Chapter 3: The Repercussions of Death

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" asked Garcia as Wolf cocked his Desert Eagle and peered out the window. Below, in the courtyard, he spotted four armed men attempting to hide. They would enter the estate and try to kill the Lovelace family. Though Garcia and his maids had done nothing wrong, this man who now presided over the Black Marchers sounded as though he did not like loose ends. He was probably sending his people to kill the residents of the estate before they could warn Wolf. That didn't go according to plan.

"Of course I am," Wolf replied, almost offended by the question. To Garcia, four armed soldiers was a lot. Roberta was probably the only person that came to mind when he questioned himself about who could face off against multiple enemies. "Now get down. These fuckers aren't going to be too careful about where they're shooting." With that, he descended the stairs and gently unlocked the door. Just as he had anticipated, the Black Marchers opened fire immediately. Their devastating weapons tore the wood and glass of the door to shreds in seconds. When they all simultaneously stopped to reload, Wolf took his chance. He jumped out from cover and gunned down two of the mercenaries. They were wearing Kevlar, which would have stopped any normal bullets on any other occasion. But Wolf recognised the bulletproof vests immediately. His shots caught the two men in the throats and knees, both crippling and killing them instantly. As the remaining two prepared to open fire, he ducked down behind the stone fountain. The barrage that followed smashed the fountain the pieces, just barely missing the assassin. He heard one of them reload. That was smart. It was an attempt to lure him out of cover while the mercenary that had not been reloading would kill him. He did not fall for such mediocre tricks so easily. Instead, he plucked up a piece of the fountain and lobbed it over behind the two men. Once they turned around at the noise of the stone dropping, Wolf popped up and shot them both dead. Had their clunky helmets not restricted their view, they probably would have seen the chunk of stone fly past them. The others came rushing out to meet him. Roberta was no longer in her wheelchair. While she was bound to it most of the time, she was well able to walk on her prosthetic leg when the occasion called for it.

"Roberta wasn't lying when she said you were good," Garcia praised the assassin, both shocked and saddened by the carnage surrounding him.

"We can't stay here, Young Master," Fabiola urged him. "They know where we are. We must flee this place."

"This is our home!" Garcia pleaded. "We can't just abandon it." Wolf holstered his gun once he was sure there were no more enemies in the area.

"Garcia, I know you're a bit down about your fountain and all," he half-joked, "but in an hour these pricks are going to send a team to investigate why their friends haven't reported in. We can't be here when they arrive." Garcia was stubborn. He was unwilling to leave his home, as much as he needed to. But it was not wise to argue, given the circumstances. They had to leave. There was no alternative.

"Where will we go?" he asked, saddened. None of them said anything for a few moments.

"Roanapur," Wolf suggested, images of Lagoon Company entering his head. If they could make their way to the Thai city, Lagoon would surely have no qualms about helping them.

"That city is wouldn't be my first choice," Roberta told them, disgust evident in her voice.

"It's probably more dangerous there than it is here," Fabiola claimed. Wolf frowned.

"I doubt it," he told her, absolutely certain that these mercenaries were not to be trifled with. "Look, Garcia, we don't have a lot of options here. When these fuckers are dealt with, I'll even come back here with you to help rebuild." That wasn't entirely true. Wolf had no desire to help the young boy rebuild his home. But he did not desire to see him killed by the Black Marchers either. "But right now, we have to leave. And I can't think of anywhere else we could go. Call up Lagoon Company, tell them you'll hire them to protect you. Hell, even use half of what you were going to pay me to hire them." That was rather generous of the assassin. Normally, he would not be too eager to give up potential profit. Still, the damage had been done. He couldn't exactly take it back. Left with no other options, Garcia made the call. They were packed and out of the estate in fifteen minutes. Booking passage to Roanapur was easy enough. They could not afford the luxury of going through an actual airport. Instead, Wolf used an old but trustworthy plane pilot who specialised in smuggling people in and out of different countries. Lagoon Company would have done the same job if Venezuela was closer to Thailand. The plane arrived at Roanapur in the evening time. Dutch drove up to meet them on his own. He rolled down the window.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, extending his arm. Wolf clasped it with a resounding smack as he shook his old colleague's hand. "How've you been, Wolf?"

"Busy, apparently," he joked, gesturing to the Lovelace family. "Good to see you."

"You too, my man," he said before saluting the others. "Garcia. Long time no see. I hope you're keeping out of trouble."

"Trouble found us, I'm afraid." Dutch smiled.

"So I hear. Hop on in." They did as they were asked, packing their bags in the trunk. Dutch took off towards the apartment. This was a strange situation but one that felt awfully familiar for all the wrong reasons. The presence of Wolf by his side, Roberta's re-emergence after so long and the sense of danger on the horizon all culminated to give Dutch a strange sense of nostalgia.

"So we agreed on what was discussed?" Dutch piped up. Garcia had called again during the plane journey to finalise details. Dutch was always one to get the nitty gritty out of the way from the get go. "Payment up front?"

"Like I promised," Garcia agreed. "I have your money in the trunk. These guys will be coming after us."

"Yeah, I get that," Dutch wheezed. He was all too familiar with his client's enemies hunting Lagoon Company down. Again, that played on the feeling of nostalgia he was currently experiencing. "So, you want to tell me how-"

"In the road!" Fabiola yelled. Dutch came to an abrupt stop. There was a man standing mere feet from the front of the car, positioned right in the centre of the road. Wearing camouflage combat trousers, black leather boots, an armoured vest and black gloves, he made quite the intimidating figure. There was a grenade launcher in his hand, also. This did not look good.

"Easy," Wolf told them. "I'll have a word with him." Before they could protest, he was out of the car and walking towards the stranger. Wolf only noticed now this man wore a strange but ornate breathing mask. "I hear you've been looking for me." When the man spoke, he spoke with a strange mix of English and Scottish accents. The mask, too, distorted his voice somewhat.

"So the Wolf finally came after the scent," he mocked. "But this time, you are the prey."