Heat.
"Oh shit!"
"You … go…"
"Come on…"
Fever.
"Don't -!"
"Will he-...?"
"... Surgery…"
Pain.
A shadow looming over him, faceless, the two stared at each other. He could make out messy hair, a feminine dip at the waist and hips, but the face was lost to him. He kept trying, but ...
"Gilbert?"
"Who-...?"
Elegant fingers danced across the cold ivory, the feet of two partners as they waltzed to the somber tune. As the heavier notes hit, they seemed to dig in deeper, pulling the musician along, sinking him deeper in the music. It echoed around the white room, just him, the piano, and the sound that reverberated the walls within him. Simple, innocent, then old and weary. He felt himself age through the notes, become heavy and, with a faint breath, welcomed the end.
"It would be a pity to continue it. I think it should have just been left there."
Violet eyes, framed by narrow square glasses cracked open at the interruption, glancing over his shoulder as the wearer pushed them up higher, pressing the corner of the frames by his fingertips. "That is why you are not much of a musician, Gilbert." The albino man stood against the far wall, clothed in all black, it made him look even more pale, but then again, if not for his attire he may have blended into the room entirely.
Burgundy eyes closed nonchalantly as narrow shoulders crowded his neck with indifference, "You called for me?"
"That I did, you certainly do take your sweet time in getting here," the brunette muttered, standing from the stool, plucking a small envelope from the empty sheet stand, facing his visitor who had by now disengaged from the surroundings and stepped forward to receive it. "A new client, endorsed by Antonio. Said they're having a bit of a problem with leaky pipes and requested our help."
Gilbert glanced over the pictures in his hand; grainy and poorly rendered as they were, he studied them, "Did they leave a calling card?"
"No, they wanted to see how well we do our job before we get too intimate," Roderich frowned, not at all pleased with the situation as he folded his arms over the front of his dress shirt, "But Antonio assured me that they were not someone to sneeze at."
"I see. And this is the only target?"
"That's all the information we have been given as of yet, so yes," the same frown marred the older man's features for a moment, but if he had blinked, the Austrian would have missed it.
"Understood," Gilbert chirped, pocketing the parcel and pulling out a loose cigarette in the process. "Consider it done."
Breathe in.
There was mildew clinging to the walls of the buildings, perforating from the inside out. Rails and beams supported every structure from the outside, prolonging the inevitable for the sake of their inhabitants. Sewage wafted up from below, from neglected and filthy gutters, marrying well the flavour of decay that came from every breath of the people below as they trudged through a dark haze. Some tried to hide their smell, all too obvious of it as they stiffly attempted appear what they thought to be normal. Their old clothes faded, but pressed, sewn and repaired as they walked with their eyes ahead, blindly searching for a light through the blackness. Then there were those who acknowledged it, hunched over, their backs founded from a perpetual embarrassment as faces contorted into scowls. Bitterness flowed through them like blood as they recognized their situation.
And then there was one.
A small coffee and tea shop had been crammed into the first floor lobby of a condemned apartment complex, folding chairs and tables overflowing out into the front courtyard and nearly to the main sidewalk as pedestrians crisscrossed back and forth in a series of lines like ants. There, sitting near the front window that was crowded with ads in several languages was a man. His clothes were bright, his skin dark, hair pulled back in thick braids before they were wrapped in a ponytail and maintained with a narrow headband. Even a couple dozen yards below, he stood out as different. He could smell different. The coffee he drank was of a decent quality for the area, and he had reduced the rancid stink that clung to everything in this hell hole. There were very few ways one could manage that, and none were possible without being some kind of rat.
Pulling back from the scope, he glanced to the picture clipped to the side of the rifle. The rendering was horrendous, to the point that the individual was little more than a dark smudge filling the frame. Gilbert had assumed it was done on purpose, edited to the point of virtually unusable while feigning ignorance. A short tail of smoke danced from the tip of the cigarette he held limply between pale lips, disappearing past the brim of the black hood pulled low over his head. Written on the back was one sentence, undoubtedly Roderich's, claiming the target had an affiliation with cigars. Cigars in East were not easy to come by and often expensive, but here the guy was, smoking with a cup of good coffee in public. Some would say it was almost mocking, or maybe even challenging, but to Gilbert, it looked very different. This man had chosen to indulge himself in a very public area with a near constant traffic flooding around him, and not too far from the wall. One could even say the same neighbourhood. It screamed cowardice and guilt, and even without a decent picture he was absolutely certain he had found the man.
Taking the cigarette, he snuffed out the smoldering embers on the photograph, the heat causing the image to bubble and warp for a second before it fizzled away. Ripping off the filter that had his DNA, the albino pocketed the butt and discarded the picture over the edge, getting comfortable behind the stock of the rifle. A second glance noted the unshaven stubble, the fidgeting fingers and awkward rubbing to the back of his head. Definitely guilt.
"A little late for remorse pal, don't you think?" he breathed, a wholly rhetorical question as his finger steadily squeezed. Suddenly, the target leaned back out of the crosshairs, causing Gilbert to flinch.
The sound of the shot was muffled by a silencer and he immediately pulled the scope off and shoved the rifle into the case laying open by his left side. The sooner he vanished the better. Slinging the rifle over his back, he ran to the edge of the roof, planting one boot firmly on the raised ledge before leaping off, free falling to the alley below. As he landed, his joints caved, bending in on themselves to absorb the impact before rolling to release the energy that the landing stored in his frame to keep from inadvertently hurting himself. If he couldn't feel a broken ankle, Roderich would end up scolding him again. The thought was enough to crack a smile as he ran in the opposite direction from the sounds of panic behind him.
"Is that so? I see. I see. I understand, we appreciate the call."
"Good news, friend?" a child-like voice spoke up as the brunette hung up the small mobile device.
Green eyes glanced up, more out of habit than for a real reason, before looking back down to the reports in his hand. "It was a follow up, confirmed hit on Carlos, a near miss from what the Gopher said, but a success nonetheless."
A small giggle, "You sound disappointed."
"Unimpressed. I suppose I didn't expect someone under Edelstein's reputation to rely on luck."
A hand came down on his head unexpectedly, the brunette looking up to the looming shadow casting over him. "Luck or Skill. It is fine either way. Assign the next target and we will reassess our possible future with Edelstein and his bugs."
"Yes, General."