Chapter 1: A New Order
That familiar smell of cigar smoke and alcohol filled Pius's nose as he gently pushed open the doors of the bar. He suspected those inside would immediately turn to look at him, given the less than spotless reputation of this particular bar's regular patrons. It wasn't often a priest frequented a bar on this side of town, after all. But nobody paid him any notice, save for the bartender. If the sound of voices was anything to go by, there was a meeting of some sort taking place. Indeed, as Pius crossed the threshold, he spotted six men with their backs to the door. Five of them wore different variations of the same tacky suit. Their hair, too, was greasy and untamed and they all seemed to sport jewellery. It looked as though five of the exact same man had been replicated and placed in random seats. The sixth man in the middle, cross-legged and sitting with his chin resting on his clasped hands, wore a uniform more befitting of a soldier. He was the one currently speaking. Across from these six degenerates sat a man who looked as out of place as ever. For starters, he, too, wore a suit, though it was blatantly of much higher quality. Its grey fabric was spotless and the white shirt beneath looked as though it had only just been washed. The man wearing said suit was clean shaven and had short, tidy hair. He looked up from the other men once Pius entered, smirking slightly before returning his gaze to where it had been moments earlier. Pius strolled up to the bar and adjusted his sunglasses before taking a seat not far from the apparent meeting that was taking place.
"You lost, Father?" the bartender asked. Pius knew who owned this bar. He also knew that five of the men at the table to his left had once been under their employment. The bartender was too, for that matter. They did not take kindly to strangers showing their faces here. Pius knew what kind of things happened to people so foolish. Then again, it seemed like there were more pressing matters to attend to than a nomadic priest stepping foot on their turf.
"Just passing through," he murmured, not looking up from the bar. The bartender glanced at his outfit, the priest's uniform.
"I've never seen you around before. You sure there aren't any other bars you'd rather drink at?" The question was worded amicably, but it had been asked in a tone that very much suggested Pius was not welcome here.
"I know your superiors wouldn't take kindly to you letting me stay here," he began. "You usually scare unwanted guests away, don't you? But I assure you, I'll be no trouble. All I ask is for one drink. Then I'll be on my way. You won't see me again." The bartender did not look convinced, though that seemingly hadn't angered him either. "Besides…considering those men over there haven't been thrown out yet, I'm guessing one more undesirable won't cause you any more grief." The man firmly placed his hands down on the bar and leaned in towards Pius.
"You've made your point. Now what are you having?" Pius wasn't sure that would actually work, but he did know that his earlier observation was correct. Those five men in tacky suits had once been subordinates of this bar's owner. Once. As of recently, they no longer answered to the cartel. By that logic, the bartender should not have allowed them to stay. And yet, they had apparently been allowed to stage an entire meeting without issue. Pius suspected the bartender had either been bribed to keep his mouth shut or he had been friends with some of those men. Nevertheless, he did not care that much. He would be allowed to remain providing he caused no trouble and kept to himself.
"Scotch," he answered finally. "Neat." Once the bartender left to get the drink, Pius focused on listening to what the other men were saying, the reason he was actually here. The bartender's intolerance had caused him to miss some of what had been said, but nothing too important, by the sounds of things.
"You've got balls," the man in military fatigues said then. He had apparently not noticed the priest yet. "I'll give you that. Credit where credit is due, huh? But what makes you think we're interested in this? You called us here, remember? I figured you'd actually have something to offer. We don't do people favours, pal." The man across from him adjusted his tie and smirked.
"As I've told you repeatedly Mister Hawke, my employer was adamant that we meet. He's been eager to approach you and your people with this matter. If you are willing to hear me out, I promise you…you won't regret it."
"I wish he'd make a fucking point already," one of the other men growled. That provoked chuckles from his friends. Except for this 'Hawke.' He was not amused by any of this, only impatient.
"I'm gonna have to share Raul's sentiment, friend," he said calmly. "Unless you pique my interest in the next three minutes, we're walking out that door. You do not want to find out what happens to people who waste our time." The man in the suit grew serious, then, and laid his hands down flat on the table. His movements were almost robotic, like he never knew how to sit or where to place his arms.
"I do apologise for what must seem like a waste of everyone's time," he told them. "Allow me to begin anew." The bartender returned and slammed the glass of scotch down in front of Pius before walking away without another word. "My name is Emmanuel. I represent a third party who has an interest in your organisation. My employer believes we can help one another. I have come to believe that there is someone you are hunting, is that not correct? A hunt, I might add, that your former employers have seen fit to abandon." The men fell silent at that. Emmanuel had apparently hit the nail on the head. Hawke lowered his hands and leaned forward in his seat.
"How the hell do you know that?"
"How I know it is of no importance here, I assure you," Emmanuel told him slyly. "What may interest you to know is that my employer wishes to help you and your people with this endeavour." Hawke raised his eyebrows. He had clearly been expecting this to be a waste of time, but Emmanuel managed to tell him just enough to keep him interested.
"Your boss wants to help us take that maniac out?"
"That is correct. If I'm not mistaken, the Colombian cartel who, until very recently, gave your five companions their orders, have decided this individual is not worth pursuing anymore. You, however, are not someone I believe was ever associated with the cartel. I do not recognise your face, nor did the bartender when you arrived. So, the question remains, are you indeed a pawn of your target's former masters?"
"No," Hawke answered immediately. "I mean…I used to be. For a long time. But they've lost their way. Back in the day, they would have done anything to hunt one of their own down. You don't just leave. They're not exactly fans of loose ends. But they decided they'd rather fight a losing battle than focus on strengthening themselves. Even now, you think they tried to have me hunted down? No, 'course they didn't. Too much trouble." Emmanuel smiled widely. It seemed as though that was what he wanted to hear.
"I see. But you still want to see this hunt through to the end, don't you? Correct me if I'm wrong, but it was you who formed this new age hunting party, isn't it? A, how shall I put it, 'death-squad' dedicated to this endeavour." For the first time since Pius entered the bar, Hawke looked worried. Emmanuel's ramblings, for whatever reason, had him spooked. He didn't like this. Before, he was in control. Emmanuel's very life hung in the balance. His welfare depended on him making this meeting worthwhile. But now, Hawke seemed worried, even scared, of laying a finger on the man.
"You know a hell of a lot for some well-dressed stranger I'd never heard of before." There was only silence for a few seconds. That did nothing to ease the tension. "I formed the New Order. We came together because we shared a common goal. And our former masters were too chickenshit to do what it takes to survive in this world. But the hunt? That's only the start. The death of that stray dog is our main objective, but it doesn't end there. We will be remembered for our accomplishments." Emmanuel openly laughed at that, all the while looking as if his body was unfamiliar with the action. He was not derisive or even arrogant regarding Hawke's words. No, he was excited. Pius could tell by that glint in his eyes.
"Well said, indeed! I must say, this is shaping up to be a worthwhile proposition after all. But let us return to the task at hand." He grew quiet then, for just a moment. His eyes locked with Hawke's, he gave him that signature smirk once again before clasping his hands together in front of him and slouching forward. "Rosarita Cisneros. The Bloodhound of Florencia. Quite a formidable specimen of a woman. And your quarry in this hunt, as it turns out. Tell me, how much of a threat do you think she will be to you once you finally go after her?" The question seemed fairly standard at first, but Pius knew better. He knew Emmanuel possessed knowledge Hawke had clearly not been privy to. This would be an interesting revelation.
"You have no idea," Hawke said quietly, his voice almost cracking with anticipation. "She is the most fearsome killer on this planet, have no doubt. She was a legend, a myth. Some people thought she was a story our superiors used to tell us to keep us in line. I know my time as part of the F.A.R.C. was full of stories about her. But we're prepared to take her down. We've been preparing for this for almost a year now. We have a full combat unit ready to go, with several more being trained daily. Our plan is being formulated as we speak. When the time comes to execute it, the Bloodhound will die." Emmanuel was pink with glee. He clearly knew more about the Bloodhound than he was letting on. It seemed Hawke's plan would see the light of day earlier than expected.
"Well, that is impressive. But I do find it an arbitrary oversight that you were never told just how over prepared you are." Hawke frowned at that.
"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying." Emmanuel chuckled.
"Oh, well, of course, allow me to fill you in. The maid barely survived her previous encounter with your old comrades, Mister Hawke."
"The way I heard it, that unit was never heard from again."
"Of course, you are correct," Emmanuel told him. "However, they managed to insert themselves into a very delicate situation. Rosarita, or Roberta, as she is known by her peers, was in pursuit of an American military team at the time. Needless to say, their training and combat prowess reduced Roberta to a shadow of her former self. It quite literally cost her an arm and a leg to wipe that unit out." He instantly erupted with laughter at his own joke before composing himself with unsettling urgency. "She has since come out of retirement, but it would happen that her encounters with several dangerous enemies since have effectively broken her. The Bloodhound is no more, I'm afraid. Only a frightened, neutered puppy just waiting for death." Hawke swallowed. Not only was he trying to make sense of the fact that he never knew about this, but the intensity and once again far-reaching knowledge of this Emmanuel were very unsettling.
"You're telling me-"
"Yes. Roberta has been wheelchair-bound for the better part of a month. She will struggle to put up a fight. The time to act is now, my new business partner. If Roberta is to die by your hand, I will need you to follow a very specific set of instructions. Instructions given to me by my employer."
