There was the laptop from last night. Dallas walked to the kitchen and pulled out the portable coffee. Flicking open a pantry door, he saw between the assorted bags and cans of coffee beans labelled for each of the others was his. It was a tin can holding Deer Droppings, but no one would really know that. After grabbing the can, Dallas turned on the coffee brewer on. It was good that there was still water inside to heat up. He opened the can and took out the grinder inside. Then beans were scooped into it and just in time, the coffee brewer was ready. After opening the lid, Dallas grounded the beans into the open filter. When the grinder was empty, he closed the lid with a snap and let the brewer do its work.

Dallas then walked back to the computer and flipped the monitor up. A thumping from the stairs signaled that someone was coming up. Dallas looked to the glass and saw Aldstone's gray hair appear in dim light. He would be wondering who else would be preparing coffee at this hour. Dallas then turned to the right of the giant television behind him and found its switch. After pressing it, the screen turned on and revealed the rest of the room surrounding it. The same descriptive photos and shiny trophies in their respective spots, undisturbed stores of archived data and architecture, and the most comforting of all, the always glossy walnut desks and expensive chairs, all in under a blue light.

The laptop was turned on, the blue light replaced with a light white. Dallas looked at the map of Washington in front of him, the many stages of brawls, gunfights, exchanges, and other events of criminal activity. To think that after all the heists and stunts they pulled, they haven't gotten to see where the lawmen they fight come from. Dallas looked back to the laptop and pressed the 'Enter'. Bain's intercom voice crackled into full volume.

"Okay…good. Do you know what the plan is for today?"

"I suppose we're going to visit Stockton again. But with an officer this time."

"Yes. That's is what is supposed to happen for today. Anyways, here's the route you should take."

On the big screen, Washington shrank to focus on a spot in a spot between the Safehouse and Downtown. It was a mess of streets and housings, but that was where Mr. Stockton did his work best. A line drew itself from the top most right of the streets and made a beeline to a cul-de-sac next to the hospital.

"According to our good doctor, he says we can stay there before 5:50. I've informed him of Hoxton's…injury and he has prepared for anything that might look serious. I suggest that Houston and Wolf come along with you to transport Hoxton and the Cloaker."

"Eh...Wolf can…no. He can come with us."

"Okay. I fixed enough of this visit so you can heal without attracting any attention. You just have to go at any time."

"I'll bring Clover along. Just to give James some moral support."

"Al…..Right. I got it. Also, Twitch wants to know which weapons you want armed and loaded."

"I'll ask around first. Then maybe when we see him again later tomorrow."

"Okay then. Due to the location the doctor has selected, you only get to use the TXV transmitter, which there is only one because the rest were damaged yesterday. The directions you need to take are in the GPS. I'll know when you want to start."

"Great. See you then."

Dallas pressed 'escape' and the big screen closed. After turning off the laptop, he turned to see Aldstone with the coffee he brewed earlier sitting in his gloved hands acting as a pedestal.

"Your dark roast Dallas, sir."

Dallas took the mug and heard the ice inside slosh around the coffee. Considerate as always, but sometimes too much so.

"Thanks," Dallas breathed, taking the iced coffee. The best thing in the early morning was always the smell of his coffee. If anything, it was the only pleasing sensation as a constant for the day. He brought his nose to take in the cool atmosphere around the mug, let it smell the sweet, dark...

The fuck?

This wasn't a Deer Droppings. It was a soft milky smell with a hint of dark chocolate. He looked to who served him this.

"Aldstone! What happened to my coffee?"

Aldstone revealed Dallas's tin from behind his back.

"It was sadly expired. I had to substitute some of my breakfast tea and Master Hoxton's chocolate syrup to simulate the best I could of your favorite morning beverage."

Dallas only heard 'expired' and 'beverage' in Aldstone's words. His coffee was expired today? Was it already time to replace his coffee? Looking at the stamped date, it was surprisingly expired 10 months ago. Somehow this could explain the lasting aftertaste he had for the past week. Dallas pursed his lips and took a cautious sip.

The taste was…familiar. Another sip made Dallas realize that this actually tasted better than he liked. Sure, it was smooth, strong, but it had some sort of taste that was maybe Indian in origin. Like herbs or extracts of the like. Guess he had to settle for this in the morning this time.

"…Not bad. But I'd like this when I don't have anything else to drink."

"Duly noted, sir."

It was probably around 4 in the morning. Dallas straightened his tie the best he could without a mirror. Looking at his chest and the rest of his attire, it looked like the best presentation.

He looked to his right and saw Hoxton hobbling forward with Clover under his arm, both dressed in the American equivalent of a Sunday's best. He would have looked longer if it weren't for the injury and the grimace he had trying to walk on his own. Dallas walked briskly over to the two and put himself below Hoxton's left.

"Okay man, you gotta pick up the pace here."

"Guys? I think I can walk to the freaking car by myself."

Clover squinted at Hoxton before dropping her disbelief.

"Sure."

Immediately, she pushed herself away from Hoxton's arm and left him standing with Dallas, whom wormed his way out from Hoxton's other arm. Hoxton staggered forward before righting himself upward.

"Woah!"

Hoxton looked back and saw that Dallas had crossed his arms and Clover just smiling at no expense. His statement was given actual weight. Hoxton briefly considered his situation, faced the van's open door, and started shakily. Hoxton would inwardly swear as his haunches were seized by the fucking pain, but it seemed possible to do it.

They then both observed Hoxton's legs painfully pulled towards the van, with each foot closer to the van bringing bewilderment and sympathy. With each dragged step, the gap between his legs seemed to double. With each doubled gait, a murmuring increased slightly in volume. It was convenient to let Hoxton walk and have a better back in the afternoon, but it was exhausting just to wait. Thankfully before Dallas lifted a finger, Houston and Wolf called from behind. Ditching the dress suits for casual jackets was needed for this.

"Hey! What are you doing? This bitch in the chair needs lifting!"

"Just letting Hox walk. "

"No! *huff* I know what yer' thinking, but I got this! *huff* Just having sore balls isn't going to limit me! *huff* Especially when that bitch is here! *huff*"

"Maybe we can make him move faster with…"

"Give your pride a rest darling. I already appreciate it, but not much later if you plan to keep on going."

"…Yes, maybe you should listen to that Hox."

"*huff* Just-"

"We have to leave for our window in two. Get the ass the in the van, and the bitch after him!"

"What! Let's move!"

"*huff* Wha-"

Before he knew it, Hoxton was lifted by Dallas and Clover and thrusted into the open doors. He slid smoothly on the van's floor before stopping at the driver's seat.

"Shite! My a-oh…"

He heard the leather bound psychopath being loaded into the van by Clover and Dallas. Hoxton turned around best as he could half-recovered from yesterday. Just as he put a foot down, more pain exploded from below. Apparently standing up wasn't going to be accepted, so Hoxton settled himself against the other seat eying the monster.

Houston pushed the metal chair until the metal scrapping stopped. Dallas and Clover had gripped two sides before they pulled it onto a place in the van. Houston made his way to the garage and grabbed the ratchet straps from the seat. He tossed one to Wolf after he pushed the cart to its usual place. Wolf tossed what he caught to Clover in the van and another to Dallas. As Clover and Dallas wrapped and tightened the straps around She-Cloaker's chair, Wolf and Houston jogged to the driver and passenger seat.

As Houston unlocked the door and sat himself, he saw Wolf aggressively wrench his hands around the lock. The tarp itself, despite durable material, was having its plastic cover rippling across the fence gate from the thrashing. After Wolf had unlocked the inner lock, he was nearly tearing up the tarp covering the gate to reach the outside lock. Dallas nudged himself behind Houston and immediately he knew what was taking so long for the van to move.

By the time Wolf had unlocked the outdoor lock, half of the zip-ties used to secure the tarp to the fence were excessively ripped off out of restrained frustration. Wolf walked slowly towards the van doors, his breaths rather labored and deep. Just as he stepped foot onto the van floor, Houston shoved him to the ground, and slammed the doors shut. Wolf swore when he felt sores from yesterday spring up again.

"Javla Helveta! Houston! What was that for?!"

Houston lowered the window, having himself and Dallas peek out.

"Wolf. You have to rest. That head of yours…it isn't up to today. Go back inside."

"But I can still do this! It's only one stop and back."

"But what about your mail?"

Wolf's rising shoulders started to fall. He looked at himself, his brown jeans and white-t, now speckled with dirt and god-knows-what from the fence gate. He shouldn't be this dirty. Not this ready to go another run.

"Right! Thanks for telling me."

Wolf jogged with building energy in his legs straight to the gate, before grabbing its side with both hands, and exuberantly pushed it to the side. The van sped through, hands quickly waving from inside and outside the van's walls, before being drawn inside. Wolf waved back, but couldn't wait to open his mail. He rushed out and looked in the dark for the hidden cache. Then there it was, under a park bench. Wolf skipped in his steps towards the bench before reaching under its dusty wood. He never got care packages this early!


The good doctor was waiting out in the open entrance of the run down pharmaceutical store. Any normally sighted person would have trouble seeing the doctor's lenses in the dark, but the crew had went through enough covert heists to get used to the limited light. Besides, no one ever really came out to see the store soon before and after it closed. Unseen, the van coasted into the parking lot and stopped at the loading zone. Dr. Stockon walked cautiously to the van and peered at the driver's mirror. Houston greeted him with the same unnerving deadbeat face since last time.

He heard the van's doors slide open, and out of it came him, with his legs nearly as wide as a ballerina's stretched bounding leap. That is, with the aid of a familiar woman holding him up. No fragrance or cologne this time. He looked at the man with the same look he gave him some time ago. Given the man's overbearing and ignorant condescending, this was bound to happen later.

"Oh, don't give me that you-augh!"

"Oh, Mr. Hoxton, what happened this time, hmm?"

"Nothing that you could stand, like your wife back home."

"Ah yes, good one. But not as good as your injury I believe."

Hoxton bit his lip under the mask.

"Doc, he got hit hard in the balls. He needs a checkup. Like as soon as you can."

"I know, I've prepared for anything that can happen in the little boy's room to the little girl's room, and even what happens in between. But, I must see the other person you brought here."

"Coming!"

Clover and Hoxton moved out of the way and allowed Houston and Dallas to move the 'VIP' out of the van. It was a sad display of recuperation, seeing her body in a medieval looking chair. Even though he couldn't see the woman with this amount of light, there was already a feeling of heaviness in his gut, and the last he felt it was when he found a bullet in the liver of one Mr. Yoji. At least there was always a reward for all the people he stitched and cut up.

"So, where's the cash?"

"Here."

Dallas extended his hand holding the expected clear plastic bag of cash. Mr. Stockton opened it, felt within the feathery green paper, and promptly closed it after deciding it was the real deal.

"Good. You know what happens next then. Also, is she this silent?"

"Yeah, after we tried to talk to her. Scary bitch probably has a secret."

After taking a short look at the woman's unmoving body, Mr. Stockton took out the keys from under his coat and inserted them into the grainy metal lock of the pharmacy doors. Then, he twisted the key and stepped sideways to force it open. It revealed to the darker darkness inside. Steadily, he pulled the other door to make room for the 'VIP'. He watched as Clover and Hoxton made their way past the fallen shelves. Then he turned to see Houston and Dallas pushing the horrendous nightmare of an arm chair restraining the…

Now this was new.

As he closed the doors, he had to ask.

"So…Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah, Stock, it is."

Mr. Stockton thought about the law enforcer's position and his in all of this as he followed them into the examination room. One day you look over the pancreas of a wanted Russian mobster for 'a favor', and the next you decide to work with the ultraviolent vigilante group behind Crime Net on extended contract. It was quite a bewilderment. He'd only seen people like the one in the terror chair from the news and from several accounts the Payday Gang often supply, but here was one they actually brought home. He already broke his code of not asking beyond medical needs, but they were a valued source of income, so he had to be wary about their health outside of the clinic.

You don't get paid as much when your patients don't return back for another patch-up. Usually most of the people he fixed up were one-time or 2-time visitors, but the people that sent them to him were more needful of his services. The Payday Gang was one of these types and was introduced to him by the Dentist as to 'sweeten the deal' between his likeness and the most elusive guy of all, Bain.

In his line of work, Mr. Stockton noticed that they noticeably came more frequently with more costly injuries compared to other visitors, since the New Year being already and counting 6 visits. Sure others came close, but ever since he started checking up the group's diverse crew, he started to see less familiar faces ask for him. It was all for the money, dirty or not, so he couldn't go back on the Hippocratic Oath to excuse removing a source that was literally killing business , but it just sometimes dawned on him that he was riding the fine line of morality, whichever side that was.

This visit suggested that there was a stronger, personal matter that probably affected everyone in the Gang. It could be just business that he wouldn't be involved with other than just healing wounds or fixing loose ends, which certainly wasn't messy ethics. Surely the cop in the chair was deciding to become bad for a change they needed to live. But it was one of them.

They called them 'Cloakers', annoyingly scary sons-of-bitches. With their descriptions at best, Mr. Stockton thought they were iffy in the scope of human biology. It was bewildering to see a dislocated thumb, a cracked bone, or in this new case bruised testes inflicted by simply flesh. Sure, you could exercise enough to lift 2 times your own weight, but the ability to somersault 6 feet into the air was unheard of even in the Olympics. Additionally, their vocalized anger towards the heisters was something just as bewildering. If they were so professional, could they not yell in the faces of whoever was in their way or was the criminal that needed to be taken down?

The clinic door was quickly in sight. Light would soon be here, so he had to hurry with the examinations. Mr. Stockton felt around the frame until he found the light switch. The fluorescent light illuminated an immaculately clean green chair surrounded by 2 rolling trays of medical equipment, and 2 blue blood-streaked fabric screens to its left, and the visitors to the right. He looked to Dallas, expecting another answer.

"So, who goes first?"

"Hoxton. He goes firs-wait. Give me a sec. Bain?"

A moment of feverish discussion passed while Dallas seemed to talk with Bain in his ear. Then Dallas looked to Mr. Stockton.

"Yeah, he goes first. Like we needed to know that."

Hoxton hobbled forward with Clover in his arm. He didn't have any quips at this time. Mr. Stockton looked at Hoxton's now slightly depressed face, and thought better of it.

"Some of you have new facial scars I may have to look over, so come closer to the light so I can see them."

Thy seemed to give off a deadpanned stare before they moved closer. Hoxton's face was still scarred and disfigured as he remembered. Clover was lovely as always, but with the distinct worry further creasing her frowns. Houston seemed to have shaved himself this time, but he had some work done on his temples that could be fixed. Dallas still had the aged face, and the same breathing problems from smoking.

"Okay, I think it's just your face Houston. Just get a band aid on that cut. Now for you…"

And the new face…she had a terrible one. Pusface, he could could call her, but that wouldn't be chivalrous or accurate enough. God, he needed help with her. Maybe then…Oh shit. He forgot to call her, but that could be resolved later. There was some cash to make back payment with.

"*sigh*…I guess I have my work cut out for me. The man needs his privacy, so bring those blue screens over here to block the views for the women."

As Hoxton laid back on the green chair, Houston and Dallas rolled the screens to hide him. It was Clover and the she-Cloaker who stayed on the other side.

"Alright then, let's get into our business."

As Clover heard the distinct clattering of tools from behind the screen, the sounds of leather tightening jostled her senses. She aimed her eyes at the straps of the chair, and grabbed the end of her personal club when she saw the arms of the she-Cloaker threaten to tear off her restraints. Then, Clover stopped watching as the same sound of leather stretching stretched on.


There was a final snip and the physical was complete.

"Like they say, 'you really had a number done on you,' but not anything serious enough to put that out of commission. Now, I got some medication you have to apply for…12 to 13 days to your groin while you stay out of the strenuous activities. This also includes masturbation, so unless you want a bent penis when it heals, stay off it."

Hoxton grimaced at the doctor's prescription, but said nothing of it as he got up from the chair. The screens were pulled away and out walked Hoxton with pride back in his steps, albeit with a slight lurch forward. Clover's lips curved upwards for once to make a half-smile when he approached.

"So, how d'ya feel?"

"Less tender than before, but you heard him, I can't do much until my knob gets better."

"Yeah. Almost like that time you fell off trying to get down that roof. I tried to tell you, but you just had to take a gold bar from that poor bastard."

"Aye. Good thing I got you love."

As Clover started to play with her hair, Houston averted from the ensuing 'conversation' to come. It was just his punk ass attitude that gets him perturbed, but when he gets 'romantic', his accent gets sleazy enough to make him think about nailing him with a wrench. Fucking disgrace. Just as he turned, the she-Cloaker returned to view, just as off-putting.

Her body and limbs were restrained, but she seemed to believe she could snap the leather by continuously moving around in it. She was really trying hard, seeing that her wrists and ankles were starting to bleed endlessly cutting with the Velcro. What was she thinking? Houston walked to the chair, his shoes barely registering in the Cloaker's hearing. He stopped when he could see the white in her eyes, which was pretty hard to see with bloodshot eyes. It was like she was Wolf when he got sad over a lost loot bag, except the drives were lawfully opposite.

He made sure he had her attention.

"Hey. Cloaker-bitch. I got a few words to say to you."

The she-Cloaker opened her mouth to say something, a raucous voice about to form, but decided to grit her teeth to imitate a menacing wolf.

"Good. Now listen, you scary motherfucker. We as a gang…don't really like you. Jiro and Wolf especially. If you aren't being cooperative with us, then we have three options. One, we kill you and dispose of you. Make you don't exist. Like for real, not like that Black-Ops stuff where you get only a codename and portfolio. Option two is where we have Jacket-"

"Wait! Bain said we can't do option 2 with anyone…"

Dallas had stepped in and bumped shoulders with Houston. The she-Cloaker started to venomously switch glances between them.

"Okay, I see, if you're talking about her, maybe we can… Wait, what? We-…No then. We can't do it Houston."

"Right. So, okay…no option two then, where we break your mind with a sledgehammer and meth. We only have…option three. It's pretty damn simple. You work with us a little longer so you can live and get something out of this, and possibly die a painless death. You get anything we want, and we get you anything you want, as long as you don't get to dropkick us again. Not that it wouldn't help, since we can pin you down again. But it's not like we can expect you to trust us because we already have you trapped. It's because we already know how to deal with traitors."

The she-Cloaker had stared down Houston, but looked back at Dallas faster than considering an understanding.

"Hey, don't look at me. He's not lying or bluffing here. He's saying everything that we intend to do."

The she-Cloaker's eyes opened a bit more, becoming a little less bloodshot from squinting them to glare-stare, before she continued to try to wrestle her way out of the straps, though more sluggishly and less forcefully. Dallas heard a few steps behind him and glanced towards Mr. Stockton approaching him with phone in hand.

"I'm going to have to make a call. I can't do this as a doctor."

"Right now? Look at her!"

Dallas showed his hands to the she-Cloaker, seemingly sweating excessively and staining her already tattered uniform a darker black.

"You could operate on her or something now. Stock, We need her alive."

"I know, but this is beyond my oath. I can't do the checkup as a man, so I'm forced to call my…associate here. I knew I should have called her earlier."

Dallas noticed Mr. Stockton's breathing slowing. This was the opportunity to do something before it went wrong.

"She can handle this better than I can."

"Stock! You can treat the bitch just right fucking now! I'm fine with you having to operate here, but this oath is ridiculous! You can probably do a better job than that friend of yours! Just look her over and not get too hands-on with her!"

Dallas took a step closer to the doctor. His footstep's hollow echo jarred the she-Cloaker's attention.

"I understand, but no, my ethics come first."

"Screw your ethics. Look over the bitch so she can be out of our hair and yours."

Mr. Stockton was bald, but it still hurt as an inappropriate prod towards him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Steele, but it's these ethics that allowed me to help anyone, including you and your group. I could refuse you and you could all fend for yourselves."

"Yeah right Stock, you were paid to help us by us. But do you really want to help people or just get paid doing so?"

Mr. Stockton's shoulders sagged. Suddenly, he appeared to be twice as tired as the entire establishment itself.

"I told you before, I just need the money-I mean…use the money to pay for the-uh…no. We can't be distracted by this. This discussion will get old before we know it, so let me get my work done, so you can get yours done."

"You can't keep us."

"I'm not, it'll be just half an hour longer."

Dallas's furrowed eyes and hands followed the shape of Mr. Stockton escaping his grasp, but he couldn't stop him from doing his job.

It was twenty minutes ago that Mr. Stockton had left the building. The group waited until the sound of a coasting car came by.

'Good we're not compromised yet. Let's see where he's going."

The crew looked at the hidden weapons they had brought, and with trained silence in their steps, Hoxton and Clover moved first towards the exit, Dallas and Houston watching over them and their captive. Hoxton and Clover took the sides of the entrance they came through, and waited. The steps they heard first, a distinct set of two people on the asphalt. It was possible it could be a trap.

Hoxton grinned to Clover with a smirk in his eyes, but Clover gestured for inaction, and slowly slid a door open a crack. With her naked eye, she could see Mr. Stockton, and someone else. She held up one finger and then another to Hoxton. He in turn rested his finger on the trigger, waiting for the time to come.

Clover shut the door and motioned to fall back. Hoxton stood still watching Clover walk back to the examination room, before falling out of hiding and walking back as well. As soon as he made it to the room, Clover quickly holstered her weapon.

"It's a nice lass out there with him. Let's put away our guns for this."

Dallas, Houston, and Hoxton didn't look convinced, but clicks on safeties and fabrics being stretched were soon heard. Then they were back to acting natural. The door's grainy sliding was soon heard, and in walked the doctor himself, along with his associate carrying a suitcase. The woman, stern in her expressions yet harried in her other features, stopped in front of them in the examination room.

"Brandon? Are these…the people that you wanted help with?"

"Yes, Karen. One of them needs a physical, and I'm not a woman to do it."

'Karen' looked at Clover's civilian attire of a scarf and 2nd rate blouse and scrunched her eyes in slight distaste.

"This is who needs it?"

Dallas walked forward and answered, so to keep Mr. Stockton's eyebrows from warping upwards any further.

"No. Someone else needs it actually, over here behind us. And excuse the mess, it's the best Mr. Stockton had to offer for treating us every now then."

"And you are…?"

"Winds. Nathan Winds."

Dallas then turned to the others, his hands raised like Aldstone's showcasing new furniture or newly cleaned clothes.

"Let me introduce you to my associates. This is my brother Jason Winds, him Mr. Bens, and his significant other Ms. Aines."

The rest of the crew was bewildered by the new suggestion of new aliases by Dallas, but their surprise was already masked by the arrival of Mr. Stockton's aide. His associate in question, seemingly accepting their fake names with mild confusion, then looked to the 'chair' behind them.

"Wait. Is that who needs me?"

"Uh. Yes. That is…uh, Sarah! Sarah Bines! Who needs your help, if you kindly can."

Karen looked at Dallas with a noticeable 'are you joking' eyebrow and backwards head cock of total revulsion. The tattered woman in the 2nd rate mental asylum chair was considerably out of touch compared to these people. Clover leapt at this disbelief and silenced it with her story.

"Please help her doc, she was my friend! I spent all my life with her since middle school! I only wished the best for her. Then it all went wrong! We got into an accident and we don't know anyone in Washington who can work with our price except Mr. Stock!"

Mr. Stockton's associate eyed the she-Cloaker with slight disbelief. Was this really what Brandon told her that she was going to be doing a check-up on? She wasn't supposed to be this…mess. There was expected to be some college girl who got the wrong end of a crash, not some unrecognized urchin.

Somehow, this didn't surprise her. The man was far too kind for his line of work to be stepping into this line of work, no redundancy intended. He was adamant at some point to keep life support active for a patient even if his relatives did request on his behalf for him to die. The anguish she witnessed days later when the patient finally woke up from his concussion was nearly unbearable.

Now this was going to be a similar occasion she would have her own controversial role in. It didn't look like the woman was in a concussion with her eyes still open and moving, rather frantically to note, but around the same stakes if these were really poor people. Brandon expected her now of all times to do some work she herself was above from the very beginning? What was he thinking?! The nerve of his ought to be fixed by some point after this. Was her bag just expected to spill open with tools to fix up the woman?

The woman in the dirty chair looked at her with those eyes. They were so…green. Karen looked to the others. They also looked at her with their damned wanting expressions. She swallowed what she thought was her pride as a doctor of society as she prepared to address these people what she intended to do. She was going to regret this but she knew it was realistic.