Hitman - Instinct
"Hitman," - Rock's Thoughts during Instincts
"Hitman" - Enemy speaking during Instincts
"Hitman" - Communications
CH. III: Caged Birds
Starting…
Five of Twenty-Two Present…
Loading….
"So, you're the buyer?"
"Indeed I am. I hope everything-"
"Obozhdat! You promised trade. Show Me!"
"Be patient." *Click* "See? It's right here."
Begin Transmission….
Death: This shouldn't be for debate.
Death: The Dove Protocol has always been utilized by our numbers.
Death: Trusting our secrets to these people violates our time-old society.
"Fine. This will do for starting payment. Give it."
"Hmm…I didn't realize there was an initial remittance for your products."
"Well," Spit lands near his shoes. "The services we offer are top of the line and worth more than our competitors, so we like to keep our wares at the top."
"To attract potential investors."
"You understand, then?"
"More than you'd think."
"Then give me what you owe."
"After you show me what I'm paying for."
"Fine. This way."
Next Transmission…
Devil: Oh, Death. Always the old-timer. You've gotta go with the times.
Devil: Things are changing. Moving against the flow means we'll be carried away by the raging currents. To keep our customers satisfied, we must adapt.
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Next Transmission…
Temperance: Besides, the World has already given this plan its approval.
Temperance: Roanapur is a powder keg.
Temperance: Volatile, Chaotic, Uncontrollable.
Temperance: While there have been assignments, a suitable stronghold has never been established.
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"Come on, you."
"*Whispers* Is there an issue?"
"Not really, just more time. Keep the target talking."
Next Transmission…
Death: And it should stay that way. As you stated, Roanapur is too turbulent for The Agency. Even Ergastulum has some measure of order, but Roanapur? No, this shouldn't even be considered. Cooperating with criminals from that cesspool is simply out of the question.
"So, everything I've requested has been handled with the utmost care."
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"You don't worry. The merchandise was treated well. Has to be with this kind of money on the line."
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"That's more like it."
Next Transmission…
Devil: For you, perhaps. We, however, have found that the city could be our diamond in the rough. All it needs is a good polish. And we already have our best operatives on the job.
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"Almost there."
Next Transmission…
Death: Those Brats!? Their disobedience is nearly critical as their Handler! Constantly bending our rules when it benefits them most. Rejecting most offers, we have to pressure them into accepting contracts that fall outside their modus operandi.
Death: And we're supposed to allow them to handle a grenade cache like Roanapur?
"Is money the only thing you care about?"
"You don't? Durak! Money is Power! The thing that everyone can agree on. People spend their whole lives working themselves to the full for the smallest handful of dollars. HA! Working their whole life just to make their employers richer, seeing only the slightest scraps for years of meaningless slave work. That's why robbery exists! Easier to take someone's hard-earned wealth than to work for it."
Next Transmission…
Magician: Yes. 47 seems keen on becoming a permanent resident, but this could lead to setbacks.
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"Perhaps, but there are some things that you shouldn't steal?"
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"Baaa," Waving him off, the seller scoffed. "Everything can be taken for anyone. As long as it isn't theirs, no one cares if something is stolen. People only care about one thing."
"Money."
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"Exactly," Bourish laughter echoed. "As long as there's money to be made, nothing else matters."
"I've just been notified that the surveillance system has been tampered with. It looks like our associates are watching this live."
"Are we close?"
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"Close? Not even. Your shipment is-"
"Almost…"
"Before we continue, I have something to say."
"What-"
Next Transmission…
Temperance: Let's not forget that 47 is our greatest asset, regardless of their motives. Despite managing three percent of annual contracts, 47 and his Handler alone make up thirty-seven percent of the yearly income. No matter how unlikely, their death must be avoided. Any support we can provide should be taken into consideration.
Temperance: Fool and Devil have received confirmation from their chosen Doves. The remaining subjects have me suspecting that our profession wasn't the reason going through Chariot's mind, but as long as the results benefit our group, I have no complaints.
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"Thirty seconds before remote disarming and defusing has taken effect. The stage is set, the actors are in place, and our audience has taken their seats."
"If you had to be right about anything, it's that people will do anything for money. They'd even kill for money, but robbing people of their lives takes it too far."
"You are durak, foolish. If you don't kill the witnesses, you'll lose the money you've worked hard to earn. You should know that killing is profitable."
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Reaper Program Complete
"It's done. The show's about to begin. Show our guests what they'll be paying for."
"Here. Your order. Now, give me what I deserve."
Final Transmission…
The Star: As you should because we just received an intelligence mission from one of our major clients.
The Star: A major operation is about to take place.
"A deal is a deal."
*Click*
*BANG*
Within the city of darkness, four rulers regarded each other around their round table with suspicion and varying disgust, some more than others.
Wearing a dark green suit, a tan male with short, slicked-back hair threw a nasty scowl.
"Alright, Fry-Face. What's the big idea of calling us here?" Verrocchio of the Italian Mafia demanded from the woman in front of him. In response, Fry-Face took out her cigar and smiled kindly. "Now, now, Verrocchio. You should know better than to throw hurtful words at others," She curled her lips mockingly. "It makes a fool out of you. Not that you aren't one already."
As the Italian growled under his breath, a cloud of smoke came between them.
"Now, while I don't mind watching you come to blows," Turning towards the source, their Smoker pulled the cancer stick from his lips and adjusted his sunglasses, his long black coat wrinkling as he addressed the room. "I have to agree with the man, Balalaika. It's rare for you to join these little get-togethers. To call one yourself? This has to be good."
Sighing fondly, Balalaika smiled briefly as her eyes sharpened in focus. Despite themselves, Verrocchio and a tanned man wearing a white suit grimaced under her glare while the Smoker simply leaned back in his seat.
"Recently, our humble city has undergone some changes," She paused, letting her words sink in before Verrocchio frowned. "What the flying fuck are you on?"
Sighing, Balalaika gestured at the stack of files lying on the table. Taking one of the files, the Smoker opened the folder and read through its context.
"Chang, if you will?"
Scrunching his brow, Chang of the Hong Kong Triad wondered aloud. "Narisa Pongsak? Didn't he and his lot die last month? Lalu claimed that old Pongy violated his trust and had to be relieved of his duties. Don't tell me you're concerned that the good King could be moving in?"
"Not at all," Balalaika said, liting her cigar before opening another file. "It's the aftermath that has my interest piqued."
Pushing the rest of the files towards the center, the Russian continued, "Following Mr. Pongsak's retirement, his exclusive clientele has been reported deceased. Now, this could also be Mr. Khan's doing as well. However, that doesn't explain why six people, who had no involvement with Pongsak and his lot, were found dead weeks after his demise." Narrowing her eyes slightly, she concluded. "Especially with how…natural their deaths were. Almost like they were planned."
"Planned?" As Chang twirled his cigarette between his lips, he went through the autopsy reports and quickly understood what she was getting at. "Mikkel Bjerg. Male. Car Accident caused by… loosened wheel fasteners? Wait, Bjerg? He runs a chop shop, and he's dedicated to it. There's no way he would die in a car accident, much less drive an underprepared Mercedes-Benz CLK GTR."
Tossing the papers onto the table, Verrocchio scoffed. "This is bullshit. It's obvious what happened," Leaning forward, the Italian sneered at Fry-Face, who simply raised her brow. "You sicced your dogs on those losers, and now you're trying to throw us off your trail while you take their profits for yourself. I'd called it genius if you weren't so-"
"If that were the case, she wouldn't even be here, Verrocchio," Chang interrupted, not even having the decency to look at the mafia boss. "And besides, look closely at these reports, and you'll see that none of this matches Hotel Moscow M.O."
"Except one," Balalaika revealed as her Sergeant stood beside her, handing her a red folder. Opening the folder, she narrowed her eyes at the image as a cold focus fell onto the paper. Curling her lips, she took her cigar and held it in before letting out a deep sigh.
Chang raised his brow behind his sunglasses at the sight of his fellow countryman, "Chin? I thought you were responsible for putting the poor bastard? Considering what happened with Luak and Lagoon."
"I won't deny that I was intending to discuss his actions. However, upon arrival, his hotel was swarming with police. After talking with Chief Watsup, I learned they've received sums from Private Faddei." With an icy stare, Balalaika gripped her cigar and monotoned. "Among my comrades, there is no Faddei in our ranks. And yet, Faddei and his unit claimed to have eliminated Chin under my orders."
Scrunching his brows, Chang inquired. "You're saying someone impersonated Hotel Moscow so that they could take out Chin."
"It was rather clever, really," She muttered, sounding impressed. "According to Watsup, the rounds and magazines found at the scene matched those used in AKS-74Us and Tokarev TT-33s, our preferred tools. And Chin, well…seeing the aftermath myself, I could safely say that I would've done the same. If it weren't for the false name, I would've checked with my men for insubordination and for moving ahead of schedule. Whoever did this was experienced in military tactics," Pressing her lips together, Balalaika frowned. "The aftermath matched our profile to the letter, almost like the killer was a Soviet veteran."
"Killer? Singular?" Verrocchio grunted.
Waving him off, Fry Face scoffed quietly. "I'll admit I would've believed it was a squadron if it weren't for the number of magazines that didn't match his statement. That my men were able to locate the weapons used in the attack. Which were cleverly hidden as well. After this, Hotel Moscow went to work to hunt down this Faddei. Impersonators must be shown our hotel's hospitality, and he's more than earned our first-class suites."
Flickering her hand towards the stack, Balalaika smirked coldly. "Instead, we found this. It would seem Faddei was acting in our city for quite some time."
As they discussed, the final ruler couldn't help but tighten his lips as he found a particular report.
Something that Balalaika naturally caught a glimpse of. "Something you wish to add, Abrego?"
Grimacing, Abrego of the Columbian Cartel felt the piercing stares of his compatriots and growled bitterly, presenting the file to them.
"It's just…this woman, Ariella Luga. I was there when she died, Pirobo. Jefes back home are foaming at the mouth, and it was on my Culo because that puta was valuable to them. The bitch suffocated during our meeting at Spicy Wok," Leaning back in his seat, Abrego scowled as he threw the file on the table. "The thing is…I learned that her meal was laced with a small serving of shellfish sauce, something she's deathly allergic to. She usually carries an EpiPen while I hold onto the spare. And the moment she needed it most, not only was she missing her meds, but the spare was gone. Thinking about foul play, I've been questioning my guards day and night. No one except my best knew about her allergies, but they all swear they had nothing to do with this. And the kitchen staff, they sure as shit didn't know anything. Believe me, when I said I was through with them."
"And? Get to the fucking point," Verrocchio sighed, annoyed.
"Someone was unaccounted for," Glaring at the Italian, The Columbian frowned, vexed. "The waiter who served us."
"Your meal, miss. One Gaeng Daeng(Red Curry) served with steamed Jasmine Rice and a glass of Dark and Stormy ginger rum. As for the mister, we have a Kaeng Luang(Yellow Curry) and a serving of Thai Coconut Rice," Gently, two plates rested between them as Ariella smiled kindly. "Gracias, señor."
Taking a step away from the table, their waiter bowed. "No thanks are needed as I'm simply doing my job. Will there be anything else?"
Shaking his head, Abrego snorted. "No. This is just a quick meal. Now get lost."
Frowning at his rudeness, Ariella apologized. "Por favor perdónalo. Please forgive his tone. He's usually more sociable."
Her shaky smile betrayed her, but their waiter simply nodded as he trailed pasted her seat."There is no problem, madam. I will do as you desire, sir."
As he walked away, Ariella leaned slightly forward and hissed quietly. "¿Para qué era eso, Bastardo?"
Snorting through his nose, Abrego said. "My bosses didn't bring you to Roanapur to enjoy the scenery, Señorita Luga. Hay un pendejo que se niega a cooperar y queremos su ayuda. (There is a bastard who refuses to cooperate, and we want your assistance)."
Frowning, She narrowed her eyes. "¿Cuál es el trabajo exactamente? (What is the job, exactly)?"
"En Venezuela hay un hombre que se niega a vender su tierra al Cartel Manisalera. Su nombre es Diego Lovelace- (En Venezuela, there is a man who is refusing to sell his land to the Manisalera Cartel. His name is Diego Lovelace-)"
"¿Una de las trece grandes familias de Sudamérica? (One of the thirteen great families in South America?" Ariella muttered, aloof. "Esto debe ser bueno. (This must be good."
"Si es bueno o una mierda no importa. Lo que importa es que Diego no se rompa, por lo que los jefes quieren que hagas que el Sr. Lovelace se rompa," Abrego smirked darkly. (Whether it's good or shit doesn't matter. What matters is that Diego won't break, so the bosses want you to make Mr. Lovelace break.)
"¿Cómo?" She asked, grabbing her spoon. (How?)
"Ya tienen un plan. Necesitamos que su grupo robe el mocoso de Diego, y usaremos el puto mocoso como incentivo para darle la tierra al Cartel. Gratuito. (They already have a plan. We need your group to steal Diego's brat, and we'll use the fucking brat as an incentive to give the land to the Cartel. Free of charge)." As she scooped up her curry, Abrego leaned his arm forward. "Recibirá las tarifas estándar más un aumento del cincuenta por ciento. ¿Cómo suena eso? (You'll be receiving the standard fees plus a fifty percent raise. How does that sound?)"
After swallowing her meal, Ariella parted her lips, only to let out a pained gasp. Twisting around, she reached into her purse hanging from her chair and frantically searched through her belongings. When she couldn't find it, Ariella pushed over the table, spilling their dishes off the table.
"Hey, what are-" Abrego started, only to be thrown off his seat as she patted him down. "¿Qué Carajo Haces?!"
"M-Meds…F-Fish," She choked out, but it was enough.
Abrego pushed her off and searched through his pockets.
Nothing.
He had them not even an hour ago.
Shouting at the top of his lungs, Abrego called out for his amigos as he took Ariella into his arms and rushed towards the entrance.
In 15 minutes, they finally reached the hospital, but it was meaningless.
For, in the end, Ariella Luga had long since passed.
Glaring at his fellow rulers, Abrego concluded. "My boys questioned every employee, trying to find the pendejo who screwed with my business. However, the only person unaccounted for was the waiter who served our food. Those workers swore to God that they hadn't assigned a waiter to our table."
Adjusting his glasses, Chang hummed softly. "So your waiter was our little guest?"
"It seems that way," Balalaika commented coldly, watching Chang from the corner of her eye.
"If this is the case, why haven't you dealt with it?" Verrocchio scowled, only to widen his eyes as the Cartel boss slammed his fist on the table.
"Don't think I haven't tried, Hijo de Puta? It's clear as day who killed her," Abrego snarled, standing over them. "The FUCKING problem is that while I'm certain that waiter was the killer. I CAN'T FUCKING REMEMBER WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE?!"
Silence reigned supreme as the Columbian fell into his seat, rubbing his temple.
"They admitted that they'd seen the waiter but never questioned it. They were expecting a recruit, and it was him. It was only afterward that they learned a spare uniform was gone. None of them could ever recall anything about this bastard other than the obvious. A male."
"That's it?" The Mobster blinked. "A fucking guy?"
Once the Columbian nodded, Chang frowned. "No hair color, eye color, any?"
"Nada, and believe me, they were desperate for details," Abrego sighed, eyeing the files. "I didn't kill any of them because even I was stumped by his appearance. I bet that whoever poisoned Ariella was responsible for these idiots. No shreds of evidence to prove them as murders, but more than enough to place as accidents or unsolved."
Balalaika rubbed her chin, narrowing her eyes before nodding towards Abrego. "It would appear that we're dealing with a professional. More than I originally anticipated."
Meanwhile, Chang coughed loudly before frowning once he had everyone's attention.
"While this has been very informative, I'd like to move to our main agenda," The Triad asked the Russian as she waved him off. "I'd thank you, but I feel you won't be pleased."
Raising a brow, She glared at Chang as he inhaled his smoke. "For the past three months, violent outbreaks have increased, and unlike our Serial Killer X, we know who's to blame for this."
Shooting her a nasty snarl, Verrocchio finished for the Triad. "That fucking Clown who's been under your watch."
Grunting, Abrego added. "It hasn't been all bad. His services have provided more advanced weaponry into our hands and at better prices than the Rip Off Church,"
"For all the fucking good it's done us," Verrochio scowled. "Those bitches are messing with my business. And as much as I love to ice that prick, Chang says otherwise."
Sighing, Chang focused on the flat stare that Balalaika was showing them, knowing she wouldn't dare express herself around these lot.
"Balalaika, that Clown is driving everyone crazy, and we both know he's loving every second. As Verrocchio mentioned, I'd prefer Roanapur doesn't become a warzone, but that might be unavoidable. His latest act is practically a declaration of war against not just me but the Rip Off Church itself. He attacked Haven. Even Roanapur's stupidest would think twice, and that clown nearly murdered its owner, who has done well for me, the Church, and you. Right now, I have my men questioning why we haven't retaliated yet, and personally, I'm wondering the same," He admitted as he snuffed his cigarette in the ashtray, aware of the tension building in the air.
All the while never breaking contact with the two blue abysses that nearly engulfed him.
Finally, Chang sighed, tilting his head. "That said, I'm not someone who jumps the gun, especially when my actions will have consequences. We nearly went to war once, and it should've ended this city if it weren't for a certain someone. Now we could come to blows again, only this time I can tell neither of us wants to fight. Not over a steaming pile of shit like Ivan?" Cringing slightly, the Triad shook his head. "No, thank you."
Letting smoke fill her lungs, Balalaika sighed hazily. "As much as I'd enjoyed the opportunity to battle you, my pride far exceeds my desires."
"Just as I would expect from our Fry-Face," Chang smirked as she huffed a cloud before frowning. "While we're on the subject, why haven't you dealt with that Clown? Normally you're quick with your strong hand, but you've been letting that moron off easy."
"Too fucking easy if you asked me," The Mafia boss muttered, but Balalaika ignored his squabbling in favor of her Sergeant whispering in her ear.
"Truly?" She questioned, and after receiving confirmation, she stood from her seat. "Apologies, gentlemen, but something has come up. I must be off now," As Boris gave her coat, Balalaika gave her associate a friendly smile and waved. "Toodles."
As the Sergeant held the door for his Kapitan, Verrocchio opened his mouth only for Fry-Bitch and Chang to silence him with a single glance, but it didn't stop him from growling under his breath.
Looking back at the Triad, Balalaika winked. "See you around, Baby." As Boris closed the door behind her, his hidden groan would always be music to her ears, but all good things must end eventually.
"How recent was this response?"
"Ma'am. Approximately twelve minutes ago, a message was received by Corporal Menshov. To summarize, Yulian has decided to cut ties with Jegorov."
"Which means that Clown is no longer our concern," Balalaika acknowledged but curled her lips. "As vindictive as he is, Zilvanovitch, his employer, has been a beneficial resource for the past twenty years. So why at the exact moment Ivan proves to be more trouble than his business is worth, are we finally rid of him?"
"Unknown killer, perfectly executed assassinations, possesses the keen military experience and has intimate knowledge on my unit. Could it…? The timing couldn't have been better," Lowering her head, Balalaika narrowed her eyes until she bit her lower lip. "Almost like this was planned?"
*Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt*
Just then, a phone vibrated inside her suit pocket.
A number she thought deleted taunted her.
"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," Balalaika muttered darkly before reaching into her pocket. "Then again, this particular devil should have never called. You should head out, Sergeant. We wouldn't want the big bad wolf to bare his fangs, do we?"
Hardening his eyes, Boris saluted before marching ahead.
The second the phone was placed to her ear, she wasted no time displaying her icy tone.
"Почему ты звонишь? (Why are you calling?" Balalaika demanded, her eyes darkening. "Рольф. (Rolf.)"
A deep rumble came through as a thick accent caressed her ear. "Always with the cold shoulder, Sofiya?"
"It is appropriate to treat adversaries as they are."
"Since when have we been adversaries?"
"Since apparently, you've decided to undermine the power balance with your Fenrir. Narisa was just the start with Khan's employment, you-"
"Wrong," Rolf sighed, tired but amused in equal measure. "But that does sound like something I would do. If it were anyone else besides you, Sofiya. You never stop planning, do you?"
"And you never stop deceiving."
"I won't argue on that, Sofiya," He grunted but implored sternly. "That's not why I called. I'm here to make you an offer."
"I refuse."
"Put aside our past for a moment, Captain," Rolf stated as she twitched in nostalgia. "I'm talking to you as a comrade but a fellow survivor of that damnable war. What I'm offering is not a plea for forgiveness but rather a bargain of reconciliation between old soldiers. Now, will you accept it?"
Her first thought was to refuse once more. However, Rolf was right about something.
Personal feelings shouldn't ever be a hindrance, and anything that benefits her could and must help her hotel.
Balalaika wasn't a woman. She was a soldier.
Forcing everything to the back, Sofiya frowned.
"What is it?"
"The reason behind my actions, but this isn't something I can explain. The meeting point has already been sent to your computer, along with details of our bargain. Have it read through and be there. Tonight."
"Meeting point?" Balalaika repeated, scrunching her eyebrows.
"Trust me, Kapitan. It's better if you see it for yourself," She curled her lips as a chuckle echoed. "Just think of it as reparations, paid in full."
"Have you located the primary objective?"
Walking through the alley, he found his mark resting beside a building.
"Yeah," 47 confirmed, staring down the car. "A Cognoscenti 55, armored. Quite a sight in a city like this."
"Can you access the trunk?"
Examining the car, 47 mumbled. "Negative. This vehicle has gone through extensive modifications. Reinforced plating for small arms fire, but nothing below fifty calibers. Bulletproof tires and windows, which appear to be insulated for external noise dampening."
"How fantastic. Are you going to deal me on the plush seats, or were you hoping for me to get my purse? What's the problem?"
"The car has a wireless control feature, so there's no keyhole for the door, much less the trunk."
"And I assume brute force isn't optional."
"Not unless we can disable the car alarm before anyone can hear it," The Hitman stated as he noticed a blinking red light on the handle. "That said, it gives us an idea of our secondary target's location. Smart cars like this usually rely on close frequency remotes, and a car this costly isn't something you'd find around the block."
Glancing around, he caught a sight that made the corners of his lip curl slightly.
"In conclusion, the target is someone who's not from around here and is close enough range for the car to still be responsive."
"You know where he is?"
"I have suspensions," 47 remarked, pressing his earpiece as he pulled a photograph from his jacket. "Until then, fill me in on this contract. The only thing I knew was to locate the vehicle in the shot & a name written on the back. Pensley."
"Right," Clera muttered before explaining. "Well, this is an important assignment, if not peculiar. The clients of this job aren't the actual clients. To explain, the Board of Directors has decided that the Dove Protocol was needed to assist you in your future endeavors in Roanapur."
"They're sending agents?"
"That's the kicker. They aren't usually associated with the Agency. They're genuine outsiders with no connections to the ICA," Clera revealed, making him raise a brow. "I'll be getting in touch with them soon enough, but we're demoing our benefits in exchange for their assistance. Personally, this is unnecessary, but they've tolerated our antics, so we'll have to go along with their decisions."
"I suppose so," 47 acknowledged. "It's not like I can complain. I got my illegal Dove floating around."
"Anywho, putting that aside, your primary target is Ivan Zilvanovitch, arms dealer and right-hand man to Arkadij Jegorov. Three months before your arrival, Zilvanovitch came as a representative of an alliance between Jegorov & the Russian Mafia branch known as Hotel Moscow to expand their business into Roanapur in exchange for a cut of their profits."
"Ivan Zilvanovitch?" The Hitman repeated under his breath. "I've heard about him, mainly as a curse followed by a death threat. A lunatic, even by their standards. The people are fed up with him."
"Not surprising since he started causing trouble a month into his stay. Cutting deals with people he shouldn't, especially when it isn't his territory. Assaulting competitors or disrupting operations that have nothing to do with his own. More critically, going on intensive rampages against anyone for no apparent reason. And that's not the end. He even recently tried to attack the only (seemingly at least) orphanage around."
"That I am aware of. The owner was injured but alive. The leader of Triad had to get involved, and now, the city is waiting for what happens next. Regardless, We should take care of this quickly before it attracts unwanted attention," 47 frowned. "It won't be easy, though. I've heard that Ivan's a cautious fellow or a cowardly one. Never seen without at least a dozen men to back him up. And after the assault, he's stopped making appearances altogether. Residing in a makeshift gun factory near the harbor, he's jacked up his security to an impressive degree. Said what you will, he's no slouch."
"My thoughts exactly. That's why you'll be invited inside. New information has shown that the primary target will allow entry to the warehouse, but only for paying customers. And lucky for us, the secondary target is not only a paying customer but a customer he's never met before. There's no information on this Pensley fellow, but judging from the travel records, Pensley is just an alias used by an unknown group."
"Pensley isn't a single person?"
"Not at all. The gender & appearance changes from every destination until finally ending here in Roanapur. The most likely scenario is that these people are messengers, Exchanging the same orders with each other until they finally reach the designated target. Staying on the move does make it harder for people to track you down, wouldn't you say?"
"Quite, and the trunk?"
"All that's known is that it's vital to their arrangement. That's where our information ends, but your investigation begins. Find Pensley, extracts any information from them, and attend the deal as them. Good Luck 47."
He frowned slightly, but it was quickly wiped away as his instinct took effect, and he marched towards the gauche establishment ahead of him.
"GoofFest strip club," 47 muttered, vexed. "Why a strip club of all places?"
"How's life, little shit?"
"Well, Revy, it was fantastic until you decided to open that big mouth."
Glaring, Revy walked through the door as the little shit was held open before peeking outside at the darkening streets. As he did this, Revy took her time, looking over him.
His brown, straight hair awkwardly hangs over his crimson eyes concealed within their sockets, scanning warily for any threats towards the community he spent so long building. His youthful appearance belies the lessons taught on the poisonous streets of Roanapur and takes everything he's learned to heart. The crunches holding him up were no big surprise for Two Hands, but she will admit that the red polo shirt, gray slacks, and brown loafers had Revy double-checking who was locking the door.
The bastard's a sloppy dresser. What with all those...
"She's back."
"The mean lady? Yeah."
"I don't think she's all that bad."
"She's better than those jerks who hurt Mr. Natty."
"It's Nathanial, Phi."
"Naaa…?"
*Sigh*
Snorting, Revy looked over her shoulder to find the pack of brats peeking through the railing on the second floor. Those smaller shits froze like fucking morons before fleeing to their little rooms. "So, the little shits are still drawing fumes?"
"I'd ask if you meant breath, but clean air in Roanapur? Yeah, no, but they're fine," Nathan answered, grimacing weakly. "It would have been a whole other story if Chang's men hadn't arrived when they did."
"Bullshit," Revy scoffed as she turned right and entered the living room, somewhat old yet spacious. "That's not what I've been hearing. Ginger practically berserk on those bitches, while Bossman was left with bloody scraps."
"I…wouldn't….describe it like…that?" Revy raised her brow as Nathan sighed in defeat. "But I wouldn't say you're wrong."
"Riiiight?" Revy drew out, jumping onto the couch and putting her boots on the worn coffee table. "So, what's the deal with that shit you're wearing?"
"Mr. Chang came to offer his condolences a while ago. I haven't time to change before you came knocking."
"Whatever," Revy scoffed, closing her eyes. "What happened, kid?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play. Why did the suicidal-ass clown pick a fight with Haven? Not many fuckers in this shithole have the cojones to fuck with this place, and if they did, Chang would rip them off, and that's if Big Sis doesn't get to them first. Or Ginger forgot to crush them into a bloody pulp."
"Can we move away from Ginger's violent protective streaks, please?" Nathan sighed, taking the chair to her left. "Mr. Zil heard that the Haven Sanctuary offers rooms to young Twilights and showed his displeasure-"
"With his fucking guns and a set of matches for your corpses."
"Do you have an off switch, Revy?" He glared at Two Hands, who flipped him off. "You're not usually this chatty unless you're hiding something. Were you worried?"
This set her off, but Revy pulled her back before she could hurt what could be her only true fr…
"Fuck off," She muttered, but at who she couldn't tell. "I just wanted to see if that Clown was fucked enough for the second time."
"Wanted to take a shot at him or-"
"This shit has been going on for too fucking long," Revy interrupted while Nathan shook his head. "I can't tell you how many fuckers this asshole's shat on. And Big Sis, she's off her game, letting this ass crack mess with the Hotel. What's up with that shit?"
"Oh, I can make a good guess," Nathan muttered as they paused at the sound of the door opening. Edging for her guns, Revy glared silently at the living room entrance as Nathan clenched his fist against the armrest.
Her long, spiky red hair was a sign of relief for them as shifty blue eyes scanned the room behind her glasses. She wears a wide-neck black shirt that clung tightly to her hourglass figure, revealing her shoulders, and a pair of dark green shorts. She also wears black socks and boots that reach her shins.
Once Nathan entered her vision, nothing else mattered as she instantly appeared at his side.
"Not gonna say anything, Gin?" Revy frowned as Nathan chuckled weakly under her examination. "Bitch, I'm talking to you."
"Shut up."
Growling silently, Revy was about to stand, only to sigh miserably before dropping her ass back onto the couch.
"Ginger," Nathan smiled shakily. "What did I tell you about-"
"It's Revy."
"….point taken."
With her middle fingers raised, Two Hands scowled. "Fuck the both of you."
"Sorry," Nathan smiled before deadpanned. "Is what I would say, but be honest. You've had worse shouted at you."
"Fucking right," Revy snorted as she took the remote off the coffee table. "Just like how You would've fucked Ginger if you had some balls."
Ginger blushed as her eyes flickered towards Nathan and quickly turned her head as Nathan exhaled through his nose. As their guest scrolled through channels, Nathan whispered under his breath.
"Did you…?"
"Yes. Exactly where you wanted it."
"Good, then everything should be alright."
"Holy shit," They heard Revy mutter, numbed. Focusing on the TV, they found themselves with harsher reactions.
"Well, for us at least," He mumbled darkly as his friendly partner moved over to his armrest.
On the screen, the Statue of Liberty stood proud over the clouds of smoke that rose from the burning remains of ships that filled New York's harbors.
"I guess you haven't seen the news?" Nathan asked somberly.
"Tend to avoid that shit," Revy muttered, eyes pinned to the television. "Why watch when you can see how shitty life is just by looking out your window."
"That only counts in Roanapur."
"Yeah, sure," She scoffed before pointing at the scene. "Talk."
"What makes you think-"
"It's your job to know shit, asshole."
As Ginger glared murderously, Nathan grabbed her arm and forced her back onto his lap before rubbing her side.
Once she was calm, Nathan explained. "This Friday, a terrorist attack occurred in New York City. It was a miniature warzone going on there. It was only thanks to the Fenrir that the city is reclaimable for its people."
Pushing her weakness back, Two Hands scoffed.
"They should've let it burn."
"No one knows why they were there, but then again, no one complaining," Nathan explained, briefly annoyed as Ginger decided his lap was the perfect seat before frowning at their guest. "And that's because Russia's being blamed for the attack."
"The fuck?"
"The Terrorist Unit was identified as the Падшие правители, or the Fallen Rulers as the U.S media are calling them. Former Soviet soldiers who feel their country has disregarded them as garbage and demanded to be given the respect they rightfully deserve," Nathan sighed, readjusting himself as Ginger started leaning on him. "Now, the Fallen Rulers didn't exist before that attack, so The US believes this was an attempt by Russia to attack America. The problem is that Russia proclaims they have nothing to do with this group but that they were provided military-grade equipment and, saving the worst for last, a thermal nuclear bomb set to detonate once they reached New York, isn't helping their case."
"Fucking A. Like anyone would. Should we expect WWIII to come soon?"
"If it does, then Roanapur will be the first place to burn."
"Why would that happen?" Revy snorted, a drop of sweat running down her cheek.
"Because the nukes were transported from here."
Her eyes widened as Revy slowly turned her head towards Nathan, who stared back with half-opened eyes.
For a moment, Two Hands wanted to call him out, but Nathaniel wasn't known for telling lies.
Ironic but true.
Haven prides itself on its honesty or its honest knowledge. Nathan and his staff were crazy good at gathering the goods from the bullshit. It was why Big Sis & Boss Man Chang watched over Haven. To be their spies in the dark, and in return, they made sure no one fucked with their orphanage. The Rip Off Church were long-time associates of Nathan back when he was a little shit, so they offered their protection in return for discount prices. Sure they sell information to anyone with cash, but it never threatened the powers within Roanapur. As you don't fuck with their brats, anyone was welcome, provided you followed their rules.
When she thought about it, the reason no one fucked with Haven Sanctuary wasn't their powers guarding them but rather that they were like real people of this damn city.
Nobody.
No loyalty to anything other than their survival.
Did what they need to live past sundown while never wanting more than that.
Haven was valuable to everyone. And Nathan represented the best Haven had to offer.
There was no secret he…didn't…
Finally, the truth hit her like a bullet to the head.
"That's why they attacked?" Revy muttered, eyes frozen open as a shiver went down her spine. "It wasn't about the Twilights. It was-"
"We stumbled too close for comfort. That Clown has become far too dangerous for Hotel Moscow to handle. Despite confronting him last month, Balalaika hasn't done anything to stop him since then. Why? Because he's threatening her with an active nuke," Nathan said as his eyes became cold. "Right here. In Roanapur."
"Nukes?" The Hitman scowled, his eyes glowing dimly in the alley. "You're selling nukes?"
"S-S-So-ld," A beaten-aged man with graying brown hair whimpered. "The-The products were given to Mr. Zilvanovitch, so he can transport them to his employer, Jegorov."
"So, you gave infamous arms dealer, renowned for hating the Soviet Union, nuclear weapons." 47 commented coldly, reaching into his suit. "What is in that trunk?"
Sweat mixed with his blood as it dripped down into his eye, but Pensley panted quietly.
"Make no mistake. You're going to die here, and there is nothing you can do about it. No one is coming to save you because there isn't a person in this city who will care if you're gone. Once your body is discovered, it will be searched for any valuables and then dumped in the trash. The only choice you have in this matter is whether it'll be quick and painless," The Killer leaned closely, never leaving his sight as the city lights seemed to fade. "Or long and agonizing. So, let me be clear, what are you selling to Zilvanovitch?"
The Buyer swallowed saliva, or was it blood from his broken teeth?
It didn't matter as his reaper drew near. He couldn't take it anymore.
"Remote-Connection Detonator," Pensley confessed and quickly explained as the Reaper frowned. "The nuclear devices are equipped with their detonators, but they're connected through a custom wireless terminal system. One push from this baby and any designated device will become active. I don't know where this thing came from, but all I know is that Jegorov was willing to trade some pricey equipment for that device. I had orders to exchange the device, retrieve the package, and wait for coordinates for delivery. That's all I know."
"Have you met Ivan?" 47 asked calmly, his hands leaving the coat.
Slowly, Pensley shook his head. "N-No. I'm supposed to arrive at the warehouse at 10 pm. The car is my call-"
Death grabbed his face and swiftly twisted his neck into a sickly degree. Reaching into his pockets, 47 took out a small car remote and pressed the central button. As light shined upon him, he walked past and opened the trunk.
A swift curse slipped through his lips, and his finger flew towards his earpiece.
"Clera, you there? We have a problem."
"The entire time," His Handler said as 47 activated the visual camera within his earpiece. "Oh Fuck Off!"
"My thoughts exactly," He stared cautiously as the timer counted down from inside a heavy cylinder before pulling a small keyboard. "It seems Jegorov was going to be double-timed. This detonator's armed, mostly for every nuclear purchase Jegorov's made," Rock scowled darkly as a dot binged loudly. "Including the one located in Zilvanovitch's production factory."
"I'd say great, but I know you can't leave, right?" Clera asked sarcastically. "For that girl?"
"If it would reflect negatively on my reputation if I allowed something this attention-grabbing to eliminate my target," 47 countered, typing rapidly. "I'm going to override the countdown and see if I can disarm the nukes. Cause some friction between Jegorov & Pensley's employers. Using our Reaper Program should make this easier on us."
"Yeah, but you forget that the Reaper Program is like a virtual you. Once it is complete, it will destroy any trace of its existence by overloading the device," Clera started.
"And we need this device active if we want to get a shot at Zilvanovitch." He sighed, pausing. "Pensley was going to die, regardless of who his killer would be."
"And now?" Clera asked, only to chuckle when her best friend initiated the Reaper Program. "Why am I not surprised?"
"I might just be an assassin, but I'd like to believe even I have standards," 47 monotoned, watching the screen flicker with changing numbers before shutting the trunk. "As long as I have the device itself, whether it's operational or not doesn't matter. The target will be eliminated."
"Actually," Clera said, amused. "Something just came in. It would appear there been some changes to the performance."
Raising his brow, 47 listened as his Handler passed along a message.
Once she finished debriefing, the Hitman let out a low rumble from his lips as his blank smile flashed eerily under the tail light.
"How interesting."
Premiere Marketing Uplink
This viewing is restricted to private investors.
All guests received a personal passcode to spectate the private showing. Please enter your passcode. Failure to do so will result in severe penalties.
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Passcode Accepted.
Please Enjoy The Show.
Number of Attendees:
Doves One-Eight: Online
Ravens: Online
The Owl One-Two: Online
Waiting for Authorization from Owls
Modulated Vocal Communication: Authorized
Doves: Active
Dove#6: Fucking FINALLY! I was tired of waiting.
Dove#2: That's quite a fine howdy-do. Here I was, thinking I was the only fella crazy enough to come to this little shindig.
Dove#5: Sometimes, you just want to go where few have traveled. Even if the price is your life.
Dove#6: Are you on crack?
Dove#5: *Sighed, exhausted*
Modulated Vocal Communication: Doves: Disabled
Owls: Active
Owl#2: Only eight doves. Well, eight of twenty-one is better than none. My sincere apologies for cutting any conversation short, but I'd like to keep things brief. We're all busy people, after all. First, I'd like to express our deepest gratitude to everyone who responded to this summons. You've already read through the files we sent, getting a good idea of who we are, and thus, I thank you eight for attending.
Files Transferred:
Source: Ravens
Thirteen bodies were displayed across their screens.
For the Doves, some were horrified, shocked, and enraged.
Most were interested or numbed to death.
Owl#2: Just as you will be thanking yourself for responding to this summit because the Ravens won't be picking at your bones. Before some of you panic, your lives aren't imperiled, and as long as you cooperate, they will remain that way. Any questions?
No responses from Doves
Owl#1: Excellent. Now, I'm sure you're all wondering why you're all titled Doves. Well, the reason for this is quite simple. With their graceful looks, white plumage, and gentle voices, Doves are viewed through religion as grace, gentleness, and divinity, but most of all….
Owl#1: Purity & Peace.
Owl#1: However, for all the benevolence, Solemnity found within doves. And peace is quite a broad subject, as we can see. They were Messengers, Martyrs, and when found in mourning, …
Owl#1: Omens of Death. Yama, the Hindu God of Death, used doves as messengers alongside pigeons.
Owl#1: Birds are viewed quite highly throughout history, and the ICA values our Birds with equal reverence. As long as they contribute to our organization.
Owl#1: Why are you called Doves, you ask? To the ICA, Doves are messengers who assist our Ravens through indirect means. For you outsiders, the Vultures have decided that you could be a valuable asset and have invited you to aid us as Dove-ranked resources.
Owl#1: Doves are the lowest rank, but the fringe benefits speak for themselves. Monetary values range from Eighty Thousand to Twelve Hundred Thousand, depending on your usefulness. And, as long as you cooperate with our requests, any contracts against you will be terminated, meaning you won't have constantly look over your shoulders. That's just the beginning.
Separation Feed Link Established
Admin Host: Owl#2
Number of Attendees:
Dove#1: Transferred
Dove#3: Transferred
Dove#8: Transferred
Modulated Vocal Communication: Authorized
Doves: Active
Owl#2: Active
Owl#2: Apologies for the suddenness, but I'm required to handle you three separately. You three were privately invited by our Board for a specific opportunity, and as such, you are being offered benefits different from the others.
Dove#1: What? Not going to pull any cryptic nonsense like your partner?
Owl#2: No, thank you. We're busy people, and I don't have a Master's in Fine Arts. Seriously, why the need for theatrics is present, I'll never know.
Dove#3: Why are we being given special treatment?
Owl#2: You three possess significant influence in your respective organizations and your territory, Roanapur. My superiors wish to establish a foothold within your city so that we may be able to execute several contracts located within.
Dove#1: Mikkel Bjerg. Ariella Luga. Chin. Your work, I presume?
Owl#2: An assassin, one of our finest Ravens. I'm sure that you already knew this, Dove One. After all, everyone should have received a large sum of funds through a private channel. That was our welcoming gift and a way to pique your interest in contacting us.
Dove#1: Their deaths certainly caught our attention, but if you wanted to take over, we wouldn't be having this meeting.
Owl#2: And yet here we are, conversing over an opportunity to join our organization.
Dove#3: Haven't we already?
Owl#2: Not at all. If that were the case, then you wouldn't be Doves or inside the cage.
Dove#1: Cage?
Owl#2: The Bird-Cage, we call it. It's our recruitment drive for non-affiliates such as yourselves. Think of it as a separate listing or a divider between us.
Dove#3: And by us, you mean your organization. Then, why recruit outsiders if we aren't on the same team?
Owl#2: Security and Protection for starters, but it's mainly to observe your movement. To put it in simplest terms, Doves are outsiders who can be beneficial to our business, whether for monetary purposes or simply smuggling materials into certain places without drawing attention. As the first Owl already mentioned, we see Doves as messengers, and what is a messenger if they're locked in a cage?
Dove#1: A liability.
Owl#2: And we can't tolerate liabilities within our circle. That's why you scratch and claw until your locks are broken and freed from the cage. The better the struggle will determine how involved you will be within us and how valuable your message will be in the future.
Dove#8: And those who can't escape?
Owl#2: They speak. Well, Eight. We aren't feeding you now, are we?
Dove#8: And how are we exceptions to this?
Owl#2: The Higher Ups feel that risks must be taken for the long haul and decided that we let you out of the cage.
Dove#1: What's the catch?
Owl#2: Don't trust what's on the table? Smart. As to the catch…
Owl#2: A Raven.
Holding a lighter toward his buddy, the Guard expelled vapors through his nose as his buddy tilted his cigarette into the flame.
The night was harsh as the moon was buried behind murky clouds. If it wasn't for the searchlights hanging over their head, they wouldn't even see two feet in front of them.
"Fucking slow night."
"No shat," The Guard scoffed, one hand holding his smoke while the other gripped a PP90M1. "Boss kicks the hornet nest, and we're all hiding in our little fort. I didn't even get to shoot."
"You're fucking lucky you didn't. That pipsqueak had Fucking Twilights in that piece of crap."
"Was that the-"
"No, David," He scowled. "As in a mature Twilight, and what a bitch she was. Killed over half a dozen of our pals before that Chink man & his triad jumped us. Honestly, the only reason it didn't finish us off was that her master was bleeding out on the ground. You know those things are, can't kill if the sugar daddies died. Fucking monsters."
Before anything else could be said, they noticed a light approaching them. Stomping out the cigarette, David clutched his SMG as the searchlight shone down on a fancy car that slowly stopped several feet from their position. Looking at his partner, they walked towards the car, muscles tensed for a fight.
When the car door opened, they pointed their guns at the driver as he entered the light.
Some plain-looking fuck with black hair and a nice suit.
"Identify yourself," His partner growled, aiming his FAMAS. "No ones allowed unless they've got a death wish."
The nobody tilted his head. "I was invited here. I was told that my shipment had arrived."
"Shipments," David chuckled lowly. "What does this look like, a port office? No one gets in without the Boss's approval."
"Your boss? You mean Mr. Zilvanovitch, yes? Then you should know what my superiors have been doing with Mr. Jegorov. I've been sent to finalize their latest deal."
Glancing between each other, David glared down at the shorter male, who smiled under their guns.
After a while, the guard snorted. "We'll check with the Boss, but if you're lying," Cocking the PP90M1, He grinned crudely. "You're fucked."
"Very well, Please inform your superior that Pensley wished to exchange products."
Owl#2: Ravens are our signature pursuit unit. Scalpels will always strike their victims with a subtle grace unseen before.
Dove#1: Assassins.
Owl#2: We prefer Hitman over assassin. There's a bit of class in the title. Especially since you'll be under the watch of a Raven, they'll be operating within Roanapur for an undetermined time. Your task will be assisting in whatever way possible to ensure their work progresses smoothly. That is the price for early release from the Cage.
Dove#8: I'm not interested in being some pawn. If our influence is necessary, you will have to make this favorable.
Owl#2: Refusal leads down the path of failure.
Dove#8: I've been on this earth long enough to know that death is always a footstep behind us. Why should I try to outrun it when I stand my ground and die as I've lived? So if you think you can threaten me with something as trivial as death, then you've chosen the wrong pawn for this little game.
There was a moment of silence from the feed.
A second…
*Chuckling*
A soft snicker echoed from Owl.
Owl#2: This…This is what I want to see in the ICA. Idiots like us, unafraid to meet the Grim Reaper with opening arms. Eight, I like you.
Owl#2: Oh yes, we're going to get along just fine.
Dove#1: Are we expected to be catering to their every need?
Owl#2: You won't have to worry about them breathing down your necks. They're not the type to rely on others unless necessary. At most, they'll likely request information.
Dove#1: Sounds simple enough, but what do we get out of this? Money's nice, but we're too greedy to be satisfied with monthly stipulations.
Owl#2: Rest assured that compensation will be well worth the price. It's come to our attention that you've all been having issues lately.
"Everything seems to be in order. Apologize for the interruption, Mr. Pensley. The boss man will be here for you shortly."
"I understand the delay. From what I've heard, things have been quite hectic as of late."
"Yes, Mr. Z knows how to keep things lively around here."
Pensley sat within his car seat with his feet sticking out of the car. As the warehouse gates opened, a diminutive man marched out with a nasty scowl on his rough face as two guards walked beside him. He wore a faded red suit covered with patches, and his purple loafer clicked violently against the hard granite.
"Mr. Zilvanovitch?" Pensley asked, rising from his seat.
Nodding, the Clown glared up and down. "So, you're the buyer?"
"Indeed I am. I hope everything-"
"Obozhdat(Wait)!" Zilvanovitch sneered, brown eyes drilling into their target. "You promised trade. Show Me!"
"Be patient," Pensley stated as he opened the trunk, presenting them with the device. "See? It's right here."
"Fine," The Clown grunted. "This will do for starting payment. Give it."
"Hmm…" Pensley frowned. "I didn't realize there was an initial remittance for your products."
"Well," Ivan spat as the buyer pulled his shoes back. "The services we offer are top of the line and worth more than our competitors, so we like to keep our wares at the top."
"To attract potential investors."
"You understand, then?"
"More than you'd think."
"Then give me what you owe." The Clown moved towards the trunk, only for Pensley to shut it.
As the dealer scowled, the Buyer stated. "After you show me what I'm paying for."
"Fine," Zilvanovitch fumed, turning his back away from Pensley. "This way."
Dove#3: I'm sorry, but a clown? I've never been a fan of the Big Top.
Owl#2: Same. *A mugshot of a familiar face appeared on their screens* Especially if they were being run by this guy. Ivan Zilvanovitch, whom I'm sure you're all familiar with, but on the slight chance you're not.
Owl#2: Born in Moscow in 1944, Zilvanovitch tried to make a living as a pickpocket. Sadly, a heavy addiction to gambling and drugs left him with debts too severe for any chance of recovery. With his back against the wall, he chose to end his suffering by jumping off a bridge. Ironically, Lady Luck must've been smiling upon him because a circus train had been passing through, and he landed right in the middle of a pile of circus props. That moment changed Zilvanovitch forever as he came to see himself as an immortal. Afterward, he joined the circus, where he became renowned as a daredevil clown who could survive even the dangerous stunts without a scratch, eventually becoming the ringmaster. Despite having the opportunity to part ways from his previous life, his antics caught the attention of Arkadij Jegorov, a renowned Arms Dealer. Using the Circus as a cover for Jegorov's gunrunner, Zilvanovitch eventually became his right-hand man.
Dove#1: Fascinating, but what does that have to do with us?
Owl#2: The clown has been playing Hotel Moscow. Jegorov had no intention of cooperating with former Soviets and has been using them as literal shields while dismantling their organization from the inside. Last Friday, terrorists armed with nuclear submarines attacked New York City and were identified as Russian. This has led to a tense standoff between the United States and Russia. That's not the issue we're having right now. The real problem is that our sources have traced the nuclear explosives to Roanapur. Our Raven has confirmed our initial suspicion, Jegorov has expanded into the Nuclear Arms, and Ivan is using your city as a hub for storing these devices.
Owl#2: What? Speechless? He is a clown. They're known to make jokes about anything.
Owl#2: Even people
Seventy yellow beings went to work across the entire warehouse. The air smelled foul from a mixture of chemical smokes from engineers putting together unfinished products or producing custom munitions. A barrage of power tools, heavy machinery, and the shouting of workers made his ears desire death, but the job took priority. He spread his arms as he felt hands patting down his sides.
"He's clean, Boss. No Firearms." The Yellow Being told the small Red Being.
Opening his eyes, he watched as the guard stepped aside, allowing him to enter the warehouse.
"So, everything I've requested has been handled with the utmost care?" Pensley asked, focusing on the Clown.
"You don't worry. The merchandise was treated well. Has to be with this kind of money on the line." Ivan grinned.
Hiding his grimace, he asked."Is money the only thing you care about?"
"You don't? Durak!" Zilvanovitch barked out before explaining. "Money is Power! The thing that everyone can agree on. People spend their whole lives working themselves to the full for the smallest handful of dollars. HA! Working their whole life just to make their employers richer, seeing only the slightest scraps for years of meaningless slave work. That's why robbery exists! Easier to take someone's hard-earned wealth than to work for it."
"Perhaps, but there are some things that you shouldn't steal?"
"Baaa," Waving him off, he scoffed, unaware of his deep frown. "Everything can be taken for anyone. As long as it isn't theirs, no one cares if something is stolen. People only care about one thing."
"Money," Pensley said, hiding the thinly veiled disgust from his voice.
"Exactly," The Clown snorted. "As long as there's money to be made, nothing else matters."
"Are we close?"
"Close?" Ivan blinked. "Not even. Your shipment is-"
"Before we continue, I have something to say."
A screen started loading up.
Owl#2: Thankfully for you, our agency likes to keep our connections satisfied. Death threats could only go so far. We've already traced them back to Zilvanovitch and learned about his deal with one Pensley, who's already handled. And is now being played by our Raven. So, sit back and watch how the ICA takes problems.
A live video feed started playing, showing the target and what the dove assumed was the Raven, but his face was blurred.
"What-"
"If you had to be right about anything," The Raven said, his voice modulated. "It's that people will do anything for money. They'd even kill for money, but robbing people of their lives takes it too far."
All around them, they could only hear the clacking of weapons being armed. Then…
"You are durak, foolish. If you don't kill the witnesses, you'll lose the money you've worked hard to earn," Zilvanovitch reprimanded as though he was dealing with a child. "You should know that killing is profitable."
Curling their lips, they stepped into the darkness and marched towards the battlefield, one by one preparing for war.
At the frontlines, azure eyes gleamed with untempered steel. Trailing upwards, they made good on their years as they caught the flashes of sniper scopes.
"We're in position. Waiting for your signal."
Slowly, the wind entered their bodies, from which they stayed for no more than a second.
And in that second…
"Here. Your order. Now, give me what I deserve."
…Life was lost in their eyes.
"A deal is a deal." They whispered, their tone so soft that it could've been mistaken for regret.
If it weren't the hunger swimming through their hearts.
And with their arm toward the sky.
*BANG*
The massacre had begun.
Zilvanovitch and his goons jumped at the distant pops while Pensley tilted his head ever so slightly toward the camera in the corner of the room. The faintest trace of a cold smile would make the dead shiver in their graves as the Clown came to his senses, grabbing his earpiece.
"Что, черт возьми, происходит!?(What the hell is going on!?"
A scratching noise was quickly replaced by the echoing gunfire.
"We're Under Attack!" The goon reported, making his boss growl furiously. "Can't get a visual on their numbers, but they have us pinned down. We-I just saw Swanson drop like a house of cards! They've got snipers! Keep-"
A sudden screech forced the Zilvanovitch to throw the earpiece to the ground as the fight grew closer.
Stomping on the earpiece, The Clown gritted his teeth. "Fuck Fuck Fuck!"
Suddenly, his gaze focuses on his rather stoic client and, pulling his Berretta 9mm, scowled. "You! You Did This!"
Undaunted, Pensley stared back as he was flanked by his guards.
"ANSWER ME!" The Clown roared, pulling the hammer down. "OR I'LL-"
Pensley slammed his right hand at the right guard's throat as something slipped from his sleeve, jabbing him. Afterward, their client swung his arm around, and suddenly the left guard gripped his throat as crimson slipped through his fingers. With his right arm still in motion, Pensley flung something at Zilvanovitch, landing in his right knee. Screaming in pain, the Clown fell onto his other knee before having his gun taken away and being kicked to the ground.
Sitting up, he looked and found a short black knife sticking out of his knee.
Ejecting bullets from the slide, Pensley stated. "Patdowns work well for locating standard sidearms, but metal detectors have better odds of finding weapons," Throwing a now empty pistol away, he walked over to Zilvanovitch and stomped on his right knee, earning an anguished cry. "Like a knife that can be attached to your sleeves."
"You Motherfucker!" The Clown snarled, pain and outrage clear in his voice. "Do You Know Who You're Messing With!?"
"An adrenaline junkie with whimsical delusions of immortality. An idiot who uses a psychopathic façade to act superior when in reality he's nothing more than a paranoid coward who flees at the first sign of retribution," Pensley deadpanned, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Am I getting close? I can keep going if you'd like."
A growl tore through the Clown, but he paid him no mind as the shooting grew closer.
"You think you can just steal from me?! This city will hunt-"
"It won't. You burned every bridge in this city just for the hell of it. Not even Jegorov's wrath is worth avenging your death. And theft? I have no interest in your materials," As the noise began to subside, Pensley made his way toward the door, looking back as he grabbed the handle. "I'm just fulfilling my contract. Now that it's complete, I'll be leaving now. Don't want to get in her way."
As he opened the door, Ivan wanted to shout, but something caught his mind, and it would haunt him for the rest of his short life.
"Her?"
The video feed ended.
Owl#2: I hope that you found this educational. We're willing to accommodate your demands as long as they do not interfere with the mission.
Owl#2: So, do we have a deal?
Dove#1: I'm sold for now. Having a shadow like this could clear some issues in the future.
Dove#3: I agree, but I'm concerned about the feed.
Owl#2: Sadly, we can't share our associate's description with you. You have to earn that.
Dove#3: I understand, but that wasn't what I was referring to.
Owl#2: Not our doing if that's what you're thinking.
Dove#8: It would seem that someone crashed their meeting.
Dove#1: It seems that way…Eight…you gonna join?
Dove#8:…
Now alone, Zilvanovitch tried to stand, only for his damaged knee to buckle. "Who…?"
His unfinished question would soon be answered as the door opened again. Only this time, he heard several footsteps entering the room until it became apparent who had entered as a pair of heels clicked and clacked across the room until a vile shadow towered over the wounded form.
"As long as it benefits, I'll agree to the term."
"Excellent. We'll be in touch soon with further details. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Doves."
Without even looking, The Clown knew who stood before him, looking down at him with immense disgust and even greater sadistic joy.
"Hello, Clown," Balalaika smiled, a cigar burning between her fingers. "I believe we need to discuss our agreement.
Sorry for the wait. Work is nuts, and don't get me started on one of my bosses. But anyway. I hope you enjoy it. I'm going to get ready for bed. Welcome to the month of frights.
P.S: I've decided to add two animes that possess familiar themes with both the story and the series as a whole.