The day was supposed to be average. . . At least as average as the day that his employer came back. Will Graham is far from the man he used to be. He was lost, and yet regained a new type of darkness within him. A bubbling husk of frustration, and deathly sorrow. Jack has watched his employer mill between day drinking, work and passing out in the most hazardous places. It was a sad devolution from his confident yet cocky former self.
The most disturbing trait he gained was his sense of vigilance. Like he is constant threat and heightened sense of every moment being his last. Reckless, more reckless than before. Even with his former retinue surrounding him like hounds.
Jack still hadn't gouged the happenings of the weeks in Italy, nor has he found the reason for the various injuries that he sustained in that time. But it must have been traumatic enough to shut the millionaire up, only giving out vague and condescending remarks.
"How is he?" The older agent asked whilst looking at Will's visage through the glass that bordered the secretarial and main office. The aforementioned man bending down on the table with stacks of documents messily surrounding him. Flipping each page of the document he was holding like it insulted him.
"Not good, the man barely sleeps." Beverly supplied, picking up a cup before turning to the adjacent kitchen.
"Coffee?" Beverly inquired, making the older man glance at the secretary for a moment.
"Yes, please." Jack replied, turning back to look at his charge. In the few seconds after he turned, he immediately noticed a familiar mark. A red dot slowly moving its position, to aim at the slumped head of the millionaire. It was perfectly placed at the right side of his skull.
Jack didn't think, and ran to his employer, tackling him in time for a shot to come flying towards them. The bullet imbedded into the leather seat the younger man was previously sitting on.
"Down!" Jack shouted, as he pushed the head of the millionaire down the table. A sudden bright flash and a loud bang followed, as the glass windows around the building shattered at the sheer combination of combustion and sound. The individual flacks of glass pouring down like rain, some granulated to an almost powder consistency.
Will raised his head, hearing a distinct ringing and showcasing myriad cuts from the fallen glass shards. His head spun at the experience, slowly losing consciousness, as the blood rushed to his head.
"Will!" A familiar voice uttered as a hazy image of Jack Crowford went into his peripheral, before succumbing to darkness.
"Motherfucker." Jack swore in a lowered breath, as he haphazardly picked up the unconscious body. 'The first few shots were a red herring' the thought finally dawning on the agent.
"Report!" Jack shouted into the microphone of his earpiece. Zeller and Price, two individuals' part of the security technical team, ranted into a duo performance security report.
"Damage cos—"
"Casualties?" Jack cut them off, head still wrung from the sudden movements and added weight of his employer.
"Unconfirmed at the moment boss, but most of them are alive." Zeller answered, already anticipating an irate agent Crowford to be berate him later.
"Good enough." The oldest agent uttered, hearing the low howls and groans of the immediate security team still alive. The member was usually stationed near the entrance of the office and scattered around the lower floors. Unfortunately, some were obviously taken out by the amount of debris and shards that unfortunately struck them in the vitals.
"Everyone with an able body, help the injured then get out of the building, as fast as possible! Go!" Jack ordered with weak but audible responses.
"Beverly" Jack whispered, remembering the secretary scurry off to the kitchen. A lightly wounded but horribly dusted female form, inched towards them. Making the Jack's thoughts assess the location of the bomb that exploded. It was positioned closer to the main office and resting area, than any area of the floor.
"Whoever this fucker is, I would—" she was cut off at the sight of an unconscious Will. Making the soreness of her shoulder and the ringing of her ears to be a secondary concern.
"No! No! No! Not again! Jack!" Beverly felt an angered wetness on her cheeks. All she felt at the moment was frustration and unadulterated anger.
"Let's go!" Jack said, pulling the secretary to the direction of the stairs. As they land on their second flight of stairs, another explosion was set off, and fire consumed the office. Leaving the dead and injured stuck on the floor to be consumed by the heat of the bursting flames.
Chiyoh barged into the dark and damp room, grabbing the man by the collar. And pulling him down to her height in anger.
"I said covertly! Blowing up a building and committing arson isn't covert!" Chiyoh's anger simmered, this was not the clean execution she demanded.
"You said dispose of the man named Will Graham, you didn't specify the means." The man retorted sarcastically, slowly reaching for the knife he kept in his pocket.
"Notify your men, you are out of the deal." Chiyoh uttered, coldly, as her eyes immediately fell of the glinting item, slowly positioned into the older man's hand.
"Look here lady, we had a signed deal. I played my cards, now it's your turn of the bargain!" Abel Gideon, impulsively raised his hand to stab the woman.
Chiyoh braced herself, feeling stunned at the sharp knife. A part of her was willing to accept the embrace of death by any means. She closed her eyes, readying for a sharp pain. It didn't come. Instead a loud bang, followed by a metallic thud and a howl of pain, made her pry her eyes open. She saw the hired mercenary clutching his wounded hand. Blood flowing continuously from a stigma like wound.
"You won't get your money." A cold voice uttered, as a cold smile enveloped the younger Lecter sibling's expression. In her hand, a small handgun, easily concealable.
"You bitch! We had a deal! You said kill Will Graham." Abel hissed, as the pain and hostility filled him.
"Precisely! Will Graham is alive." Mischa uttered, lowering the gun, as Abel rolled his eyes, muttering incessantly to himself.
The world slowly shifted into view, as a familiar ceiling and the neutral medical antiseptic wafted into his nose.
"Fuck." A word emitting more malice than his whole being. His body ached from head to toe, and his ears burned with pain at every sound.
"Your finally awake. It took great pains to get to you, you know." A distinct feminine voice uttered, as the sound of pouring water was audible near his left ear.
"Here let me help." A younger voice uttered, helping him lift his torso upright. A cup lightly pressed on his lower lip, urging him to drink. He gratefully did so, and finally looked at the person who was aiding him.
"Why are you here?" Were the first words out of his mouth.
"We need your help." Abigail uttered, looking at a seated Bedelia's direction. She was still hesitant, about which side she wanted to be on. A part of her wanted to be with her mother, her biological mother. But she knew perfectly well that it would only end with her dying on the floor, with her mother over her just watching. . . At least that was how Bedelia described her mother, in the few and far in between facts she has gathered.
"We know who did this, and I implore you to help us end . . . Our mutual problem." The older woman uttered, as she vigilantly observed the hospital halls in case the guards' barge in at any moment.
"Her name is Mischa Sforza—Lecter"