Killed by Architect
Albert Brann spent the day of his death like he did most days. He spent several hours at the shop where he worked part-time as a mechanic. With his other activities, he had no need for the money, but he genuinely enjoyed the work, it gave him a veneer of respectability, and he found that he could think, really think, while he tinkered with and reassembled machines.
When his shift was over, he clocked out and went home, cleaned up, then headed out to Check on some of his other business ventures. This eventually brought him around to the Jolly Dragon Bar and Grill. Very little of his business flowed through the area, but, much like his day job, he genuinely enjoyed the place. Many of the regular customers were there when he entered, and we waved to a couple of them before making his way to his regular booth.
Time passed. Brann watched some Crucible matches on the screens, met with a few associates and clients, and enjoyed a meal before moving to the pool table, looking to end his evening with a few games. When no one else seemed to want to join him, he began shooting on his own, idly striking balls and attempting trick shots. It was then that the evening took a turn.
The Guardian came in.
Brann was aware of Jackal-9 both as a Guardian, and as a new face in the City's drug trade. The Exo wasn't exactly subtle in his dealings, and it was only a matter of time before the idiot got caught. Albert continued to shoot pool against himself, watching out of the corner of his eye as Jackal moved through the bar, exchanging pleasantries with various people. Eventually, this brought him over to Brann's table.
"Care for a game?" the Exo asked.
Brann looked up, then struck the cue ball, sending it flying across the green felt surface to strike his target with a loud crack. "Sure."
Albert gathered the balls from the pockets, rolling them along with those that remained on the surface, then organized them all in the rack. Once everything was in place, he removed the triangular bracket from around the balls and gestured for the Exo to go first. Jackal nodded, placed the cue ball, and took the shot. It was a short game, as Jackal did not miss often. Brann suspected it had something to do with mechanical eyes and Guardian marksmanship training.
"Eight ball, far corner," Jackal said, gesturing with his cue. The white and black orbs cracked against each other, and the eight rolled into the announced pocket. "Too bad we didn't place any glimmer on it, eh?" he asked, one eye blinking off and on in an Exo wink.
"I don't make losing wagers," Brann stated.
"Sure about that?" Jackal asked.
"Positive."
"Well, then you might want to give up on certain endeavors," Jackal said, "because I believe we are competitors and I always play to win."
Albert eyed the Exo, then snorted derisively. "No, you don't. You play like you drive, like an overeager amateur who is bound to bring others down with him when he crashes and burns."
"That was a mistake," the Exo growled, his grip tightening, metal fingers leaving dents in the cue.
"I like this place," Brann said. "How about we move our conversation elsewhere before you break something."
"Fine. Outside. Alley."
"You first, Tin Man," Brann said, nodding toward the door. Jackal stalked out. Brann cleaned up the table, replaced the cues, then followed a moment later.
When he stepped outside, Jackal was nowhere to be seen. Assuming he probably stepped around the building to get out of sight, Albert strode over to the alley. Still no sign of the Exo. Albert took a breath, then let it out slowly, catching the scent of cooking food and a faint hint of tobacco.
"Jackal? I thought you wanted to talk," Albert called out.
Further down the alley, it rounded the next building, another access path that he could not see from where he stood. Thanks to the building architecture, there was actually no way for him to see anything there without fully stepping into the opening himself. He stood for a moment, and thought he heard the scuff of feet on the concrete from that direction. Brann cursed and drew a sidearm from his coat pocket.
Albert Brann walked down the alley, paused before the opening, then stepped into it. It was the last thing he ever did.