A/N: Okay, so I've tried something different with this chapter. However - there are several trigger warnings, including ( implied ) prostitution, along with ( implied ) murder, if you read between the lines. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. For those not keen on the subjects, I recommend you skip the chapter, and wait for tomorrow's update.
"You're expensive," Clarence Ashworth says, a flirtatious skip in his step keeping him beside the 'woman' leading him down the corridor of the inn.
Akabane Karma doesn't break stride. "You called for me specifically, as I recall."
He doesn't know how Nagisa Shiota can do it – dress as the other gender as casually as breathing. Even though it's his first time in dress and makeup, he already wants to rip the damn thing off. A thick layer of makeup has helped to round and fill out the angles of his face ( he isn't sure if he wants to know how End of Perversion has learnt how to apply makeup with such skill ), and a false fall of mousy brown hair tumbles down his back, held back by sparkling diamond clips. End of Perversion and Womanizing Bastard had spent the afternoon primping him up for the evening's festivities ( while Home Base had pretended to gag and President Ikemen sighed heavily ), like some real-life Barbie doll. They'd settled on a sexy-but-in-an-off-beat-bohemian-way-with-straps-just-falling-off-the-shoulder-just-so-Marni camisole, a tiny denim Earnest Sewn miniskirt, and a sparkly Rick Owens cashmere wrap. Four inch Alaia heels glitter on his feet, making walking a real pain in the ass. Karma will never be able to figure out how women can actually teeter on these strappy death traps all day long.
Floral patterned runners pad their footsteps. Karma has selected the most private room, the end unit on the outlying wing of the property. The quaint bed-and-breakfast, a few miles from the heart of Singapore, has low occupancy for July. Low occupancy is good. They're going to be making some noise. A sadistic smile flickers across Karma's face.
Ashworth speeds up, trying to get a glimpse of his face. Karma is careful to keep a curtain of chocolate curls between him and his client. After checking in, he'd let Ashworth in through a side entrance like they'd agreed. As a politician climbing his way up the ladder, he can't be seen here. Not with the likes of a 'call-girl' like Karma, anyway.
Karma shoves through the door into the room, which has a bland color palette of beige and brown, with a centerpiece of Vanda 'Miss Joaquim' orchids taking pride of place. A four poster bed dominates the space. The sliding door to the bathroom has been rolled back to reveal a copper soaking tub.
The copper tub is why Speccy Four Eyes has selected the place.
The duffel clanks on the floor boards when he slides it off his shoulder. Karma clicks the wooden blinds shut, and then yanks off the bedding and smooths the rubber sheet over the bare mattress. With an innocent smile, Karma addresses his client. "Take off your pants and spread those cheeks!"
He complies a bit too eagerly and Karma's smile grows a little strained. Ashworth has the build of a former athlete, soft around the middle. "We need to specify a safe word. Mine is 'cauliflower'."
"That's – er . . ."
"Anything goes, except for pegging and fire play."
"Uh huh," Karma hums absently, not really paying attention.
He has to resist the urge to shudder. Next time, he'll let Womanizing Bastard deal with this. Ashworth lowers himself onto the bed. Karma secures his arms and legs to the four posts using flexi cuffs. Before his client can talk his ear off again, Karma shoves a ball gag into his mouth. His face seems to bulge around the red ball, and Karma, very pointedly, keeps his eyes fixed on the walls, the carpet, on anything but this middle aged man's chimichanga.
Karma unzips the bag.
He comes up with surgical gloves.
Around the rubber ball fixed firmly over his mouth, Ashworth looks puzzled, but game.
From inside the bag, Karma's phone erupts with the chorus of Sugababes' "Get Sexy", and he frowns. 'Cause I'm too sexy in this club . . . So sexy it hurts . . . That's President Ikemen's ringtone, but Karma has told him specifically that he's got everything under control. With only Home Base as the getaway driver, Karma has asked President Ikemen to stay at the hotel with the rest of the gang, even going so far as to confidently say that he'd wrap the mission up in ten minutes. Karma checks the clock on his phone. It's been eleven. Damn.
First he lets himself get sidetracked – with a rival agent, no less! – and now he's slipping up. Akabane Karma going soft. He'll never hear the end of it.
Against his better judgment, he answers the phone, holding up a blue-latex sheathed finger. "President Ikemen?"
"Half of Middle Two, I am so sorry –" President Ikemen sounds frazzled, but his voice cuts off just as quickly.
"Why didn't you tell me you met a hot chick?" End of Perversion practically wails, and Karma yanks the phone away from his ear, waiting until the level of sound has reached an acceptable decibel.
" – Yeah dude, 'bros before hoes', remember?" Womanizing Bastard is saying, a fact which Karma finds ironic. "You can't just up and kiss a girl you've known for all of five minutes!"
"Says the honey-pot of the team - " Karma tries to speak up, but is swallowed up by End of Perversion's obnoxiously loud voice.
" – Did you at least get her number?" End of Perversion interjects eagerly.
"I'm hanging up~"
"Wait, wait." There is a sound of a tussle on the other end, right before President Ikemen snatches his phone back, panting with the effort. "Half of Middle Two, has the package been neutralized?"
Karma begins unloading his supplies from the duffel back and sets them next to the industrial blender. Hack saw. Hand axe. Safety goggles.
Over on the bed, Ashworth makes muffled noises.
"Just about."
"Da Densest is furious," President Ikemen says. "You failed the mission and you got taken out by a honey pot. I don't think toying around with this target is wise."
Karma falls silent, biting his lower lip. He busies himself with taking out a long black roll of construction sheeting, places it on the floor and gives it a nudge with his heel. It rolls smoothly across the carpeted floor, leaving a wide expanse of protective cover.
"– She stabbed you, Half of Middle Two. She kissed you and –"
"She's not a honey pot," Karma says at last, with a weak laugh. "She's played all of us for a fool, President Ikemen."
Carefully, he extracts from the duffel two jugs of concentrated hydrofluoric acid, effect at dissolving flesh and bones. Karma makes a mental note to thank Speccy Four-Eyes when he gets back. It has to be stored in plastic, since it eats through everything from concrete to porcelain. Hydrofluoric acid solution is a contact-poison that causes deep, initially painless burns which results in permanent tissue death. It also interferes with calcium metabolism, which means that exposure to it can and does cause cardiac arrest and death. Contact with as little as 25 square inches of skin can kill, and that is what Karma is gunning for. The copper tub would react with the acid, but it would just come out shinier, all the oxide stains eaten away.
The sounds of panicked thrashing carry over from the bed.
"I – What are you even –"
"You weren't there." Karma says simply. "You didn't see it. One moment she was a little mouse, the next she was a snake. She's deadly, President Ikemen. She's a talented assassin, one who can conceal her bloodlust with a smile to set everyone at ease. She might be even better than Da Densest in that aspect."
He remembers the blood-lust radiating from the small girl, like a cloud of the most delicious perfume, unleashed only when she'd driven the point of her dagger his abdomen just beneath his ribs – with that sunny, serene smile, as though she was on her way to school, or to a friend's house; instead of pulling one over a world-renowned assassin. The first time they'd met, Nagisa Shiota hadn't stood out much – she'd reminded him of a mouse, with nothing note-worthy, aside from her well-placed move to shoot randomly into the underbrush and now he'd paid the price for it. She'd captured the attention of everyone in the room at their last encounter, with a killer outfit and a body that spoke of hours of training.
Himself included.
A thick vein pulses in Ashworth's neck. He tries to say something through the ball gag, but Karma has secured the straps good and tight.
When President Ikemen next speaks, he sounds resigned. "I got it. I'll take care of this issue. You just finish your mission and get back so we can see if your stitches have ripped. Try not to get stabbed again, Half of Middle Two."
At his tone, Karma can't help but wonder what exactly he'll be up to. On one hand, he wants to return as fast as he can to ditch the outfit. The thought of having a little fun with his prey brings a smile to his lips. Karma picks up two tubes of mustard and wasabi and starts for the bed.
"Gotcha."