The days went by, and mercenary life was becoming part of my routine. I would wake up at sunset, go to Bobby's cellar, take any job offered to me; then I would relax and go home. Tony and I were often requested to partner up. The middle-men and their employers knew that no matter what the job was, it would get done with Tony Redgrave and Gilver working on it.

Enzo walked into the bar, the mercenaries didn't even bother to get up. They knew who the job was going to.

"Hey champ," Enzo said to me, "They want you to partner up again, ok?"

"Good." I answered. He walked over to Tony.

"Hey, we got another one for you and Gilver."

The bar was filled with cries of protests. The mercenaries were obviously getting tired of being right.

"Come on, Enzo!" One of the called out to him, "throw us some jobs, for crying out loud!"

"Calm down!" Enzo yelled at the angry patrons. "You'll get your scraps! They can't be everywhere at once!"

Tony wasn't listening to this exchange. He was staring at an empty bar stool at the counter. The usual cloud of smoke was absent, and the smell of rotting hops no longer permeated that area.

"You alright?" Enzo asked him. Tony snapped out of it, emerging from his thoughts.

"Yeah," He replied, still a little distracted, "Let's go."

* * * * *

Tony and I were in an old, run-down building near the docks. We were in a room filled with armed gangsters and drug-lords. They readied their weapons, watching us warily.

Tony had decided that sneaking in wasn't the best way to handle this. I was curious to see what his plan was, so I went along. He led me through the front door, and into a room full of men carrying automatic weapons.

So here we were, surrounded and outnumbered, with twenty-five guns aimed at us.

"Time out!" Tony yelled out, putting his hands into the shape of a "T". He walked out the front door and brought back a small barrel, with a pump attached. The men around us spoke amongst themselves in some foreign language, confused.

"You see this?" Tony asked them, he started pumping a liquid all over the room, and even on the gangsters themselves. They yelled in alarm and raised their guns.

"Uh-uh!" Tony wagged his finger. "No shooting! If you shoot, the whole place goes up. Boom." They seemed to understand that, since they lowered their guns slowly.

"You don't want that, do ya?"

The men looked around nervously, not knowing what to do. Tony immediately jumped into the crowd, and began beating them with his fists. They tried to fight back, but they were no match for his strength. They ran away like frightened sheep towards the exit.

"Come here, ya sissies!" Tony called out.

I moved quickly, putting myself between them and the supposed salvation. I drew Yamato, and began slashing through them, sometimes taking three heads off at once. I was careful not to ignite a spark, which would likely cause the entire room to burst into flames.

Yamato cleanly sliced through them, mixing blood and gasoline on the floor. The curious mixture was soaked up by the clean suits worn by the dead mobsters. Lifeless bodies, and heads, littered the floor.

I wiped off my blade, and sheathed it.

"You killed them all?" Tony spat, clearly disgusted.

"That was the job." I replied. Tony turned around, not even trying to hide the fact that my merciless killing sickened him. He walked out of the warehouse, heading back to Bobby's Cellar.

* * * * *

Days later, the entire bar full of mercenaries was full of chatter, mostly about my exploits during that job at the docks.

"Every single one of them." A veteran mercenary finished related the story.

"All fifty of them?" Another asked, in amazement.

"Yep, he sliced their heads clean off, they could even squeeze off a single shot!"

Rumors swirled around the mercenary world, including Bobby's Cellar. The number of mobsters always changed, but the description of my grim execution was always the same. The men were starting to glorify such efficiency, and look down upon the old ways of mercy.

"It's about time a real merc came in and showed the rest how its really done." The veteran said, taking a swig of beer.

"Tony's old news!" A younger one exclaimed, "I'll bet you he's slipping. I could probably take him now!"

"Right!" the veteran chuckled, "And even if you couldn't, you wouldn't have to worry about getting killed!"

"Tony's a joke! Gilver told me that mercy is a weakness!"

The chatter continued throughout the bar. I observed it from a booth in the corner. A smile crossed my face.

I saw Bobby's head snap up, he saw someone through the small window in the door. It was Tony. He immediately made for the door and went outside to talk to him.

I got up, and walked towards the counter to get a better view. I saw Bobby talking to Tony, he seemed like he was explaining something to him. Tony put his hands in his pockets, and looked to the ground with disdain. My guess was that Bobby was explaining the situation in the bar. If Tony went in, fights would break out and Bobby's Cellar would be a wreck.

Apparently, I was right. Tony said something to Bobby, turned around and walked away. Bobby returned to the bar and began to clean glasses as if nothing happened.

Something bothered me. I wasn't sure what it was. I felt that there was a piece of the puzzle that was missing. I decided to go with my gut, and I left the bar.

Tony walked to another bar and stayed there for a while. I waited outside, hoping that I didn't waste my time by following him. I sat there, perched on the rooftops like a Gothic statue. Hours passed, and Tony finally left the bar. He walked leisurely, and eventually made his way to an old office building. He climbed up the steel steps of an old fire-escape, and made his way inside. I tricked to the top of the building, and found a dusty skylight to look through and see just what Tony was up to.

I looked into the building, and saw what can only be described as a room full of guns. An older woman stood behind a glass counter, and greeted Tony as he entered. She put away some tools, and picked up a couple of heavy-looking pistols. Tony looked excited as she handed them to him. He immediately twirled them in his hands, and aimed them at imaginary targets. The bootleg guns looked awkwardly shaped, but Tony handled them with unmatched skill.

The two talked, and bickered as well. Tony smiled, enjoying every minute of his antagonistic teasing. The woman shooed him away, obviously getting fed up with his joking. Tony holstered his new guns, and made his way out of the building. He walked away with cockiness, as if he was reacting to a scolding from our mother…

That was it.

That was the missing piece.

I had figured it out, and it sickened me.

I jumped down to the street below, and made my way up the steps. I walked into the gun shop, and was greeted with the chime of a bell on the door. The old woman looked up from a project at the counter.

She looked towards me, lowering a pair of reading glasses. She couldn't have been older than sixty, and wore a brown apron. She had bags under her blue eyes, and a little bit of blonde could be seen in her graying hair. The wall behind her was lined with plaques, likely awards, with her name engraved on them. Nell Goldstein.

"Can I help you?" she asked, fear in her voice. Perhaps my reputation preceded me, though she didn't look like the kind of woman to be scared so easily.

"Yes." I answered, "Yes, you can." I walked along the glass counter, examining the various firearms within it, and displayed on the walls. I was looking for something. Something recognizable. I saw a gun plate that read ".45 Caliber Art Warks". The woman obviously worked with pistols, it would be hard to find something out of the ordinary.

I scanned the walls until I saw what I was looking for. It was a sawed-off shotgun, highly modified, and marked with a sign "Not For Sale".

"I'll take that one," I pointed to it, getting out a large stack of cash. I slapped the money down on the counter.

"Its not for sale," she said, "I only made it to show off. Besides, its so short and modified, you'd have to shove it in your target's face to do any damage."

"That's alright." I reached up and took it off the shelf. Goldstein started to protest, but stopped herself. I examined the gun, and found that it was definitely well-made.

"I don't usually handle guns," I told her, slight disgust in my voice. "But that's alright. I'll take it anyway."

I turned and walked towards the door.

"Wait!" She said, "What do you plan on shooting with that thing anyway?"

I stopped, feeling I might as well answer.

"Something that walks like a man, but isn't." She pondered my enigmatic statement, and looked down to count the cash.

I tricked myself out of the room, hurrying to put my plans into motion. I heard her inside the building, about to tell me that I paid her too much. Her voice cut off upon seeing that I was gone.