"Bring the rings back" was all they'd been told to do; the how had been left up to them, and though it was a tedious task that did nothing to challenge his talents, it would take him a step closer to his goal, paid for by a benefactor who only wanted his stolen merchandise back. The image of the fat man in the well-fitted suit made their tongue curl in disgust. Bidding others to do his tasks for him instead of taking the reins himself. To Zer0, laziness was the least admirable quality in anyone, and if they weren't do desperate for his money, he would have struck him down where he sat.
No. That would have been much too easy and a waste of effort, even if it would result in the rest of his henchmen giving chase. But they, too, were bumbling fools who couldn't shoot anything outside of fifteen feet, while the assassin… Well, they weren't going to waste time bragging.
This payment would be the last they needed to smuggle them to Pandora, get them on the ground so that they could really test their mettle. Stories of the place had been filling the news feeds for months, and they were eager to see it for themselves. Disgruntled employees gone mad, wildlife that did more than rip you limb from limb, and the mysteries of the Vaults… what creatures would they hold to test their true power? The thought alone pricked the skin at the back of their neck.
Wrapped in their invisible cloak, they skirted the edges of the ritzy hotel, sticking to the shadows in case the glimmer of their tech gave them away. Not that it would, since people were too stupid to notice such a thing, and they were just too good at their job to leave any witnesses around either. It would add more blood to their leathers, but that meant nothing to them. Another hurdle to get over in the end, nothing more.
They clambered up the side of the building, with its tall, thin windows and one-way glass - stark black on the outside for privacy - and the name of the building scrawled down one side in some curlycue font and backlit with neon lights. Tacky, in their opinion, but they weren't paying to stay here, nor were aesthetics really their thing, outside of their jobs.
Of course, it had to be the top floor. What newly-married couple didn't take the penthouse for their first night of debauchery together? The sounds, the smells, all that moisture… it was enough to turn their stomach, and rouse the sensation of ants crawling under their skin. They would take delight in ending their lives in the middle of the act, just out of spite for their sweaty, instinctual writhing.
They were thankful for the lack thereof when they squeezed themself through the tiny bathroom window. Instead, all they heard was laughter and the sounds of two people jumping on the bed. The dull noises of thrown pillows missing their target and hitting the opposing walls, more scrambling to regain their ammo before lobbing them once more. Their happiness meant nothing to them.
The door was thrown open, their strides long to carry them across the room and between the beds before the couple realized the presence of their company. Their blade withdrawn, it arced through the air in one clean slice before the blood followed suit, husband and wife covering each other in their life essences as they slumped to the bed. Til death do them part, indeed.
It didn't take long for the assassin to slip the rings off their fingers and pocket them in a small pouch on their leg. They barely looked at them - they could be the only rings his employer had spoke of - and wiped off what blood remained on his blade with the corner of a bed sheet. A shame. The woman's dress looked expensive too, with all those beads and fancy adornments down the front. And he, the husband's suit jacket folded over one chair, his tie undone and hanging from his neck, and his white shirt immaculate, if a bit crushed from the day's events.
Expensive clothing. What need would they have to steal such jewelry?
A red question mark highlighted the scene before them, doubt raised in their mind that this couple had deserved any of this. A glitch. The punctuation mark flickered and broke apart in a shower of red pixels: no time to think about that now. Regret wouldn't bring them back, nor would his payment. It was time to go.