission chiefs. You go in, take them out, and head for home to await the next mission.

But not today. Today, you are called upon to do something entirely different.

A day ago, Bliss, the head chief of the Barefoot Assassins, called you to her office. You arrive, expecting to hear the details of your next mission. However, that is not the case.

Apparently, one of the country's other intelligence agencies are making plans to launch a raid on one of the drug kingpins at his mansion in the hill country of the southern part of Brazil. He has been able to evade capture for a long time, but this time they plan to catch him red handed at his lair, and bring him to justice. The man's lair is built like a small fortress, and since the Barefoot Assassins have developed a good reputation of entering strongholds that have been marked impenetrable, they wanted to bring one along to enter the fortress and capture the kingpin. The drug czar is to be taken alive, and you will be working with a team, a strike force composed of the other agencies' men and women.

You scrunch up your nose at this, for as a general rule, Barefoot Assassins work alone, or in duets, trios, and the occasional quartet. Teaming up with a standard team of troops, no matter how well trained, would get in your way. And the target is to be taken alive? But you're an assassin, that's not generally in your job parameters, you protest.

"I understand," Bliss tells you, "but this is a special case because of the importance of the target, plus this would be a good time for our departments to get better acquainted, they said. They want the target taken alive for some reason unknown to me, but seems to make sense to them," Bliss shrugged.

Not understanding the politics of the matter, you nod your head. For fiends like him, the final solution was the only one that made any sense to you.

"One more thing," Bliss added. "The team you'll work with will see you as. . . different, because of the different ways we do things around here. Be flexible, but not to the point where you'll break or endanger your life needlessly. Be careful."

You leave Bliss' office a little curious about this group you're going to be teamed up with. You're actually more curious about what they'll make of you. You're even more curious about how you're going to pull off your end of the mission without unneeded interference.

You eventually meet the team you plan to work with ' three men, two women. Nothing about them impresses you; standard militia to do what needs to be done. There will be another six-person team at the mansion. They already have been doing surveillance.

Along with your team, you have been equipped with tan khaki shorts, a tan khaki shirt, a black tank top undershirt. . . and boots. You have also been given ammunition, and a revolver, which sits around your waist like an anchor on a ship. The weight feels foreign, clumsy, and if they needed someone who used a gun, then why did they invite you?

The trip to the mansion was silent for the most part, but glances and stares from the others spoke volumes of their own. One of the men wasn't sure what to make of you. He sees a woman with every visible muscle developed and toned to the limit, and perhaps beyond that. The intensive weight-training program taken over time had shown itself rather well on your physique. If you wanted to, you could display your results as a professional bodybuilder or fitness model, but what you always wanted to do was serve your country. Many men and women have a problem associating women with muscles. This man was one of them. He finally turned his gaze away, silently proclaiming you as a freak.

The second man however, sees you as something else. He's apparently attracted to your muscles and powerful build. He also appears to be the type who may be looking for another conquest. This does not bother you. A side effect of the extensive training was it gave you tremendous self-confidence. When you know more than several ways of killing a man with your bare hands and have done so many times, encountering wolves like him are nothing. Besides, you're happy with the kind and loving boyfriend you have right now, thank you very much.

The third man, the driver, appears to have his thoughts focused on the mission at hand. Good man. You can work with people like that.

The two women view you with curiosity. On the second half of the trip, one of them finally speaks to you.

"So your department normally goes after enemy spies?" She asked.

"Yes we do," You said.

"But what do you use for a weapon?" The other woman asked. "I never see you ladies with one."

You turn to both women and tell them the truth calmly, but firmly.

"I am a weapon."

It takes the leering man an extra second to get it, but the women automatically understand what you meant. They take another glance at your body anew while you explain to them the concept of being a living weapon, and the benefits thereof.

Finally, after you explained to them what you're about, you can't take it anymore. You untie your boots, frantically pulling loose the laces. When you're finished, you yank them off and throw them to the other end of the van. Then you slowly pull off your socks, feeling relieved. The others stare at you strangely, but you don't care; all you know is that your feet are now free from those cramped, confining, claustrophobic boots. What the others may have thought was that you and the other assassins were "barefoot" only in name, when the reality is it's a lifestyle that you live. Sometimes you don't know whether to bless Bliss or curse her for bringing you into a life without shoes.

"We're almost there, better put your boots back on," the first man said.

"I won't need them," you say flatly.

He looked ready to argue with you, but your stern look convinced him otherwise. You then point to a remote looking spot and tell the driver, "Drop me off here."

The driver assumed you knew what you were talking about and stopped the van. The mission leader, the first man, demanded to know what's going on. You explain to him the breakdown of the floor plans of the mansion. Bliss made sure her Barefoot Assassins were trained in mind as well as body. Your trained memory was trained to remember the basic floor plans of mansions, strongholds, hideouts, or any other place you need to get into. You remembered there's a stream that flowed behind the mansion. You will follow that to the back way, taking out guards and surveillance equipment. You say you will meet them there.

"And what are we going to do?" The man asked, sarcastically.

"Why, a frontal assault, of course," you said as you loosen your assigned gun belt and let it drop to the floor. You then take your khaki shirt off, and drop it to the floor. Clad now in your black tank top T-shirt and tan khaki shorts, you hop out of the van and trot through the countryside to the stream. You hear behind you the others convincing the first man to stop yelling and to go on to the mansion. He should realize that making an assault on the drug czar's house will make it easier for you to get the target.

Making it to the mansion alone would seem like a daunting task, but you were trained in the art of entry by a teacher of the Silkworm clan, a guild of female assassins that have been around before your great grandmother was born. It's been said that a Silkworm cloaked in black could sneak into an all white building on an all white background, take out their target, and sneak out without anyone knowing or suspecting. You utilize even more of these skills when entering the mansion.

As you expected, the assault teams have arrived at the mansion, and after a few warnings and threats voiced at each other, the gunplay had started. Instead of coming into the mansion, you climb up the side of the building at a corner that is away from the action. Peering into a few windows, you see the drug kingpin, his family, and his six bodyguards in a room on the second floor. The kingpin's family leaves with three bodyguards to probably reach a secret exit out the back. That made things much easier.

You step onto a balcony, and using a lock pick from your own utility belt, you opened the door. Since all three bodyguards and the kingpin were probably heavily armed, it would probably be best to lessen the numbers a little.

Walking into the room, it could be assumed that all you can feel under your bare feet is the shag carpeting. But not you; operating barefoot has made you sensitive to a number of things, one of them being feeling the vibrations on the floor. One of the bodyguards, a big man confirmed by feeling his steps was arriving. You conceal yourself in the drapes as you wait for him to arrive.

A large man, about 6'6", comes into the room to check things out from the balcony. You step in behind him, and push him off. Gravity does the rest. The man's screams before he hit the ground probably drew some attention besides the gunfire on the front. Good, you were counting on that. Sure enough, the remaining three men rush in, guns drawn.

As a Barefoot Assassin, you were of course trained in a martial art; that was mandatory for all. Karate, jiu-jitsu, kung fu, these were a few of the martial arts to choose from. However, you trained in what they called at headquarters the "Brazilian Buffet." You received a cursory teaching of the most lethal aspects of all the martial arts taught where you were trained, including some created by the Silkworms and Poison Geisha. True mixed martial arts training.

From your vantage point in the drapes, the second gunman ventured a little close. Too close, for him. You reached out, quickly grasping his head, and twisted it hard, breaking his neck.

The third bodyguard and the kingpin drew their guns, but to you, they were in slow motion. Borrowing a move from capoeira, you spun along the ground, slamming your right heel into the kingpin's left knee joint, breaking it. The drug czar, who was a fat man anyway, fell to the ground with a scream and his gun flying through the air. The remaining bodyguard barely had time to register this before you fire a right hand cobra's bite into his right armpit. As the gun fell from his numb fingers, you deliver a right roundhouse kick that sent him to the floor.

You saw the kingpin dragging himself toward his gun, so you walked over and delivered a left kick to his ribs on his right side. The resulting howl of pain told you that some of them were broken. You walked back to the third bodyguard, still woozy from the kick you gave him. This time, no snapping of the neck or a push off a balcony, you have something different for him.

Taking your right foot, you place it on his face, covering his mouth with your sole, while closing his nostrils between the first two toes of your foot. You have heard about this being done in wrestling fetish movies, but you've always been curious if it actually worked. After a quick check on the kingpin and satisfied that no one is coming, you begin, being mindful to plant your left foot on his left hand.

The henchman expended needed energy and air trying to buck you off, but you remain planted. After a short period of time, his struggles cease as he falls into unconsciousness and beyond.

Well what do you know, it does work!

You still hear gunfire in the background, but not as much as before. With that you turn your attention to the drug kingpin. Since the time you planted your foot in his ribs, he had called you every derogatory name known to man, and maybe a few new ones. He insulted your gender, ethnicity, gender orientation (like he would know), and intelligence. He also cursed the day you were born, and invoked revenge on you. It's no big deal, you've heard it all before. He was currently rolling around, trying to figure out which hurt more, his knee or his ribs. In a moment, he won't need to worry about either.

You push him on his back, ready to end his misery (and yours) with a palm heel blow to the nose. You prepare to strike the fatal blow when you remember that they want this man alive. But why? This piece of dirt peddles poison like candy, and lives off the misfortune of others. Even innocent children and whole families have had their lives destroyed because of what he dealt in. This whole palace was a throne to his evil. Orders or no, you can't find any reason to let this man live. While you thought about this, your victim in question pleaded to give you money, jewels, whatever you want in exchange for his life. You ignore him. How did that verse go? "What does it profit if he gained the whole world . . ."

Suddenly you hear footsteps and voices. They belong to your team. The door bursts open, and they catch you as you're about to strike.

"Stand down!" The mission leader yelled at you. You comply, getting up and walking over to the balcony. Everyone else on your team patted you on your back, complementing you on your work.

On the trip back, the atmosphere was more relaxed, even celebratory. People were sharing with each other, and a few even asked you about how you subdued the kingpin and his bodyguards. Despite the relaxed, even admired attitude the team had toward you, there was still the matter of the mission leader, who still regarded you with a scowl. Finally, he spoke to you.

"We ran across the bodies of some of the guards along with the bodyguards you killed. Pretty handy work," he said.

"Thank you. I'm a Barefoot Assassin, it's what I do."

"And you were going to kill the drug kingpin, despite your orders not to. Why?"

You proceed to explain how this country, even this world would be a better place if he wasn't in it. Despite the silent approval of everyone else, the mission leader was not impressed. He explained how his capture would be a tool in capturing other drug lords. His future movements will be monitored if he agreed to certain terms, but the first few weeks will be spent in the hospital, and possibly physical therapy, because of the injuries you gave him.

"This not one of those "spy games' you ladies do. You don't understand how things work here," he said to you.

"I am not a spy, I'm a Barefoot Assassin," you reply, "and you're right, I don't understand."

The remainder of the trip was quiet again.

When you return to your own headquarters, you expect another lecture from Bliss, but to your surprise, she was sympathetic to your situation.

"I should've warned you, that man does not trust our group," she said. "He thinks we are loose cannons out of control."

"I don't understand that, any more than I understand what they're doing with the drug lord," you said.

"If you asked me, I preferred your solution better," she said with a smile. "But they asked for an assassin to join them, what do they expect?"

"I apologize for almost disobeying orders, but it was the only way that made sense to me. If they launched a similar assault on the other drug lords, it would take care of most of the problem. His death would've been an example of what happens to those who peddle poison to children. I don't understand this "political' approach. It makes no sense to me."

"Politics don't always make sense. Worse, they can be easily twisted. That's why our country's businesses and government became infested with DOOM and COIL operatives. That's why we're in existence, to clean up what was left from bad politics. And you have nothing to apologize for. That man wanted me to chew you out, and reprimand you for such an action. So I say "bad girl.' Off the record, I wished you finished him, cripple the drug trade for a little while."

You leave Bliss' office feeling better. You also see why her division was placed far apart from the others; to keep it safe from the infighting and silly plays for power that was taking the place of working for the common good.

Your name is Delores, you are an employee of the Brazilian government, and you are a Barefoot Assassin. And this is the purpose for which you were deployed; to act as the final solution for enemy spies and anyone else who provided a threat to the safety of the country. You were trained to treat evil the same way you treat a pesky fly, you kill it. No plea-bargaining, no politics, no questions. Your judgment is quiet, like the Angel of Death. And your final sentence is quick.

But for now, you'll spend the next few days relaxing at home, going out with friends, working out, and having a romantic dinner with your boyfriend. You'll spend your time winding down, until you're called for another assignment, where your lethal services will be needed once again.

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