The Incident

. . . 2 years ago . . .

"Do you have them in your sight?"

Al peered through his oversized scope, overlooking the target building across from his. He sat in a rather uncomfortable position from his makeshift perch, barely giving notice to the winds assaulting his belongings. His belongings, though not much in the number of quantity, did number quite highly in more practical settings: a mid-range rifle with numerous modifications to ensure detection was the least of its user's worries, a simple handgun with a not-so-simple, bullpup loading mechanism, and just a personal case of ammunition.

"I do now. Your call."

He flipped through the magnification and his sharp, lustrous eyes spotted the dark figure seemingly breaking from the unlit walls, almost sliding across one of the outer hallways towards several armed posts. Always envied that. You're such a stalker Dex.

"There seem to be five on your floor. I counted five more above with sentry turrets placed in all corners." Odds are damn near perfect.

The dark figure disappeared along with a patrolling guard near an alcove. "And what of the penthouse?"

"Tinted and reinforced plus some change." Then confidently adding. "Nothing I can't handle but I need to see in order to work my magic."

"That's fine. You leave the big hit for me, pup."

Al blinked in frustration. "If chance permits, the shot goes. Get in my way, you risk losing your arm."

Dex merely grunted as another guard effortlessly fell, his head facing opposite to his body. "Enough chit-chat. I'm working."

Al grinned and eyed ahead. The remaining three guards had shouldered their weapons. Taking cover behind furniture. The blinds dropped a second later and shut out Al's vision.

"Hate to break your concentration. But obviously we were expected." Al recounted the positions and closed his eyes. "Three of them are armed and ready to blast you. Two at the front with shotguns and one in the back with a rifle. Think you can handle them?"

Dex's comm link crackled loudly with gunfire. "I sure can. But let's see that magic happen."

He laughed. "As you wish."

Al's eyes snapped open. His irises contracted his pupils, to allow sharper focusing from the light in his scope. Repainting the stilled images in his memory, he juxtaposed them behind the now closed blinds, which briefly flashed sporadically from the powerful powder-operated firearms within. His breathing slowed and slowed. The shrill wind of the rooftops died to a whisper as Al's body pumped more blood to his head. He only heard the beat of his heart. A gentle but steady rhythm.

Bump.

Breathing slower.

Bump.

Breathing even slower.

Bump. TThThump

The rifle thumped against Al's right shoulder in quick succession three times. Fired so quickly, the triple shot succession could easily have been mistaken as a single shot to most trained conductors.

From Al's scope, three shots tore their mark through the blinds. Three large shattered holes. Three empty spaces. No more flashes. Silence.

The dark figure appeared past the three holes and stopped by each one. Examining the work of Al's superb marksmanship skills.

Through his scope, he could barely make out the thumbs up of his handler. "Nice. Missed the center of this one's skull though. Clipped his upper."

Al regained his normal breathing tempo. "Fuck off. He probably started ducking to reload."

"Still, always amazed by this shit."

"I just feel it. Like you and your knives."

Al looked up at the next floor and noticed that the blinds were lowered too. "The neighbors upstairs lowered theirs as well. However, those turrets weren't mobile. I'll let you deal with the grunts."

"It'll be my pleasure."

Dex broke the blinds and then scaled the walls outside. The wind rippling against his exposed fur. He howled with the wind in delight. Bloodlust craving. Eager not to be outdone.

He waited by the corner window and placed a satchel across both ends. A homemade remedy by the master himself: sticky claymores.

Al steadied his breathing and reloaded his rifle. "Ready."

Dex detonated the claymores. The curved devices directed all the heat and good-bits inward, shredding apart anyone lucky enough to be near. The four sentry turrets were smoldering piles of scrap as four incendiary rounds fried the internal targeting systems near simultaneously.

If nobody moved, the claymores should have taken three down instantly. Maybe four if the odds are on his side.

A few flashes illuminated the gaping hole in the corner for a few seconds before the room turned neutral once more.

"Piece of cake, pup."

Al viewed the penthouse at the top once again. "Yea. I don't know how many are in the pentho-

What's that? The mutest tone of green just flickered near the top.

"Al?"

He instinctively ducked and rolled as a round shattered against his case. Bits of the shrapnel pinged across his armored back. "They hired themselves a shot." If they hadn't used night vision goggles, I might not have noticed that. What fucking great odds that fucker has terrible eyesight.

"I ain't waiting for you. If you can't get the big hit, I'm gutting it. Finish up your game of cat and mouse or lose the prize."

Al ducked behind an HVAC unit as another round sizzled past his shoulder, clipping one of the buckles to his back armor loose. He shrugged it off. Heavy thing encumbers me anyways.

Al steadied his breathing and readied his rifle across his chest. Terrible eyesight but seems to have a good tracker with him. Decent shot.

He pulled the bolt back. But that ain't a fucking match for me. I'm the Sharp Ace.

Al unscrewed the scope and used it to peer through the tiny opening in between the HVAC and the side-vent. A flash of bright illuminated the scope for a brief second. Al looked away and the scope shattered, flying from his bruised hand. The shifted winds carried the thunderous crack of the shot. Little better than decent. But I'm the best there is. I'm called the Sharp Ace for a reason.

Al shook the sting from his paw and slowed his breathing again. No sight.

He opened his eyes and slowed it further. No scope.

He popped his head up for a split second and feigned aiming then ducked and rolled out into the open. As the shot careened into the top of the HVAC where Al's head used to be, he shouldered the rifle.

The odds are severely against me.

Time slowed for Al, peering down the plain iron sights into the dark. But

He pulled the trigger and a short light, fused of metal and powder, flew off into the night.

I'm the Sharp Ace.

. . . Inside Penthouse . . .

A cheery tune of lounge music played over the speakers in the elevator. The camera next to it, smashed in several times over.

Only one way into the Penthouse.

Dex cracked his neck muscles and counted his knives. How many times must I go through the same bullshit?

He readied his last satchel and tied a rope to it. Then climbing up through the emergency hatch and waiting. Before these pussies finally learn?

The elevator chimed and the doors mechanisms whirred.

There's no stopping the Deli-man.

A constant barrage of bullets ransacked the metal doors before it even opened up an inch. The door flew apart in sections from the middle outward. The dark mahogany interior buckled under the force and splintered apart, revealing the metal frame it had previously encapsulated.

The barrage stopped after the first rounds were emptied. The thuds of heavy, modified magazines fell to the floor as fresh ammunition were crammed back into the heated rifles. The smoke began to clear and then a green bag swung from the top and out into the room.

They once again began to fire upon the bag. It ignited mid-air and spewed liquid flames in all directions, coating the room and the nearest inhabitants in the sticky, heated inferno. The two walls nearest the elevator entrance were made of wooden veneer and coated with the most flammable of oil paintings. It became one of the first victims. Smoldering and catching fire, the flames eagerly fanned their hungry tongues toward the high ceiling, coating the area in smoke. The four of the nearest guards fell to become second victims. Rolling around the floor, spreading the flames further and suffocating a most heated, yet silent death. A few shots rang out as they were put out of their misery.

While everyone's attention focused through the blistering heat and fumes toward the elevator still, Dex burst through the ceiling, roaring. From the gray blur in midair, two shiny blades flew outward.

Two more guards fell as their shots veered upwards, their necks sputtering forth red. The three in the farthest tried to track the blur through the smoke with wild, panicked shots but they soon ran out of ammunition and scrambled for reprieve of their muted weapons.

Dex launched himself forward from the flames; a feral and voracious look stretched across his face as did the two blades he held in each paw. He laughed as the first fell from two light jabs. Their arteries severed.

The second dropped his magazine and turned to run; his first step faltering as Dex slashed downward against the nape of his neck, rendering his motor-functions useless. You never turn your back to me!

The third managed to get his magazine in but nothing happened as he desperately pulled the trigger. In the midst of panic, he had forgotten to load the chamber first. Within seconds, his inner wrists flayed open, a knife embedded into his chest before the first drops of crimson adorned the carpeted floor.

Dex looked around for his target. The fat tabby had scrambled to the stairs of his penthouse, awkwardly stumbling across the hand-carved spiral staircase. That's right. Run.

Dex jumped and grabbed onto the railing, pulling himself up with dexterity and finesse. He reached the top as the door shut to the rooftop. It actually locked? Fancy that. No matter.

Dex shoulder his way through the door and scoured the rooftop. The fat tabby hobbled over to a perch not far from the helipad and yelled helplessly at something.

Dex, with a few quick strides, caught up and noticed a body loosely holding a rifle. No head. Al you lucky son of a bitch.

Dex pounced on the screaming cat and held the knife to his throat.

"P-Please. I can pay you whatever you want! However you want!"

Dex shook his head and pressed the knife in deeper.

The cream cat struggled to back away some more, a few of his neck fur clipping off. "L-look! There's got to be a misunderst-standing! I can call the Cornerian government right now! I'm in the clear! I'm not on the list! I helped started this program!"

Dex shook his head and slowly slid his knife across the throat.

The cat, wide-eyed in shock, gurgled. "They'll use and then throw you away t-gghhhhhhh

He grasped at the air violently, flailing at the sky angrily as the last of his warm succumbed to the cold, stone rooftop.

His comm link lit up. "Yea, I got the big hit."

Al's voice rasped in. "I think I need a drink. That other guy down?"

Dex looked over the curvaceous rump of the would-be sniper. "Female. And she's not giving head to anybody, anytime soon, if that's what you're wondering."

"Damn. I'm a better than I thought."

"Pack up." Sirens wailed several blocks over. "We don't have time to clean."

Dex looked at the tabby and smiled, thinking on his cut-off forewarnings. I already know, you fat fuck.

He looked toward the building where Al was stationed. But that's why I've got my own insurance policy.

His smiled faltered. "Al. Meet me back at the drop."

Dex tucked his comm link away and walked back to the exit.

My own personal fall guy.

That was the whole purpose.

He looked to the starlit blanketed sky, sighing.

Least . . . it was in the beginning.

Thunderstruck

. . . One week later . . .

Al stared at the glass of scotch and took a small sip. The contents swished around his muzzle, trying to familiarize himself with the drink.

"Delhanie. Fifteen years." He responded with a exuding confidence.

Dex nodded and clapped his paws. "You have excellent taste. Perfect score so far."

He turned his back and poured something else into the cup after washing it out. "I'll bet you this tab, you can't figure this one out."

Al grinned and motioned the glass over. "You lost. My eyesight is as sharp as my taste."

He took a swig of it before he spat it back out and hacked. "What is this awful mess?"

Dex chuckled and pulled out a small vial, putting it to his muzzle and drank to his heart's content. "Gin"

Al grimaced in disgust. "How can you enjoy that filth?"

"I don't try to pretend to be some high-class gentleman. I know I come from filth." Then emptying the contents in a second show of bravado. "You should know that too."

Al grumbled and motioned for the check. "I try to get away from my past, y'know? I'm trying to make a name in my new life."

Dex eyed him. "It doesn't last long. Don't let it get to your head."

"We're the best. There isn't anybody out there who can touch us. We're unstoppable, the two of us."

Deex kept quiet as the waiter arrived with the check before promptly leaving with the credits. "True, we do make a good tag-team."

Al shook his head. "Seriously Dex? Do you follow the talk these days? Do you know what they're calling us?"

Dex shook his head. "I don't follow the under network much, pup."

Al's fur bristled with annoyance. "Stop calling me that."

Dex waved off the rebuttal. "Just get on with it. What're we called?"

"Hells Bells."

Dex slammed his hand on the table and coughed up a laugh. "Is that what they're called us these days? Hells Bells? And here I thought Deli-man was a piss-poor nickname."

"Hey, I don't come up with this ingenious shit." Al drummed the table. "It's what they call us."

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Huh, Hells Bells? I don't recall me wearing any stupid bells alerting people of my presence? What? Am I giving away my position too easily now?"

"No. Its cause if they know we're after them they know they'll be in hell soon enough. They'll be at those imaginary gates, the bells welcoming them in."

The wolf sighed and dusted his vest. "They should've stuck to calling us by our separate nicknames. Whatever happened to the Sharp Ace?"

Al's eyes sparkled with young vigor. "It's still alive and out there. But two's right for tango, ain't it?"

Dex looked over the older and more experienced fox. Different than when he first picked him up. Almost like a son, really. By chance. A handsome young pup. His puberty long over and the stages of his prime starting to really set in.

Insurance policy. Remember?

Dex reached over but Al no longer flinched instinctively, instead he seemed to welcome it. "Heh." he ruffled his head lightly. "Whatever you say, pup."

Al shook Dex's paw away. "Fuck dammit Dex. You love annoying me."

His comm link beeped and Dex pulled it up.

Al perked with interest, leaned over the table. "Hey who's that? A new mission?"

Dex shook his head. "Wrong number. It's spam."

He looked past Al's frowning at the television in the main lounge slowly gathering attention and unseating everyone there.

"Hey, looks like something interesting is happening. Let's go have a closer look."

They moved from their private booth and eased around the crowd gathering in front of the screen. A lone cat stood with a microphone, her features serious and taunt. A group of suited firefighters and security personnel worked behind her, walking in and out of the condominium's residence; some with covered bodies. Some with covered boxes.

"Just now the C.D.F. has released an official statement detailing the horrific tragedy that has befallen Tam Meckler, the chairman of Space Dynamics. From what C.D.F. has told us, it appears that there were two terrorists who managed to get past first level security, only to have suicided with a bomb on the second floor."

She shifted from one foot and pointed to the sky behind her, the camera zooming in on the blackened hole in the rising condominium.

"The second terrorist managed to make it into Mr. Meckler's private residence and took his own life along with Meckler's. It is not clear at this moment what the motives were but the C.D.F. highly believes that this was the work of the Priors."

The camera focused back onto the cat. "General Pepper has a few words to say to the Priors."

The screen cut to the face of proud and dignified hound. "This act of terrorism shall not stand. Nor shall it falter this society. We will find those responsible. And they WILL pay for their transgressions. I will do everything in my power to rid this planet of any and all Priors. I only ask that the Senate grant me additional powers and lighten our budget in order to better expand our reach and root these vile criminals out once and for all! I ask you citizens of Corneria to not sit back and let fear seep in. Stand up! Contact your local Senator! Tell them that we will not tolerate fear and indecision! We will persevere! We will stand united!"

The shot stayed, fixed upon the huffing face of the rigid general and then cut back to the reporter.

"Since the passing of Meckler, there has been a vote within the company on who the new president will be of Space Dynamics. Can Yaru de Pon be able to run Space Dynamics? We'll find out with his business speech later at ten. This is Gloria Wiles with C.V.N."

Dex furrowed his brow and looked to Al. He stared back, concern etching away slowly. They backed away from the crowd and escaped the cramped bar, walking outside, acting to catch some air. They walked past nameless pedestrians until they were safe from prying ears.

"The fuck? They don't normally let our work go this publicized. I thought it'd be another clean wrap up."

Al pondered toward the sky. "That IS weird. You think they didn't have enough time?"

Dex scoffed. "As if. This was all intentional for some reason or another. Who was the guy being put in charge again?"

"Yaru de Pon. Kinda sounds familiar but I can't quite put a digit to it."

He nodded. "That Yaru de Pon fellow. I recognize the name." Dex pulled out his comm link and looked him up. A middle-aged raccoon popped up with crimson fur, a black backdrop around his eyes.

"Yup. He was the former director of that company. Had previous ties with the Cornerian military before he was picked up by the private sector. No military on Meckler, far as I know. He tried his paw with the politician shindig, but he couldn't' handle the heat." Then grunting. "Supposedly."

Al bunched up closer to Dex, aiming a look at his comm link. "Say, didn't that raccoon join the company like what? A year ago? I'm sure that'd raise suspicion amongst the public."

He shook his head. "Not if he has a clean record backed by the military. Who's going to accuse that kind of guy for setting up an elaborate assassination? Besides we don't know if he's even with the military."

"But we work for them. Don't we?"

Dex shook his head once again. "No. We work for the government."

"Same thing. Government. Military. They get controlled by the government."

Dex began walking at a brisker pace. "Who knows. I don't intend to find out. We get our mission and that's that. Be glad that we've been in this game for this long."

Al caught up to Dex. "But we're assets to them. If the military IS making some moves behind Big Joe's back, we'll be in the middle of it all."

Dex stopped and turned into an alleyway. "We aren't anything to them. We're the patsies. The no names. The burned cards. The sooner you start realizing that every bounty hunter and assassin you've ever known is dead or has been crossed, you'll understand why we've been so lucky."

Al smirked. "Yea, but at least we still got each other. Like I said, no matter what happens. We're unstoppable together. I've always got your back Dex."

Dex whirled and grabbed Al, slamming him against the concrete wall. A pistol was already in his right paw, primed and pressed half an inch deep into Dex's neck. Dex smiled. "Good. You haven't lost your instincts. What if I had been hired and you were my hit? What then?"

Al shook his head. "I know you'd turn it down."

Dex stared incredulously at Al. This little shit still trusts me.

"You don't get it." Dex threw him down. "They wouldn't give me a choice." He turned his back on Al and reached into his pockets. "Neither you."

Al got up on his knees and steadied himself with his free paw. "I know that together, we would practically be untouchable." He stood up and rest his other paw on Dex's left shoulder. "Come on. You've taught me everything I've needed to know. I know not to trust anyone. That this is a business partnership. That it could turn sour any day."

Al then dropped his gun, letting it balance on Dex's leather vest before it slid down the front. He caught it before it fell.

"But I trust you."

Dex gripped the pistol tightly with his left. His right balled into a fist. "You're such an idiot. It's why I still call you a pup." He turned around and held it out to Al. "Because no matter how skilled you are, it doesn't equate to experience."

He once again ruffled Al's head. "You put too much trust in me. It'll get you killed one day."

Al pocketed his gun. "It'll just be the consequences catching up to me from the day we first met. I was supposed to die back then."

Dex grunted disapprovingly. "Fine. Let's go in for the night, pup."

In his right paw the comm link blinked lightly.

"Say what was that trash spam about anyways and how'd they get your private number?"

Dex spat at the ground. "Literally what I said. They were advertising cleaning services. I accidently left the anonymizer off. They must've gotten it while it was public."

"Pretty soon everyone will know your identity if you keep fucking up like that."

"Yea, yea."

Right.

Dex stared at the tall silhouette of Al up ahead; large confident strides, mostly indifferent to the world outside of theirs.

Cleaning services are what we do best.

He grimaced in slight disgust, flashes of emotions taking up precious space within.

No. Stop thinking like that! You've relied on this little shrimp for too long.

His paw tightened around the comm link.

Tarnished your reputation.

Dex tried anything but to focus on Al on the seemingly long trek to base.

No. What I do best.

He followed Al into the apartment complex and shut the entrance behind.

But can I still be the best without Al?

Al waved goodnight to Dex as he sauntered into his bedroom.

He quietly pressed the device and stuffed it back into his pocket.

New Mission: Liquidation and Recovering of Assets

Primary Objective: Liquidate all active agents.

Retaining two agents.

Retained list:

Reaper

Deli-man

/ / /

Sharp Ace

Accept / Decline