Kill Fest

New York City would be the next site in the quest for the superior assassin. Its manmade mountains of steel and concrete would prove to be a vast playing board. A gigantic labyrinth surrounded by water with only a handful of bridges and tunnels as the only means of escape. Six players enter the city, each with one goal in mind…..win Kill Fest at any cost. It was not only a matter of the winner's pot anymore but a self-indulgent need to be the better contract slayer. For all but one of the combatants, the colossal metropolis was new terrain, a place none of them hunted before. Two had made visits such as Aurora Constantine some years earlier and Jimmy Vegas, who in his youth when living across the river in New Jersey. Kentucky born Tom Crow, LA girl Jodi Richman and the big 6 foot 10 man from St. Petersburg Russia had never once seen the grand scope of such a city.

For Crow, the way of the city came natural to him despite never being there before. His use of cabs in his home city of Louisville soared beyond belief in a metropolitan where they were found in a never ending abundance. Ivan too found their use well received and enjoyed the freedom they provided for his lack of awareness in a city of such grand scale. Jodi Richman, unlike Crow and the big man was a driver and rented herself her own transportation once touching down at JFK. Missing her powerful big black Ford pickup truck back in L.A., the young woman had to make due with a less than impressive Ford Focus to tool her around the city.

Five adversaries entered the field of play as instructed by the Kill Fest website but only one was engaging on his home turf. Matt Stryker born and raised in Queens, New York knew the city like no other and would be at his full advantage in the urban warzone. Upon returning home with Miss Constantine as his traveling companion, the two made their exit from JFK airport and proceeded to where the CIA agent left his car in the airport parking lot. Although it was mid-May, Aurora's Floridian thin blood gave her a bit of a chill when entering the New York wind for the first time. She was bare armed in only a thin white material tank-top and blue jeans. Stryker's winter battled thicker skin felt nothing of the sort and thought that the 65 degree day felt good as the sun cast over the city.

"Did I ever verbalize how I hate the cold?" a chilled Aurora said walking as rapid as her old slightly worn out leather combat boots would carry her.