1: The Hitmen Known As The Twins
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He had heard of their reputation for a while. It was hard to believe at first and he used to laugh every time another of his men told him that another small gang had been wiped out, allegedly by a pair of hitmen known in the shadow world as 'The Twins'.
But as the news of the death of his men began to come one by one, he began to wonder if he should have been more cautious. It was disturbing. Every man was found against a wall, dead, their shoulders, kidneys, and hearts blown to pieces. It was obvious that the bullets that killed them had been shot from quite a close range, and the one on their hearts were shot with the muzzle close enough to burn the clothes around the hole.
Some helpful words from the local police friends he had confirmed that indeed there were two of them, for the hitmen pair always left them a 'gift' after a job, dropped in the mailbox without any stamp. It was always a letter signed by 'The Twins', giving them the location of their victim along with something that would erase any doubt of its authenticity. Namely, a polaroid shot of the dead victims, smeared with their blood.
When Roa was found dead yesterday, he knew that he should start counting the days.
He then took preventive measures. He increased the security in the Nest, allowing only people he knew to come in. He lay low for a while, having to momentarily postpone his territory expansion. He even stopped going out of the Nest at all, as he heard of how the Twins seemed to like ambushing their victims in the alleys.
Of course, it became a moot point when he found the whole Nest slaughtered the moment he stepped out of his office.
He was still rather dazed by the unexpected carnage when he noticed a teenager on the corner of the room, sitting next to Dorchette's body on the blood soaked sofa, reading a magazine. As if finally noticing his presence, the boy looked up and smiled at him. "Good morning," he said cheerfully. "A lovely day, isn't it?"
He should have shot the boy right then, but no, instead he was gaping at him, dazed from the surrealness of it all. Then he knew he was doomed the moment he felt a second person moving out of the shadow behind him, saying in an equally cheerful voice, "Would you like a cup of tea before your execution, Mr. Greed?"
He wondered if it would be easier to just shoot himself and save himself the pain.
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"It won't go off," a teenager with dirty blond hair said in front of a washbasin, half whining.
"Come here, let me have that." A teenager with lighter hair but similar face approached the basin and took over his twin's laundry. "Hydrogen peroxide is your friend at times like this," he said as he drained the basin and filled it with cold water.
"I ran out of mine," the first teenager said, pouting. "You always made me deliver the last shot lately."
The latter shook his head. "Al, you were the one to suggest we go by flipping the coin. It's not my fault you always lost."
Al stuck his tongue out. "Gotta find a new way to decide," he groused.
His twin brother nodded indulgently. "Have it your way, Al."
"...Are you mocking me, Alfons?"
"Not at all."