Hitman Short Stories

People here have made threads to showcase their own Hitman fan-fics, but this is something a little different, something a little more experimental and community-oriented.

The idea is that you have a maximum of only 2000 words (the length of a reasonably short chapter in a novel) to write a short story or a standalone scene set in the Hitman universe, and post it as a comment below.

The story doesn’t have to be about 47. It can be about Diana, a random ICA employee, a target from any of the games – anything at all, as long as there’s something connecting it to the Hitman mythos.

Think of this thread as the literary equivalent of the Hitman Fan Art thread. There’s no pressure to produce a masterpiece; it’s simply another avenue through which to flex your creative muscles, and expand the Hitman universe in your own small way.

Have fun – or, y’know, try not to get too frustrated while you stare at a blank page, wondering why your brain is being so ignorant and uncooperative. Either one. :slight_smile:

P.S. Please note that the maximum word-limit is not a required word-limit. If you want to write a story or scene that is much shorter than 2000 words, then go ahead.

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All well and good but uhh…got any stories to kickstart the thread? :slightly_smiling_face:

Maybe something about 47’s accountant and how he tries to steal his money

Nope. lol

Coming up with the thread was my creative exercise for the day. :sweat_smile:

I’m sure I will contribute if the thread gains a little traction, though.

If that appeals to you, Alper, sure! Anything.

Oh, but the thread isn’t for poetry, or movie scripts, or other forms of creative writing. It’s for narrative fiction specifically (i.e. the kind of writing you’d find in a novel, which usually contains a mixture of description and dialogue – although dialogue isn’t necessary if your character is alone or feeling particularly untalkative).

ICA: Wilbur Schmaltz: Chapter 1

“Soders. Soda. Sodas. Soft drink. Pop fizz. Lemonade. Tinkle sparkle extra delicious with the fizzywizzy creamy goodness. No matter what kind of janky old vending machines the ICA has installed, I’m always left begging for the taste of just about anything with a bit of carbonation. No matter how many coins I put in, only the flat stuff comes out. I’m sick of this. I hate working here. I hate Soders. He’s only the best agent around because of me. When I’m the one that feeds him the intel he needs to actually get the job done.”

Wilbur Schmaltz, Intel operator and soft drink enthusiast at the ICA circa 1979. Talking to an old vending machine, that’s not only unplugged but also never worked in the first place.

“Yep, this is my life now. For some reason, despite my qualifications and past experience in just about every intelligence bureau in the western hemisphere, I’ve been delegated to being a desk-muppet for some arsehole with a giant ego.”

“Schmaltz!?” A disparaging, rough voice echoes throughout the corridor.

“Oh fuck me, it’s Derk.” Wilbur says under his breath.

Derk Spagh, ICA’s senior intelligence operator and the closest chimney within a hundred kilometres. Always smoking, always coughing, always complaining. He walks through the corridor and looks at Wilbur with two lit cigarettes barely in his mouth.

“Schmaltz, I can hear you jabbering on about pop fizz again. Agent Soders needs you at your post, it’s only a matter of time before he demands more useless bullshit about the KGB informant he’s been tailing for the past week.”

“Sure thing! I was just having a short break. You know me. Haha.” Wilbur unduly ensures, as if he was caught with his trousers down.

“Just do your job and do it well, I’m not gonna cover for you when the director is already up my dick, yelling about how stringent I should be.” Derk huffs, scowling at Wilbur while he puffs on the two cigarettes in his mouth.

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And please be respectful of one another.

If you’re not feeling something someone’s written, there’s no need to be mean or critical. Just don’t read it.

Creating anything from scratch isn’t easy.

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Nice job. I guess life isn’t glamorous for everyone at the ICA. lol

Thanks for being the first to contribute and get the ball rolling.

Thanks. Had to start somewhere. Just thought about the many nameless ICA employees who work under the Handlers, there’s still more to be written but I’m pretty done right now.

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That was a nice start. Something relevant to the world, but something that we’d never see in a game.

If a few people follow suit, we’ll have our own little expanded Hitman universe going (just for the fun of it).

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I was gonna jump on H2 this morning but after seeing this I’m off to the Laptop :grin:

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I will write something later. I liked this idea.

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I ain’t Christopher Nolan, so don’t kill me pls if my story sucks.

Groves’ Endless Pain: Chapter 1

Claire Groves, she was joined ICA as Handler. She was happy about that, but after 5 minutes she was cried because she remembered her past. She was lost his family when she was 12. After that her life turned to hell until ICA’s offer. “Mom and Dad, I made it! I will have great future”. ICA found her when she was raped by 3 gang member, they saved her and made an offer: Join us and we’ll kill them. ICA choosed her because she has 135 IQ point, also she was hacked her city’s police department when she was 10.

Today was her first work day. She joined few succesful assassinations in simulations and passed ICA’s all tests without any mistakes. Her first agent’s mission was eliminating a man named John Greer and Claire would join that mission as Handler.

John Greer was Vice President of a little city, he has two children, his house protected by four guards. ICA only wants John Greer’s death and his death must looks like an accident. Claire contacted with ICA Agent John Bale.
Bale: So you’re my first Handler
Claire: It is my first mission too
Bale: Really? I thought they would give me experienced Handler.
Claire: You can contact with your superiors if you don’t like me
Bale: Okay okay, don’t be angry. I need you to give me intel about target
Claire: What kind of intel?
Bale: His children, when they will go to their mother? I have a good plan but target must only person in his house to start this plan.
Claire: What about guards? His childen will go tomorrow to their mothers by the way.
Bale: Leave it to me, just find me a Ford Transit and hack into house’s security sytem.
Claire: Okay, I trust you. I’ll send a Transit’s location.

Bale stole that car and started to wait tomorrow. Tomorrow came and it’s 11:00 PM now. Claire hacked house’s camera system and told Bale to guard’s patrolling routine, their locations and guns etc. Bale successfully subdued four guards and put them to Transit. After he drove Transit 1 mile away from house, he locked car’s doors and came to house again. He started a gas leak, so Greer would died by accident. He wanted to guarantee his plan so he put a proxmity bomb to kitchen. But there was a problem, his chidren was still at home and Claire doesn’t knew that. Claire saw target’s daughter thanks to cameras but it was too late. House was exploded.

Claire started to cry, her mistake caused two childen’s death.

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This story’s based on Victoria, my interpretation on the scenario of her dropping the necklace into the water and then going through a…purge? Idk, I wrote this on exactly zero hours of sleep.

Side Effects

The first day after Victoria throws the necklace into the water, she barely has the strength to lift her head. She remembers stepping back on shaky legs, her energy quickly seeping out of her body to join the isotope sinking into the murky depths. In the distance, she feels eyes on her. Calm and clear, like the cold blue of a swimming pool. She can only think of one person with eyes like that.

She stumbles back into Diana, who has to hold her steady and guide her to her bed. A trace of worry shivering in the air around Diana as she lowers Victoria’s head onto the pillow, her voice reaching Victoria through a maze of gray fog.

“You did what had to be done.”

It feels like her limbs are weighed down with concrete. She thinks of the few times she’d been without her necklace, but this bout of exhausted nausea rolls down her spine like her body’s realized that the isotope is no longer an arm’s length away.

The crippling fear of permanent helplessness stings her eyes and makes her clutch her arms around herself weakly. Diana’s voice, however muffled and distant, is like a balm on her mind as a cool hand grazes her face, pale and sweating like an unbroken fever.

“Rest, now. I’ll bring you anything you need.”

A choked sob leaves Victoria’s throat, and she clenches her teeth, ashamed at the sound of it. All of her strength, gone like a candle snuffed. The hands that could snap a grown man’s neck couldn’t even clutch at Diana’s. She feels like a snake with its fangs pulled out.

But she has refused to rely on the isotope for strength. She’s a teenage girl, not a test-tube experiment raised to be a killer. No matter what those papers say about her, she’s not going to give those bastards the satisfaction or control over her life.

So she waits it out. Agonizes over the lack of control she has over her body. Diana has to help her with nearly everything; eating, bathroom breaks, getting back into her bed. She’s like a newborn, brought into a less-sterile, less-shitty environment to be raised in.

In the first twenty-four hours, she’s able to get up and walk to the bathroom by herself. Which is good, because as soon as she reaches the toilet, the floor tilts under her feet in a vertigo spiral, and she’s throwing up the tomato soup Diana spoon-fed her, spotting the porcelain red. Her body must be purging itself, she thinks numbly. It was addicted to the isotope’s power, and now it must learn to live without.

Her fingers grip white-knuckled at the toilet seat as her vomiting subsides into dry retching that brings Diana to the door in a heartbeat.

“Victoria,” Diana’s voice is tight as she smooths her hand over Victoria’s back. It feels like forever until Victoria quits retching, swallowing the needles in her throat as she lets Diana pull her up by the shoulders and rinse her mouth at the sink. Diana’s been so patient with her, and it makes her want to cry. She’s the mother Victoria never had the privilege to know.

Her blurry mind digs up the memory of 47 carrying her down the hall. The nimble strength of his arms, the stilted whisper of his voice like he’d suddenly learned how to care and hated the feeling of it. But he knew the shit Victoria had gone through, a childhood parade of needles and tests and too-small hands holding too-large guns.

And it was enough to connect them to a similar want, the want to live a life they could call their own. 47 didn’t save her for the purpose of seeing her walk in his footsteps. So, if anything, she has to suffer through this for the two people in this world who care about her.

Diana helps her back into bed, cools her teary, too-hot face with a washcloth and adjusts the pillow under her head. “Thank you, Diana,” Victoria murmurs, gratitude brightening every syllable. Then her world blacks out.

When she wakes up again, the gray fog no longer fills every corner of her mind. She groans, turns her head and sees a glass of water on her nightstand, a bottle of medicine sitting patiently beside it. She forces her eyes to focus past them at Diana sitting in a chair, an open book in her lap. Diana’s eyes are closed, her head tilted slightly and her lips parted as she dozes, and Victoria thinks of how exhausting it must have been to look after her.

Victoria sits up slowly, and takes a deep breath.

It feels like the worst part is finally over.

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Can I write Part 2 of my story?

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Don’t see why not. There’s no rule that says you can’t.

Yes, of course. My intention when limiting the word-count was simply to avoid people posting giant walls of text, which can be pretty off-putting.

But if you write a longer story in neatly broken up chapters of fewer than 2000 words, and post each chapter individually when it’s done, that should be fine. :slight_smile:

Very nicely written.

I really liked this bit:

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Groves’ Endless Pain: Chapter 2

John Bale: Mission completed
Claire: Wh…
Bale: Mission completed, right?
Claire: Yes agent, mission completed. Money has wired to your account.

Claire understood Bale’s plan, ICA doesn’t likes innocent kills, especially if they’re children. Claire deleted camera recordings. Few seconds later a SMS message came to her.
“I’m Bale, don’t worry ICA can’t see this. I will come to talk you because our failed mission. Also I hope you deleted all evidences. Send me an adress.”
She sent her house’s adress, hoping ICA really doesn’t see these SMS messages. ICA doesn’t noticed their crime.

She cried in her house for hours, she couldn’t delete that moment she saw the girl. Five days later Bale came her house. She finally managed to forgot her pain.

Bale: Damn it Handler, thanks to you I killed two children!
Claire: You’re talking like I’m fucking happy about it!
Bale: You are Handler, you had to tell there’s two children in damn house!
Claire: All intel showed…
Bale: Fuck intel! kicked a wall I’m sorry for being angry, I’m not a man like Urban Legend, I can’t forget these children. We should tell truth to ICA, I don’t care if they’ll kill us.

Bale started to cry. Claire always had a rough life until ICA found her, since she started to work for them she finally had a good life. And she couldn’t lose her good life for a weak fool.

Claire: Holded Bale’s hands Look, I know that feeling. I would give everything to save them but I can’t. But we took a lesson, we won’t make same mistake again. Everything is gonna be alright.
Bale: I don’t know Claire.
Claire: Trust me, you will laugh these days few monts after.
Bale: Okay, I know it was stupid. I won’t tell anything.
Claire: Good, are you want a coffe? Also learn to knock doors instead of tresspassing!
Bale: No thanks, I must get outta here before ICA see me.

Claire was happy, “Typical idiot male, I just pretend like I care him and he believed that.”. Claire was beatiful and always harrased by males, but she learned how to use her beauty. She would not suprised she could fooled Bale.

Bale was thinking her, in his life women always used him for fun. Could Claire used him too? “Of course you fucking idiot, when she holded your hand you thought you could sleep with her so you accepted her request. That slut only thinks her good life. Stop thinking with your fucking dick for once!” He told this to himself. “Not again! I won’t let a bitch uses me for her goals this time”. He called his boss but his boss doesn’t opened it. He would told him “I’m totally innocent because she said there’s only target in house” if he opened his phone. But she has SMS messages, it looks like there’s no way saving his ass if he tells truth.

End of part 2.

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