Ollie massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache building behind his eye. He rummaged through the right patch cargo pocket of his pants—he'd always enjoyed the utility of cargo pants; the more pockets, the better, he said—and his hand closed around a plastic bottle. The pills inside rattled as he twisted the top off and poured one of the painkillers into his palm.
"Mr. Lynch?" Pitter called as he turned the corner into the hall where Ollie was lurking. He tossed the painkiller to the back of his throat and swallowed, the chalky taste lingering on his tongue.
"What?"
"The boss will see you now." Pitter pulled an impressive heel turn and disappeared behind the corner. Ollie pulled himself up from his seat and followed, the sound of his boots on the concrete echoing down either side of the hall. It was eerily quiet in this part of the bunker; Ollie had passed a lot of construction on his way in, and he couldn't hear even the faintest echo of that here.
Pitter waited patiently for Ollie to catch up, holding the door to what looked to him like your average office—if not spacious for one. Seated at the polished mahogany desk with his attention on a stack of papers was a spindly bastard in a black bodysuit decorated with a stark white serpent—originating at his left ankle, coiling up his leg and torso, and ending with the head of the snake centered on his forehead. The boss took notice of Ollie only moments after he entered the room. He knew this trick; lots of villains used it to try and send the message that you were beneath their notice—trying to establish a hierarchy.
"Mr. Lynch. Please, have a seat." Coil said his voice was surprisingly charming for a man who looked like a Halloween decoration. Ollie sat in the cushioned leather chair opposite Coil. "How did your job go?"
Ollie's expression twisted into a scowl.
"Poorly." He said, "Your information was good, but Lung didn't go down like I'd hoped he would."
"Clearly. Regardless, Lung can no longer pose a threat to my operations in custody."
"Regardless, you won't be paying me, will you?"
"No." Coil stood from his desk, the ceiling light highlighting the man's skeletal frame. Ollie could see the shape of Coil's ribs, his jutting collarbone, and the definition of his sunken eyes. Ollie stood to meet Coil. "But I have an offer for you."
The tense silence that followed felt one-sided as Ollie glared into the empty face of Coil's mask, reading no change in the villain's expression.
"I'm listening." He conceded.
"Good." Coil fetched a loose leaf binder from a drawer beneath him and slid it across the desk. Ollie took the binder into his hands and eased himself back into his seat. Coil followed suit, relaxing as he brought his hands together on the desk in front of him.
The front of the binder held a laminated sheet of printer paper with the bold text, "Undersiders," centered. Beneath that, in smaller text and not in bold, "Confidential." Ollie cracked open the binder and found it divided into four parts: Regent, Grue, Tattletale, and Bitch. Each section contained a lot of sensitive information: birth certificates, criminal histories, banking information, etcetera.
"You want them dead?" Ollie asked. He wasn't keen on being demoted to hunting common criminals—even if they were Capes—but after fumbling the Lung job, he'd take what he could get.
"No." Coil answered quickly, "I want you to join them. You've got experience that they lack; you could prove invaluable if the worst came to pass."
"If you say so. What're you offering?"
"$15,000 per month you're with the Undersiders; the average rate with a bonus."
Ollie ignored Coil. Though he was impressed with the money, Ollie liked to know details before he accepted a job like this.
"You want me to be some sort of spy?"
"Think of yourself more like an emissary. You'd live with and monitor the undersiders, providing monthly reports on their activities, behavior, etcetera. I may not have any reasons to question their loyalty now, but it never hurts to be safe."
Ollie nodded. 'A spy.' He confirmed it to himself.
"Alright. I'm in."
Coil extended a hand, and Ollie shook it.
"The first check will hit your account the first Tuesday of next month." Coil spoke.
"Grand." Ollie replied.
"Mr. Pitter will show you out."
Like clockwork, Pitter was at the door, its hinges squeaking quietly as he opened it and nodded to Ollie. He followed Pitter and allowed his thoughts to wander. Ollie had worked for more than a few villains since he got started in this scene, so he'd picked up on a few things—he'd seen how these Capes interacted with one another. There was always lots of posturing and plotting—contingencies, schemes, and the like—when these costumed freaks worked together. Ollie was lucky to have the career he did; as a professional assassin and mercenary, his clients and he understood each other. Ollie would do what they asked, so long as they paid, and the two would go their separate ways. There was no exception. He suspected that Coil would've been much more suave if Ollie were a proper villain, but, as it were, he was just a hired gun.
Ollie followed Pitter through empty hallways and past construction, the echoes of power tools grinding against his thoughts. He groaned and worked his thumb into the space where his eye met his nose, and he almost walked into Pitter. He'd stopped. Pitter turned to Ollie, a black plastic box in his hands.
"A gift from Coil." He said it in that eerily calm voice. Ollie took the box into his hands and carefully opened it; it was a handgun case, and inside was what looked to Ollie like a custom Desert Eagle—an extended barrel, about 7" or 7.5", and a blackened steel finish. He preferred .45 ACP to .50 AE—more reliable in his opinion—but he was never the type to turn down a gift. Ollie closed the case and let it fall to his side.
"Thanks."
"And, before you go, I must introduce you to—" Pitter was cut off by a blond girl who was a full foot shorter than he was. She was all smiles—seemed innocent enough—but her eyes were far too aware for his liking.
"I can take it from here, Pitter." She spoke; her voice sounded just as juvenile as she looked. "You can run on back to Coil. I'm sure he misses you under his desk."
Pitter flustered and fumbled for something to say before marching off in a huff. Ollie cocked an eyebrow at the girl.
"You've sure got a foul mouth for a kid." He commented. The girl took a seat on one of the chairs pressed against either wall of the lobby that Pitter had led him to.
"I'm twenty-one." She rebutted.
"You look twelve." The girl huffed at that, and Ollie snapped his fingers to grab her attention. "Tattletale, right?"
"You can call me Lisa. Coil gave you our dossiers, didn't he?"
"I skimmed them."
"Typical." Lisa scoffed, rising from her seat, marching for Ollie, and stopping only inches from him. "So, what'd Coil offer you?"
"I'm not so sure I'm at liberty to share."
"C'mon. If we're going to be working together, we may as well compare pay. I'll figure it out anyway."
"$15,000 every month."
Lisa whistled.
"Impressive, but that's not what I meant. What's he holding over you? There's always something with Coil."
Ollie took a step back, his expression hardening. He never liked people like this—the type to never accept things at face value. If he had to guess, he'd say Lisa always needed to be right, and if she wasn't, it wasn't her fault.
"I'm not following."
"What did he promise you?" Lisa asked slowly, like she was talking to a child. Ollie bristled at Lisa's tone, taking one step forward and forcing Lisa back.
"Look. Coil didn't promise me anything; he gave me a job. I look after you and your little friends, and I get paid. It's that simple."
Lisa's grin faltered, and her eyes wandered over Ollie's expression, looking for any hint of a lie. Her face shifted into a thoughtful, almost concerned expression as she spoke.
"Really?" She asked the one word as if the very idea that someone could just work for Coil with no strings attached was an impossibility; she was still looking for the hint of a lie, that one tip that things were more than they seemed.
"Really." Ollie deadpanned, pushing past Lisa and towards the exit. "Not everyone's got a skeleton in their closet, kid."