World at War

A Job to be Done

He slipped on a crisp white shirt, tucking the front of it neatly into a pair of old jeans covered in paint, suddenly glad he didn't toss them after they finished painting the living room. He glanced at his everyday serape and wide-brimmed hat, annoyed that he couldn't wear his usual attire. He needed to blend in if he was going to get this job done, and he already stuck out like a sore thumb. A cowboy in Tuscany? He'd been living there for at least ten years, and it was painfully obvious he was a pure American; he never cared to adapt, and nobody seemed to care.

He loaded his revolver and made sure he had plenty of extras before tucking it into the back of his pants, hidden by the part of his shirt that he left untucked. Uncomfortable, but he couldn't just openly carry his gun into an art class. But maybe… he didn't have to bring it this time. He was just going to scope things out this time around, but he also didn't want to find himself in an unsavory situation without it.

Deciding to leave it in his pants, he left his room and made a beeline to the kitchen for a cup of joe. "Afternoon!" He greeted his longtime friend and roommate, who was sitting at the kitchen table on his computer. "Headin' out today?"

"Looks like someone slept in," Baptiste said from his seat, sipping coffee from his mug. Good thing he kept the pot warm!

"I've been up," Jesse stirred a bit of cream and sugar into his cup, thankful he left the pot on. He was never fond of cold coffee. "Jus' draggin' my feet a little."

"Well, I'm thinking of taking a solo gig since you've got your hands full with this art class," he snickered.

"You act like I'm takin' it 'cause I want to!" Jesse wouldn't particularly call himself an artsy guy, but the payout was bigger than normal, so he'd do his best to pretend!

"But you do," Baptiste rebut, standing and rooting around the fridge for fruit. "Or you wouldn't have accepted."

"Tell me you wouldn't," Jesse caught the banana tossed at him and peeled it open.

"For double our usual payout, I suppose I would too," Baptiste chuckled, taking a bite out of an apple with a crunch and sitting back down.

"I'll finally be able to do some upgrades on my arm," Jesse sat at the table with his small brunch and picked up the morning paper that was brought inside, snapping it open.

"I still can't believe there's still a newspaper."

"Not everyone likes all that high-tech mess," Jesse gulped down a good portion of almost-too-hot coffee as he scanned the paper for anything interesting. "You have your ways of gettin' info, I have mine."

"Only the elderly choose to get their daily news from bricks of paper," Baptiste joked. "And you complain about technology when you consistently upgrade your prosthetic. Didn't you just add a screen?"

"Only because I can use it as a phone," Jesse said between bites of his banana. "An' it comes in handy on missions."

"Yeah, when you need to call me for backup," Baptiste scoffed. "How are you going to handle this without me?"

"I don't need a medic on every mission. You know I'm an ace shot!" Jesse shot him a cheesy grin, making a gun with his hand and blowing the tip of his finger.

"But this is your first demon," Baptiste clarified. "You think a few bullets will be enough to take him out? They can read humans you know. The moment he catches wind of your idea, he's going to jump at you with his claws out," Baptiste had a few encounters with some demons in the past, and none of them were pretty. They had some serious abilities, but if caught at the right time, they could be easily brought down with the right tools.

"That's why I'm just checkin' things out this time around. I was told he frequents this class often, so I can pretend I'm a returning student," Jesse wondered how long he'd been taking the class and why. Most demons he'd heard about were vicious, so what was this one doing pretending to be a student? There was no telling what schemes he had planned. "An' I know the bullets won't kill 'em, but they will slow 'em down quite a bit."

"I'm still having a hard time seeing you in an art class!" Baptiste polished off his coffee and shut his laptop, satisfied with the details of his next job. He was just going to collect some intel, so it should be a simple stealth mission, in and out. "You look the part."

"Thank God we painted the living room a couple months ago," Jesse flipped through the pages of his paper, glancing at the time. "Ah, it's gettin' late. I should head out," he said, stuffing the last bit of his banana in his mouth and guzzling as much coffee as he could.

"Good luck," Baptiste called out as he stood and walked through the front door.

"Yeah, yeah," Jesse muttered, locking up behind him and heading out. Maybe instead of upgrading his arm, he could buy a scooter. He'd been borrowing Baptiste's to get around and while he detested them with a passion, they sure as hell made his job a lot easier. He'd get a car, but with all the narrow streets and lack of parking spaces, a scooter just sounded easier.

It was a warm and bright Monday afternoon, and Jesse was appreciative of the summer weather. It was a nice day to take a stroll, and the class wasn't too far a walk. It was the closest gig he had in a while, and a small part of him was glad it was a calm, undercover job. Lately, he'd been thinking about taking a hiatus of sorts from work—although highly unlikely; it was all he'd known, and couldn't see himself doing anything else in his downtime.

He really should find himself a hobby!

What did the next ten minutes have in store for him? He imagined being bored out of his mind as soon as he stepped in the door; a bunch of art students learning color theory from a boring professor? 'Blow my brains out.' He just wanted to get inside, pinpoint the target, and do whatever he could to learn his habits quickly so he could put him back underground. Unfortunately, they didn't have a name or a photo of him or at least they didn't give him one, so all he had to go on was his ethnicity.

He made it into the city, walking through a familiar shopping center and looking around in confusion. He didn't think there was a university near the area, but things were easily hidden. He looked down at his arm, following the GPS and turning down an even more narrow street he hadn't known existed. "Ten years in this town and I've never been over here?" He mumbled to himself as he made it to his destination.

He looked up, nothing on the building but numbers. No business name or any indication that there was any sort of class being held inside. "What kind of…" he trailed off, opening the door and walking inside with caution. It looked like he walked into a vacant building! Was this a setup? Reaching behind his back for his gun, he heard footsteps and rethought his action.

"Are you here for the class?"

He turned around, seeing a tall and slender woman with long dark hair and a thick accent. They always assumed since he was American, he didn't know Italian, and it pissed him off sometimes. Just because he didn't dress the part didn't mean he couldn't speak it! "Sì," he nodded. At any rate, it seemed like he was in the right place so he'd let it slide.

"Ah! Le mie scuse," the woman said, embarrassed. She didn't know he spoke the language! Most tourists were tasteless and uncultured, but he was clearly one of the rare ones. Maybe he lived here. "Seguimi. Ti ci porterò."

"Grazie," Jesse thanked the woman, following her through the empty building and down a flight of steps.

"You know," the woman continued in English. She wanted to work on her skills, and how often did she get to speak with a handsome foreigner? "Most people come in through the back."

"Sorry," Jesse took in his surroundings as he was led down a hallway and to an old wooden door. What the hell kind of class was this? "First time here."

"Welcome," the woman said as she opened the door and let him enter. "I have a feeling you will like it here."

"We'll see about that…" Jesse stepped inside, trailing off as he looked around. So, it was this type of art class. There were a handful of random people sitting in front of easels, surrounded by paint, just chatting and drinking wine, some even smoking! The room had an earthy feel to it, with plants and vines and natural-looking lighting, and there were two models posing in the center of the room, male and female. Maybe this wasn't so bad.

He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, finding an empty easel to sit in front of as he scanned the room. Everyone was in great spirits, and there were some seriously talented artists there! But… none of them seemed to be who he was looking for. He picked up some paint and looked at the models in the center of the room. The woman was facing him, standing on a hollowed-out tree log with her body at an angle, arms upward as if she were holding invisible trays. The man had his back to him, standing next to his own log with a foot propped up, one hand resting on his knee and the other on his hip, his head slightly turned.

Jesse wanted to paint him. He wasn't sure why, but there was definitely something drawing him in and he couldn't figure out what. The tattoo that wrapped around his left arm was partially covered by the navy blue silk he was draped loosely in, but it looked like it trailed all the way down his torso and curled around his right leg. "Geez," he said to himself, lighting his cigar and taking a puff. What a build. Though covered, he could still see the muscle and strength he exuded.

He lifted his brush, not really knowing where to start, but switching on autopilot mode as he stared between the work of art in front of him and the canvas. He took in all the details about him that he could, the straight, jet-black hair he had tied up in a bun, the intricacy of the parts of his tattoo he could see, the thickness of his arms, the scars that told stories. He wanted to see his face!

He'd seen other people getting up and moving around to paint different angles and figured he could do the same. He stood, grabbing his easel and moving around the room so he could get a good look at him, nearly dropping his cigar when he saw the face attached to that body. He was… so incredibly beautiful, quite possibly the most attractive guy he'd ever seen! They locked eyes and Jesse couldn't ignore the knot forming in his stomach. This guy was the target. Middle-aged Japanese male, and nobody else in that room fit the description.

'Ain't that 'bout a bitch,' Jesse thought to himself. He couldn't kill him, there was no way! He didn't want to! Instead, he sat back down and watched him closely, a death grip on his paintbrush. Their eyes met for what felt like ages before he actually painted anything else!

He noticed the rugged American as soon as he entered the room, but due to the nature of his work, he couldn't move or say anything. There was something… off? Was that it?—about him that he couldn't put his finger on, but maybe it was the fact that he'd been staring at him since he sat down, and not in the "artsy" way. Truth be told, he was a good-looking man, but he stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was nearly impossible to ignore those eyes of his burning a hole in the back of his head, scanning his body as he connected the brush to the canvas. How did he view him? Not long after, he'd repositioned himself so that he was facing him. 'Must you?' He asked himself, sighing in his head as he reluctantly and unwillingly checked him out. Near shoulder-length dusty brown hair with eyes to match, a somewhat tame beard kept short, a thick build, and snugly fit clothing, why was it so hard to avoid his intense gaze? The moment they locked eyes, it felt like he'd been caught in a trap and he couldn't look away!

Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

The more they watched each other, the slower time felt. However, by the time they'd broken their staring contest, the rest of the class had cleared out, even the other model. There was a time limit, and he was sure this American painter had exceeded it. Where was Luna?

"An aspiring painter?"

Jesse whipped his head to the side, startled by the same woman who'd brought him there. "Yeah," he said through a plume of cigar smoke. Had everyone else left? How had he not noticed? He glanced at the canvas, sloppy, sloppy work. He'd never make it as an artist! "Guess so…"

"Well, you will have to return tomorrow for the next class," the woman said, nodding at the model to let him know he could call it a day. "We cannot keep him here all day!" The woman laughed, picking up supplies and putting them away.

"Oh, uh…" Jesse stood, glancing at the model who was stretching and drinking from a bottle of water. "Sorry 'bout that."

"You can leave it here or take it with you," the woman said. "Your choice. It will still be here tomorrow," she grinned. He wasn't the best she'd seen by a long shot, but he had the potential!

Jesse wanted to ask if the same model would be here too, but he was tongue-tied! "I guess I'll leave it. I'm on foot."

"Oh, do you live around here? I could give you a ride. I'm heading out myself." she offered with a nervous smile. She noticed he was lingering and hoped it was secretly for her! And it sounded like he was indeed a resident!

"I couldn't ask ya to do that," was… this woman flirting with him? He smirked. He'd been in quite the dry spell, but unfortunately, she just wasn't his type. Best to not get her hopes up. "It's a nice day out. A little exercise won't hurt me."

"Then I guess I will see you tomorrow," she said, a little bummed. But knowing she'd see him again was rewarding! She'd try again the next day.

"Yeah," Jesse said, his eyes meeting the model's again before turning and heading out the way he came in. "See you tomorrow…"

The model watched him leave with intrigue, admiring the way his white tee shirt fit him. Though plain, he liked his style. He looked him over as he got further away, spotting something in the back of his pants as he turned down another hallway. Ah, so that's why he felt off. With what he just learned, he couldn't return. It was clearly time to go into hiding, but it truly was a shame. He liked that little art class. It was the only time he felt at peace.

Baptiste knew he was going to have to do something questionable to retrieve this intel, but grave digging? "I've done worse for less," he said to himself, blending with the nighttime shadows and moving along the outside of the fence stealthily. It'd been a while since he'd done a mission like this, and he was glad his clothes still fit! He'd been pigging out with Jesse lately and not staying as active as he used to be. He wanted to change that.

Once he got to the proper side of the cemetery, he tossed his bag over and scaled the fence, thankful that there was very little security. Hopping down, he shrugged away the voice in his head telling him this was wrong with ease. Several times throughout the past handful of years, he'd thought a few of the missions they sent him on weren't as good as they said they were, but his job was to do what he was told and collect his payment, no questions asked. He wasn't placing the blame on anyone; he knew he had—full?—control over his actions and could leave at any time, but these were the skills he had, and it paid the bills far better than the last crew he was with.

"Plot 428," he said under his breath, moving through the graveyard with a flashlight. He wondered how Jesse was doing and was envious that he got to kick back in an easy class to get his job done! How long was that class anyway? It was nearly the evening when he left for his own gig, and he still hadn't returned! 'Don't tell me he's actually enjoying that class!' He shook his head with a smirk, trying to imagine a hipster Jesse instead of the cowboy he usually was. He couldn't see it. If he was awake when he got back home, he'd see if he wanted to talk over some beers.

"Aha!" He found the plot, noticing it was fresh, probably buried within the past week or two. "That should make this a little easier," he dropped his bag and sat on his knees, digging around for supplies. He slipped on his gloves and pulled out his shovel, getting to work and not even bothering to look at the headstone until he was halfway in the hole. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and took a small break, wishing a cool breeze would blow through but it was his fault for taking a job like this in the middle of summer.

What kind of intel was he securing that the person had to be buried with it? He glanced at the concrete directly ahead of him, an unmarked grave? Whoever was just a foot or two beneath him clearly didn't want their whereabouts known, but if Talon had the info, they couldn't have been too discreet.

He continued digging when his shovel hit something hard. Celebrating internally, he looked around to make sure no one was watching and fell to his knees, wiping dirt off the casket. It was when a light breeze finally blew and he looked up, his eyes landing on the insignia engraved on the bottom of the headstone, grass blowing gently around it. "No…" his blood ran cold as he hurriedly swiped the loose dirt away and opened the top half of the casket. "No, no, no…!"

He pulled out the small device that held the hologram of the job details and activated it, scanning it repeatedly. "Secure intel, identity unknown," he read aloud, scouring the plans for anything that might have hinted at just who they were stealing from and found nothing. But he knew. He knew good and damn well who was lying dead in this casket. 'Finish the job.' The voice in his head overpowered whatever reservations he had and he continued on, pulling out another device that detected electronics beneath surfaces.

He held the device close to the body, starting from the top and slowly making his way down. With any luck, he wouldn't have to open the bottom half of the casket. As if life were on his side for once, the device started blinking as it hovered over the torso. "Now, for the dirty work," he muttered, checking pockets and any place a chip could hide. The range on that device was pretty precise, so he shouldn't have been having such a hard time finding it. But then, he remembered just how those people operated and came to a realization. "Merde!" He lifted the shirt and held the device up, of course, it was still blinking! Why wouldn't it be? He was going to have to get his knife.

Hoisting himself out of the hole, he checked his surroundings before searching his bag again for a thin blade. He couldn't believe he was actually about to do this! He'd done some shady shit for these people, but this might have taken the cake. He guessed they didn't know the chip would be embedded in the guy, but what he didn't know was… why? How did he die? What was so important that he had to be buried with it? What was he researching?

Why was he able to do this job with such a straight face? This was once a friend.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you right here."

Baptiste heard the clicking of a gun and froze in place, that voice all too recognizable. He should have known the moment he saw that insignia that he'd show, just not this quickly. They must have found a safehouse nearby. He raised his hands, slowly standing and turning to face him. "Mauga…"

"Don't you dare say my name!" Mauga stepped closer, keeping his gun aimed at who used to be very close to him. This hurt like hell. "You don't have the right," he said, shaking his head. "I told you if I ever saw you again, it wouldn't end well! Now I find you years down the line, digging up the body of a friend?!"

"I'm just doing a job," Baptiste knew he couldn't properly defend himself, but he absolutely needed to diffuse this guy before it escalated!

"Doing a job," Mauga mocked with a scoff, lowering his gun. Baptiste was a trustworthy guy… when he knew him. But after their falling out, he left to work for Talon, the very people they hated. With all the heinous crimes they commit… he just didn't understand why he'd join them. They were supposed to help people, not hurt them. "You're digging up our best friend's grave! Well, my best friend. And you show no remorse!" Mauga couldn't control his anger and threw a punch, knocking him on his ass.

He went down and grabbed his collar, punching him again. "Say something! Tell me why you had the balls to desecrate his grave!" He shouted with a few more blows to the face. "How much are they paying you, huh? Is it worth it?"

"Mauga…" Baptiste let him beat him; he deserved it and more. He knew the work he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. There was already so much blood on his hands, it was too late to even try. "I… I'm s-sorry…"

"You're sorry," Mauga scoffed again, letting him fall to the ground. "You're sorry?! That's all you have to say?!" He couldn't believe this! He'd been working on his anger issues, but he couldn't stop the rage this time. He pulled out his gun again and aimed it at Baptiste, finger on the trigger. "Y'know, you and me, we made a good team. We were supposed to wipe out the bad, but you became one of them. I never thought I'd be in this position."

"M-Mauga, w-wait…" Baptiste didn't have time to pull out his immortality field, nor did he think he'd have to use it! Was this the end of the road for him? He surely didn't see it happening this way. He had so many thoughts and questions that were all over the place, uncoordinated, and he couldn't get any of them out. Memories replayed in his head like reels, where was he aiming the gun? He couldn't see properly.

Ah, this was it, wasn't it?

"It's too late for that." The way Mauga's gut was twisted up was horrendous. His eyes watered, but he wouldn't let a single tear fall. Baptiste was no longer his buddy. He was no longer the guy he once loved. He'd been brainwashed, corrupted by the likes of Talon, swayed by money, and he was sure it wasn't even much more than he made when he worked with them! How did they do it? How did they take a good man and turn him into… into an emotionless puppet? He clenched his fist and grit his teeth, fighting an internal war with himself. He was a threat. He had to do it. "Tofa mo le taimi nei," he said, pulling the trigger.

He hoped he didn't regret this.

"We gotta head out," Mauga burst through the front door of their current safehouse, tossing his backpack on their tattered couch and tossing in his belongings.

"What's up?" Sloan turned around from their seat in front of the computer, finishing up some research on intel for the three of them to retrieve. "You left in a hurry and didn't tell us what was going on."

"Talon got caught in our little trap," Mauga was still reeling from the events that just transpired. Never in a million years did he think he would turn a gun on Baptiste of all people! But he knew who he worked for, and he always had it in the back of his head that there was a small chance he could run into him. With the work they both did; it was bound to happen. He just didn't know he was the one coming this time.

"What's all the commotion?" Olivia emerged from the bathroom with a toothbrush in her mouth. "You better have a good reason for leaving without a word."

"He says Talon fell for the trap," Sloan got up and mimicked his actions, packing up. They'd been squatting there for the past four months and were comfortable there in their tiny, rundown hovel, but when it was time to go, it was time to go.

Olivia almost dropped her toothbrush, she knew Mauga would never run off if it wasn't something super important, but why did he look so dejected? They've had people fall for traps before, so why was this one different? "Nguyen?"

"Yup, caught 'em trying to steal the chip," Mauga sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, the fake, anyway."

"I guess it's a good thing I copied it," Olivia said, jamming a USB into the side of Sloan's computer and pressing the button on the side of it, transferring and erasing all data.

Mauga slumped onto the couch, holding his head in his hands. They'd been in Italy since before Nguyen's death working a long-term job, and they even fought about where to have him buried. They felt bad using him as bait, but his dying wish was for them to figure out a way to use his death to their advantage. With much protest, he agreed to bury him in a place nearby and set a trap to see if Talon knew what they did. He'd go as far as saying he died because of what was on the chip, but they weren't one hundred percent sure… until now.

"What's got you so down, compañero? You were in much better spirits before you left." Olivia knew the situation wasn't ideal, but it was their job, and loss was something they'd all felt. So what did they do in their downtime? Drink like fish and bury the pain, hoping they could still help a few along the way. "Still in mourning? I know seeing his grave must have been tough."

Mauga lifted his head, reaching for the beer he'd left on the table earlier. He'd experienced loss before. He'd like to think he was numb to it all, but seeing Baptiste there like that cracked the steel wall he'd put up inside. "It was Baptiste. He triggered the trap and I found him there, about to dig the chip out of Nguyen! He wasn't himself, Liv. He was emotionless, almost… dead inside, like he truly didn't care he was desecrating the grave of someone he once knew." He paused to drink a bit, shaking his head. "I had to shoot him."

Sloan and Olivia just looked at him with their mouths agape. They both knew just how important Baptiste was to him when he was on their team, so for him to have to go that far must have been tearing him apart inside.

"Did you…" Sloan started, glancing at Liv. "Finish him off?"

Mauga just looked into space, polishing off his beer and wanting another one. To be put in that position… He loved Baptiste, and as far as he knew, he felt the same. The awesome memories and good times they had together sat prominently in his mind, reminding him that there was always hope, but he felt he was too far gone. He'd been with Talon for a good chunk of time now. Was there any hope left? "If Talon sent someone to recover the chip, chances are they're closing in on us. We should be gone by morning."

Neither of them missed the way he avoided answering the question, which meant nothing good. "Listen, amigo," Olivia began, sitting next to him and bumping shoulders. "I know it was hard and it's gonna take some time to get over this. How about we let you pick the next place?"

All Mauga knew was that he wanted his buddy back. It was such a stupid reason to fight, and he always regret their last interaction. But when they met back up to learn he decided to work for Talon, that was the icing on the cake. There was no telling what kind of fucked up methods they used to turn him into the man he saw in the graveyard not long ago.

There was no saving him now.