The sun dipped down toward the horizon, the sky illuminated in an orange glow and casting long shadows from the west, the street lamps overhead flickering on in the dying light. For the bad reputation given to the East, and while it held true for many sectors, it was far from a mass ghetto it was believed to be. Neighbourhoods nearer to the wall that split the empire in half fared much worse than those farther out, the Nazi border patrols little more than a gang of hooligans and harassers. The wall split half of Poland and Slovakia, skirting past Hungary and carving out a portion of Romania. From there to the Urals stretched East Germania; little more than numerous city-states that were both largely ignored and tyrannically oppressed, home of those deemed asocial and undesirable by the Nazi high command.
The sidewalk was all but deserted, the stern-faced brunette taking an evening stroll before curfew. He virtually owned this city, his money having rebuilt the bomb-ridden remains following the war, repaving roads and sidewalks, placing in the street lamps; his German citizenship protecting the people, most of whom were political enemies of the state. Turning off the main street towards a small white house, it blended in with the rest; a little flower garden lining the path to the door. Save for the small sign in the front window of a purple palm with an eye surrounded by astrological symbols, it was a perfectly regular home.
Halfway up the pavement, the door opened. "You're troubled, yet you're still so slow. I've been waiting for you all day," the pretty blonde huffed, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the door frame, dressed in a plain white blouse and green skirt that reached her ankles, she looked more mature than her childish pout let on.
"That's what happens when you become an adult, Laura." Roderich stepped past her, removing his coat only to have the girl take it and hang it beside the door. "If you have been waiting all day, then you already know what I'm going to ask."
"I do, but I thought it'd be best to sit before discussing business. I also just made tea, so make yourself comfy, okay?" the blonde smiled, leading him partway to the sitting room before going off to the next room, Roderich hearing the shrill whistle of the kettle.
He had known Laura less than three years when she had been rescued by one of his mercenaries, nothing more than a scrawny child with a hefty reputation behind her; the Oracle. Her home was plain, decorated with fresh flowers and elementary paintings she had done herself, none of the symbols and icons of most fortune tellers, not even a crystal ball just for show. The chairs were simple, red floral patterns adorning the cushions, set before a plain wooden coffee table on a coarse red and white rug to protect the wood floor. The blonde returned, placing a cup on his side of the table on a saucer with a slice of cake.
"I thought you had just made tea."
"I also said I have been waiting on you all day," she sassed, plopping into her own seat in a less than dignified manner, "You want to know about this new client, don't ya?" She sipped her tea, not really waiting for a reply. "There is nothing to worry about, this is fate's design."
Roderich frowned, amethyst eyes narrowing at the answer, "That's all you have to say?"
"Essentially. I baked the cake knowing you wouldn't like the answer, but you should be more trusting of those around you."
"If I lived my life in such a reckless manner, I would have been dead long ago," he countered.
The Belgian sighed, setting her cup down and leaning forward, deep emerald irises boring into him with such an intense gaze it was unnerving. "I am your business adviser, so I need you to trust me; and I am telling you to trust Antonio. The two of you are very similar, this distrust is as though you're jumping at your reflection. This is merely the start of something. Something big; even bigger than your little assassin business."
Their eyes remained locked, him trapped in the unending stare until she finally blinked, ending whatever spell she had placed over him, every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. "Did you have to do that?"
"You wouldn't have listened if I didn't," the girl chirped, not at all remorseful, "Now eat your cake, you can't stay here all night."
"I pay your rent."
"And I baked you cake. Chop chop."
"Dammit," the man hissed, running a hand through golden strands.
"Something wrong boss?" the strawberry blonde chirped from across the room, looking not at all concerned by the venom in the former's voice.
"We appear to have lost contact with Carlos in the East," a third voice interjected, "He never made contact at the allotted time."
"Ehh? You wouldn't suppose he'd make a run for it. He wouldn't be that stupid."
The blonde leaned back, looking out the window of the dim room as he did so, the blanket of night having fallen over the empire, the west lit in the twinkle of lamps until it suddenly vanished into a void of darkness as he gazed over the wall, grinding his teeth in frustration. "He either attempted a run or he was sniffed out and we've underestimated this General Winter. As of now it is best to assume he was exposed and we need to focus on the safety of our remaining two rats. Even if they can no longer exist within the organization, they can at least tell us everything they know."
"Indeed. There was reports of a shooting earlier this week that were then censored by the local government in the area. The vague description of the victim could have possibly matched that of Carlos Machado but unless we perform our own investigation, there is no way to be sure."
"And by now the evidence would have been eliminated by sympathetic groups and the body would most certainly have been cremated."
"Aw man, are you serious, don't the police over there even know the basics of handling a crime scene?"
"Not if it doesn't benefit them, Mikkel. It is a cesspool of corruption and anarchy since being separated from the heart of the empire." The blonde stood, standing before the window with hands clasped behind his back. "Abel."
The third voice of the room, a sandy blonde with a scar over his right brow, exhaled deeply, "We will soon have our answer if this was a random unfortunate event or if our foothold within the rebel organization has been dislodged, but we can also use this as a means of testing the General's range."
"Is it worth it?" Mikkel intoned, lounging across the plush sofa across the room, propping his cheek on one hand as the other swatted the air flippantly, "If we remove Boyan and he wasn't already found out, we blow his cover completely."
"H'll p'nick."
"I agree," Abel spoke directly, his eyes never leaving the blonde at the window, "No doubt Boyan will expose himself. Best to use him for what we can. If we give him the illusion of protection he'll most likely give up everything he knows and at the same time we can test the RNM."
"Then get it done."
Pulsating lights of blues and reds shrouded the room in a hazy indigo as it mingled with the smoke that hovered in the stale air like a fog. The smell of tobacco and vinegar and sweat mixed with the psychedelic flashing of lights and the deep thumping music that reverberated through his bones, it was as though his entire body was being assaulted and yet this was what he considered relaxing. Such activities were officially nonexistent in the East, yet here they were in the middle of the night in an old war bunker converted into a skeevy nightclub. Alcoholic bottles lined the back wall behind the bar and make-shift booths were constructed of mismatched sofas and tables.
It wasn't so much the drugs that calmed him, though he could feel a secondary effect from them as he inhaled the fumes, or even the music or lights, but just the way it all blended together. Taking another swig of beer from his glass, he briefly wondered why. He had grown up in a quiet home, orderly and clean that smelt of washed linens and edelweiss, and the only music he had even known was the gentle tune of strings and woodwind; a far cry from this dim pit of debauchery. Vibrations against his hip pulled him back.
Faulty records have caused a delay in projects, currently investigating the matter, all assignments are postponed.
Earlier
Stepping into the office space leading towards his personal room, tired from the journey and irritated at how pointless it had been, Roderich was ready to unwind. The angry brunet with the wayward curl standing in front of him, arms crossed and red-faced, was the only obstacle between him and his dear piano.
"Is there something the matter Lovino?"
Just as he finished, the phone in the office to their right trilled, the visible vein in the Italian's forehead throbbing anew, "Where the hell have you been!? That bastard has been calling nonstop!"
"Of course he has," Roderich sighed, "I got it. You can go to your room Lovino."
"Damn right I can! I was technically off work an hour ago and here I am still answering your damn phones!" Lovino growled savagely, though he looked more calm than he had just seconds prior, grabbing his jacket and disappearing up the stairs to the upper rooms that Roderich had been looking forward to climbing, angry swears in mixed German and Italian floating down until he was simply too far away to be heard.
With an inward groan, Roderich honestly contemplated just unplugging the thing until tomorrow, still uncomfortable with the arrangement, but knowing the person involved, he'd simply call all night. As the phone shrieked for attention for the umpteenth time, he snatched the cursed thing off the holder.
"Lovino~! I knew if I called enough you'd eventu-."
"Again, I ask you to refrain from sexually harassing my secretary. It's bad enough that all he does when he isn't working is complain, I don't need an angry Italian added to my list of headaches."
"Oh, it's you."
An awkward silence fell over the two as Roderich clenched and relaxed his jaw, "I was the one you were trying to call in the first place, so either get to the point or I'm blacklisting your calls."
"Oh, right. I got the information on the other target. No picture this time unfortunately. I hope Gil can still pull it off."
"He can, he's my best for a reason."
"Yeah. By the way, you didn't go to see Laura, did you?"
"And what if I did, Antonio?" the Austrian quipped, folding his free hand under his elbow that held the phone, leaning against the desk, "You know I don't do my business like this, I like knowing who my clients are; none of this middleman rubbish."
"I told you to trust me on this," the Spaniard practically whined through the phone, "These people are really important clients for me too. And I've known them for quite a long while, just like you. You need to trust me."
Trust. How he hated that word. "Just send me the details."
There were no such thing as friends among criminals, yet despite how much Roderich denied allowing others in, he had his own strong network built on mutual trust. Gilbert was one of those rare few creatures that the Austrian would ever call friend. And while he knew neither of them would admit it, they were quite close as well. Perhaps it wasn't a typical friendship, originally built on convenience than mutual interests, but the fact that it had spanned over two decades was testament to how little that really mattered.
The contacts irritated his eyes, making them sting behind the sunglasses. White hair tinted yellow, he despised having to go to the West side. Everything was so rigid, orderly, he felt like a sore thumb even when he was very much aware that no one here had any care to pay him mind. They all lived in bubbles, oblivious, while in the East they would have eyed anyone for just the way they walked or how close they stood to others.
He watched them from the modest window of a surprisingly modest building. They all looked like ants, drones on a mission to work to survive, only to die serving a system that never benefited them in the first place.
"How's your sister," Gilbert spoke, hearing the barely audible click of a door closing behind him.
"That is none of your business," a small blonde barked, arms crossing his chest indignantly.
Gilbert turned, pulling off the shades to greet the other properly with a smirk. Vash Zwingli had once been the sole western operative in Roderich's business when he had first started, but the blonde had built his own empire.
"... She's well."