HITMAN: INVICTUS

by Zevoros

The ICA continues to shape the world from the shadows, taking in contracts and using Agent 47 and his handler, Diana Burnwood, to achieve them. All the while, the rich and powerful battle for dominance as a peril threatens to engulf them and, soon, the world as they know it.

1. By Royal Decree

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~~(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)~~

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Authors' Note:

Zevoros: Special thanks to my co-writer, Triage! Double thanks to Fuzz for being the resident Brit we used to test if it passed the Brit-check.

Additionally, this story was loosely inspired by HITMAN: The Anthology by MrRieper!

Triage: Special thanks to Zevoros for not kicking my ass about my writing speed. Also…people gonna die.

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Chapter 1

By Royal Decree

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Cranborne, United Kingdom

The three labradors sniffed the ground, slowly dragging him forward. He had trained them well. And they would not leave his side until he gave them his permission. His boots crunched against the leaves and the sticks, but he had no care if it gave his position away. It didn't matter to him.

The moonlight shone through the trees above him As though a spotlight had been put on him. With a grin, he tilted his face up to catch the rays. For that moment, everything was perfect. It was like the world itself knew who he was and what he was destined for.

"Your eminence?" his earpiece chimed.

The moment was ruined.

Æthelstan sighed. He lowered his face. "Yes, what is it?" he questioned. His fingers danced along his shotgun as he asked it.

"We're down to one, your eminence," the man on the other end revealed.

Æthelstan didn't reply for a long moment. The prey were getting picked off faster than usual. That would not do. "So they have. Carry on, Mr. Gotha."

"Of course, your eminence."

Cuthbert Gotha went quiet and Æthelstan took a serene step forward. It had been an uneventful hunt thus far. His eyes scanned the treeline as he thought just how he could make this more exciting.

One of the labradors growled and Æthelstan stopped. Finally.

"I know you're here," he called out. In response, all he got was the wind. "Do you want to carry on, then? The game ends with you."

Æthelstan waited. But no response was forthcoming. They really thought they could get away.

For the first time since the hunt began, Æthelstan grinned.

He took another step forward and the labradors kept pace with him. They wished to feast. But Æthelstan would only let them after the prey was found. He brought his lips together and whistled a single, long note.

He had forgotten how serene this could be. Once the prey was found, they would try anything they could to stay alive. To escape being slain. But it was always the same begging. That they had a family. Or claimed to have money. But Æthelstan was never moved. And why would he be?

Perhaps if they were to show the same initiative as Mr. Gotha.

Æthelstan took another step forward and the labradors did the same. They began barking, the ferocious sound spilling out over the woods and Æthelstan pointed his double-barrel shotgun in the direction they were so enamored in.

"Ahhh, the painful route it is, then," Æthelstan announced. He took another step forward. And just as his foot touched the ground, he heard it. A person took off in a sprint as they tried to escape the inevitable.

Æthelstan's finger curled around the trigger and squeezed. A loud bang echoed all throughout the forest and he saw the figure lurch to the side as a hail of bark sprayed through the air.

The next sound that broke through was the scream. One of pure agony. Æthelstan's expression took on a predatory grin as he continued his walk forward, keeping an unhurried pace. He stepped over an assortment of branches that lined the ground, heedless of the noises he made as they broke and snapped beneath his boots. The screams only further drowned them out.

Slowly, the man came into view. His hands clutched at the dirt as he tried to pull himself away, but it was fruitless. His body was covered in dirt and scratches…and blood. Æthelstan grimaced at the sight of the blood. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat.

"Please…" the man said. Æthelstan only dimly heard his begging. This part was both his favorite and least favorite part of the hunts.

Æthelstan turned his back to the man, to better avoid the sight of the blood pooling around his newest kill, and popped open his shotgun's twin barrels. He removed the spent shell casings, carelessly dropping them to the ground, and put in a new pair. Reloaded, he then snapped the barrels back in place.

"I-I can give you wh-whatever you want!" the man tried to protest.

Æthelstan ignored him. Instead, he looked into the distant trees, his gaze rising higher and higher until he could see the moon. He envisioned how it shone its midnight spotlight on him.

Then he whistled. This time a singular, high note.

And the labradors were free.

The man screamed again. First in fear as the dogs pounced on him. Then in pain as they tore into his flesh, devouring him alive.

---

Alex could scarcely breathe beneath his gag, he was so afraid. He continuously rotated his hands in an attempt to get any form of relief from the binds that held his limbs together. But he couldn't. Were they tightening? He didn't know. All he could do was stare across from himself at the other prisoners. All he could do was whimper as the van he was in rumbled across the ground.

He wanted to go home so much. He wanted to hug his wife and daughter so much.

Why was this happening to him? He wasn't anyone special, but neither was he unimportant!

He'd just been celebrating a recent promotion with the mates in the pub before he made his way home. Like clockwork for the most part.

Perhaps that was how they caught him. A man of habits was always easy to predict. That's what they always said, right?

How he desperately wanted to escape somehow, get home to Anne and Lizzie. Hug and kiss, hug and kiss, and then move back to London and try to put this behind him.

But first, he needed to get away.

He and the other prisoners stirred uneasily as they felt the van come to a sudden halt, then they heard a small scuffle and the voices of their captors rising ever so slightly. Seemed like whoever they confronted wasn't going so easily, or perhaps wasn't as caught unawares like he had been.

Alex looked at the van's back door and then glanced at the woman across from him. Mascara mixed with tears and sweat marred her face, trailing down her eyes and cheeks. Alex tried to catch her gaze. Maybe they could take on their captors? It was the only desperate plan that he could think of.

She finally chanced a look at him, and he gazed intently at her, then jerked his head towards the door. The sudden motion of his head caused others to look at him. Biting his gag, he tried to speak through it best as he could.

"Eff geph eef ukh-ers!"

One of the men in the back looked thoughtful, then he nodded. The woman looked frightened, but she nodded reluctantly. His resolve building, with thoughts of his wife and daughter lending him desperate strength, he listened as the scuffling ended. They were going to open the doors. Their legs weren't bound, and if they all piled out, they could overwhelm the captors and then help free each other.

After stomping those wankers good.

Legs having not been used for possibly hours and stuck in an uncomfortable sitting position meant circulation hadn't been flowing; so when he suddenly bent his legs about and coiled near the door, he was feeling a lot of pain and pins and needles. Alex did his best to ignore the discomfort.

Anne and Lizzie awaited.

The doors swung open and Alex let out a muffled cry and leapt out, the other man and woman followed after, slamming into the newest captive by mistake. Alex crashed against a dirty looking rough in a worn tweed jacket. As they fell together, the man cried out, but Alex's vision blackened as he felt something blunt and heavy strike him between the head and neck from behind. A blackjack, most likely, by the other man.

"Where ye think ye're goin', mate?" said the man. He was beefy and slightly overweight, but seemed ready for them. "Thought you wuz gonna up 'n' run, is it, eh? Think we ain't done this b'fore? Get on back up there!"

Alex was grabbed and thrown violently back into the van. The other man and woman, the latter now weeping more openly, tossed in on top of him.

Alex could only mumble his wife's and daughter's name through his gag, as the latest captive, an expressionless bald fellow, was unceremoniously dumped in with the rest.

The man he'd collided with cast a sinister smile at Alex as he grabbed the doors, saying, "Don't fret now, chum, ye want to run so much? You'll get yer chance soon 'nuff!"

He slammed the doors with a cackle.

After a pause, the van trundled along at an unhurried pace. The new arrival felt every turn and stop, memorizing the route taken from where he had been 'abducted' by the duo. The village he had visited was isolated and dark during that time of the night. It wasn't long before they'd spotted him and took a chance on him.

They used a plain unmarked van. There was no villager in sight. He suspected that they knew not to stay out during the night.

"Good evening, 47. Welcome to Cranborne," his earpiece rang.

Diana Burnwood's voice was as calm as it always was, even as her agent had his arms bound and his mouth gagged.

"Your target is populist British aristocrat, Æthelstan of Beldingford. To the public, a man who flaunts his apparent ancestry from the Kingdom of Wessex. He, and his ever-growing following, believe him to be the rightful King of the United Kingdom. However, what the public doesn't know is the sadistic hobby that he has continued after the deaths of his uncle and cousin.

"Following last year's scandal, the British royal family has been under the media's microscope. More and more of the public have bought into Æthelstan's notions of doing away with the current royal family, replacing them with what he and his followers believe is more desirable: himself.

"Initially unfazed, after an MI5 mole was discovered to be working for Æthelstan, the royal family began to turn understandably nervous. However, due to Æthelstan's influence and power, any and all possible charges brought against him were suddenly dropped, and so the royal family has turned to us.

"Currently, Æthelstan - born under the name of Simon Beldingford - is housed in Beldingford Manor, passed on to him as inheritance following the deaths of Winston and Alistair Beldingford. In the years following his inheritance, Æthelstan has made a considerable amount of changes to the manor grounds, and his security team only allows vetted newcomers inside.

"So, in order to get close, you have been taken in among the assortment of Æthelstan's, shall we say, future prey? I have full faith that you will be able to pull this off.

"Good hunting, 47."

The drive was silent, save for one of the women's crying and whimpering. Nobody could say or do anything. 47 merely stared straight ahead as the van made its turns.

47 calmly reached up towards his crimson tie and readjusted it around his neck. Despite the rope that tied his hands, he felt no worry. He brushed a crease out of his black suit jacket before folding his hands together in his lap. Silently, he observed the other victims.

Each of them looked as though they had been through hell, by their expressions alone. And each of them appeared to have been kidnapped shortly after they finished their work. None of them knew what was happening until it was already too late. Only three of the four of them had attempted to escape.

One of the women, a nun, if her outfit was anything to go by, had dried blood at her temple, mixed within her hair and headpiece. It was stained red and even in the dim light of the van, 47 could make it out clearly. Her hands struggled to clasp together as she made motions with her hands that signaled her attempts to pray.

One of the group that had attempted to escape curled his feet as close to his chest as he could get. Just like the woman across from him, tears spilled down his face. His once pristine suit was wrinkled and his tie hung loose. The top buttons that hugged his neck had been undone.

Across from him was a woman with mascara that ran down her cheeks. She wore a bridesmaid dress and her long brown hair tangled into knots. She held a hand to her eye, where one of the guards punched her during the fruitless escape attempt. Her attempts to muffle her sobs failed.

The final member of the failed escape group was a young man in a grey hoodie with a close-fitting hat without a brim that sat far on the back of his head. He sat across from 47 with empty eyes and black rings beneath them. His fingers played with the binds that held his hands together.

When the young man noticed 47's icy blue eyes focused on him, he averted his gaze and kicked his feet together.

"He must be Victoria's age," Diana commented solemnly.

47 didn't attempt to respond.

It wasn't long before the van stopped and the faint sound of a gate opening passed through the vehicle's walls. Then, it resumed its drive. A number of minutes passed when they finally came to a stop. The van turned off and 47 heard the front doors open. Soon enough he heard their footsteps as they approached the back of the van.

The victims tensed in preparation. They had no idea what awaited them. The doors opened to reveal a plethora of guards, dressed in dark red leather coats and breeches. The prisoners could barely hold back their cries of fear as the guards aimed their automatic rifles and break-action shotguns at the inside of the van. An overweight man in a tweed jacket peeked inside, a large grin adoring his face. "His eminence is gon' be right pleased with ye," he remarked.

"Come on," another man said. He came closer into view with his rifle, gesturing outside the van, then aiming it back inside. "Up you get," he ordered.

Nobody was willing to offer any form of resistance. They climbed out of the van, stepping out into the cool air. None of the guards' faces gave off any hint of sympathy. They were stern and cruel. The hint of a smile at the corner of their lips. There would be not a hint of mercy from them.

47's eyes scanned the guards carefully. He watched their stances. How they positioned their weapons. These people were professionals. They were prepared for what they needed to do to complete their task. 47 flicked his gaze towards the mansion that loomed over them all.

Beldingford Manor.

It was different from the last time he had been here. The only similarity was the name. There were new extensions to the manor itself, using a combination of new and old material, and painted over in some areas to make it look less like a mixture and more uniform in appearance. They had reversed the van and parked it near a set of double doors, which 47 guessed would be a semi-secure basement cellar.

A quick examination with his peripherals told him of high walls, disguised with creepers, ivy and trimmed hedge bushes to mask an already uncharacteristic style of British home design in the countrysides.

He detected the faint smell of apples, suggesting an apple orchard, or at least a fair number of the trees. He picked up the sharp scent of black pine, alder, and birch as well. The hedge maze, if it was still there, would possibly be filled with trees. There was most likely a full acre of land filled with trees surrounding the manor, which was closer to one side of the entire plot of land owned by Æthelstan.

He most likely used the trees to create a forest environment for his hunts.

"Move! Now!" one of the guards said, prodding his rifle into the back of one of the victims, shoving him forward. "Follow me mate, Billy, there," he said.

The man released a noise in the back of his throat and stumbled forward. One by one, the rest followed. They formed a line and the only sound to be heard was the creatures of the night.

Somewhere nearby, a fox let out a cry, which sounded an awful lot like a woman screaming in horror. It clearly unnerved many of the terrified new captives, whose heads whipped towards the direction of the sound.

A minute passed. Then two. But still nobody made a sound of resistance. 47 took in every detail as he walked past. The open windows leading into the mansion. The side door. The gravel path leading into the forest. And, as they approached their destination, he saw a bald man with a pair of spectacles resting on his nose, peering down at his tablet. He wore a butler's suit. All around him were men dressed in red hunting outfits. Each with a double-barrel shotgun slung over their arm. Each with varying looks of eagerness.

The hunters whooped in delight when they saw the prisoners and the butler looked up. But when they saw the few prisoners that had been brought, the whooping swiftly went silent.

"Gotha!" Billy called out needlessly.

"Good. Right on time," Gotha said. "Line them up for me," he commanded.

"You 'heard 'im!" Billy declared. He spun around to face the victims with a grin. "Git in a line!"

With nary a sound, the prisoners followed his order. Rifles and shotguns still pointed at them. And slowly, the people in red hunting outfits began to circle them. Sizing them up and creating a crowd.

"Only four?" one of the men complained.

A buff guard with a scar on his cheek tore the gag off of the man first in the line. The man made a whimpering noise and the guard sneered at him. "Oh, shut it!" he derided. He reached into his pocket to produce a knife.

"No no!" the prisoner cried out, pulling back in fear. But the guard reached forward and grabbed him by the side of the face. "Please-!" the man started to beg.

"Keep still!" the guard said.

Gotha stepped behind the man with the scar and looked at the prisoner. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Wha-?"

"Your name?" Gotha repeated.

Behind Gotha, a guard with a shaved head flipped open a wallet as the other manhandled the prisoner. "Al-Alex," the man stuttered.

Gotha shook his head. "Your full name," he said.

Alex whimpered again. "Ale-Alexander Mitc-Mitchell," he tried to say.

Gotha looked at the guard with the shaved head, who nodded. "Good," Gotha said, then typed the name down. "Occupation?"

Alex swallowed. He looked down for the first time to see the man with the scar in front of him, and watched as he cut through the rope that held his hands together. "Oc-Occupation?" Alex repeated, quickly looking back up at Gotha.

"Your job," Gotha said. He tapped his foot impatiently.

Alex shuffled from foot to foot nervously. Careful not to look like a threat. There were so many weapons pointed in his direction. "Uhm," he answered lamely. "I'm a- I just got a promotion to- I'm an engineer," he sputtered.

Gotha gave Alex a tight-lipped smile. "Good," he said as he typed something down on his tablet. He looked at one of the guards. "Go get the cellar prisoners," he said.

"How many?"

"Half."

A flurry of conversation broke out between the men dressed in hunting outfits. "Half!?" one quietly yelled to another.

"We've never had that many before!" the other responded.

"Bloody brilliant it is, innit?" the first remarked with a grin. "Which one you want?"

The other hummed. "How 'bout we see what happens when they bring out the ones from down below?"

The first man made a noise of agreement. And as two of the guards departed, Gotha turned to the next person in the line. The same pattern followed as he typed down their names and occupations. Danielle Mountpoint, nun. Jacqueline Perkins, photographer. James Sinclair, student.

Finally, Gotha reached 47 and a guard tore his gag off roughly. But 47 didn't make a single sound. The guard frowned at the lack of a reaction and produced his knife.

"This one's got balls. I can tell," the guard declared. He slipped the blade between 47's hands to cut the binds away. Behind 47, the hunters made mocking noises.

"Baldy thinks he's a big tough guy, eh?"

"I'm gonna fill that fucker's shiny chrome dome full of lead. Shouldn't be hard to see when the moon's reflectin' off of ya."

"Didn' find any identification on this one," Billy said when the wallet carrying guard gave him a look.

Gotha nodded at his tablet before finally looking up at 47, and subsequently did a double-take at the latest victim. He was quieter than the others, which was more than unusual. Even he had made noises of fear. Gotha could recall it like it was yesterday. But this man…there was steel in his eyes. Gotha clicked his teeth. He felt a shiver go down his spine.

"Na-" Gotha coughed, then cleared his throat. "Name?" he requested.

"Tobias Rieper," 47 intoned.

Gotha began to write the name, then stopped. "How do you spell that?" he asked without looking up. He didn't want to see those cool eyes peer at him.

"R-I-E-P-E-R."

Gotha typed the name exactly as it was spelt. "Occupation?" he asked.

"Liquidator," 47 told him flatly.

Gotha huffed. "Of course you are," he said under his breath. He internally kicked himself. Get yourself together. Scared of a lawyer? He moved on, trying to put the encounter out of his head and ignoring how the guard cut through the rope between the prisoner's hands.

As Gotha got closer to the end of the line, the prisoners from the cellar were filed out to join the new arrivals. The ones that knew what was coming. Twenty of the prisoners joined the eight victims that had been picked up that night. Some of them held hands while others sobbed and cried. 47 watched them as they flooded the ground.

Then he spotted him. A redheaded man mixed with the crowd, wearing nothing but boxers with the American flag printed onto it.

"That is Carlton Smith," Diana introduced through the earpiece. She almost sounded baffled. "CIA agent, and frankly, a miracle he is still employed with them."

47 agreed.

Smith looked around at the surrounding trees. 47 suspected that he was attempting to formulate an escape plan. Slowly, Smith looked towards the new set of prisoners and he blinked when he saw 47.

"No way-" Smith started to say.

"Shut up, Yank!" one of the guards said, slamming the hilt of his rifle into Smith's back. He tumbled to the ground with a grunt, just barely catching himself as his knees caught the ground.

Some of the guards laughed while others smirked. One of the men in hunting attire asked, "Why is he in his boxers?"

"No idea," a different hunter said. "But I'm callin' that one. He's my kill."

"Oh come on, he's so easy!" another hunter protested. "He's gonna stub his toe on a root or somethin'."

"Or he's gonna get too cold to even try to participate. Easiest kill, I'm tellin' you."

A guard grabbed Smith by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet, then pushed him forward into the line. "Alright," Smith said as he was forced into position. "You don't have to be so grabby."

"Shut it!" a guard snarled at Smith. Behind them, a door opened. "Behold! His eminence!" the guard declared, extending an arm out somewhere behind them.

47 turned his head only slightly. Just in time to see as a man walked down a set of stone stairs to join them. Behind him, two guards in black suits stood on either side of the door he had come out of.

He was a blond man with slicked back hair. His face held high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Dark eyes looked over the prisoners that the men working for him had gathered. His skin was pale, as though he barely stepped outside during the daylight. A double-barrel shotgun was slung over his shoulder. His hands were covered by red leather gloves. His body was adorned with a light grey suit, buttoned up his torso, leaving just enough space for his black tie to be visible upon a black button-up shirt. There was a pin of the Union Jack on his right lapel, and a pin of his family crest on his left. He wore light grey riding pants with black riding boots.

"That is Æthelstan of Beldingford," Diana introduced. "Self-proclaimed descendant of the House of Wessex, claimant of the British throne, and human hunter. Quite the resumé."

"I am Æthelstan of Beldingford," Æthelstan proclaimed. "I am your host. Your warden. Your lord. And soon, your king."

Despite his aristocratic demeanour, his accent had more of a casual lilt common to the countryside British who live outside of London. It seemed indicative of his upbringing and history.

"My family had a tradition, before they passed," Æthelstan began as he looked at the prisoners. "They took the scions and scionesses; the heirs and heiresses of families opposed to them. And they put them through what you're about to face now."

The prisoners made noises of fear while the hunters jeered at them. Æthelstan looked up and down the line of prisoners briefly. He had never been so kind as to utilize so much prey in a hunt before.

"I had a twin brother once," Æthelstan said. "A long time ago now." He watched the prisoners from the corner of his eye as he started his pace down the line. Almost all of them averted their gaze. Anxiety and tension bled off of them. All of them except for the bald man in a business suit. Æthelstan stopped in front of him. "He suffered from cognitive erosion, even when he was a boy," Æthelstan continued. He stared at the expressionless bald man with intrigue. You are not like the others, he thought.

47 stared back at Æthelstan without a word.

After a beat, Æthelstan resumed his walk down the line of prisoners. "One day, my uncle and cousin welcomed us here. Onto these very grounds," he said, extending his arms as he twisted into a circle, gesturing to everything that anyone could see. "That was when we learned of the hunt," he said, a grin widening across his face.

The air seemed to flee the collective lungs of the prisoners. With one word, Æthelstan revealed just what they were there for.

"NO!" someone screamed.

It was as though the floodgates were opened. A number of people wept. Others exclaimed that what they were being faced with wasn't reality.

"What does that mean?" one person questioned fearfully. "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?"

"QUIET!" Æthelstan commanded and, at once, everyone fell as silent as they could manage. Satisfied, Æthelstan continued, "My sweet, mad brother perished that day. In the same way that you are about to. Slain by hunters. And just like my sweet, mad brother, you're going to flee into the forest under a minute-long grace period. Then, the hunters are going to go after you. Not a single one of you is going to survive the night."

The prisoners broke out into muddled crying and pleas. Pleas that would fall on deaf ears. Æthelstan turned in place and started his approach back to the other end of the line.

Then Æthelstan blanched and darted his eyes towards the treeline. "Mr. Gotha," he called, his voice suddenly sickly and disgusted.

Gotha hurried forth until he was right beside Æthelstan. "Yes, your eminence?" he asked worriedly.

"What is that?" Æthelstan questioned with a gesture at the nun, who went utterly pale.

"I believe that is a nun, your eminence," Gotha responded uncertainly after a glance.

"Look. Again," Æthelstan ordered through gritted teeth.

Gotha dutifully looked a second time at Danielle. And 47 watched as Gotha went pale. "I am so sorry, your eminence," he apologized. He swiftly turned on his heel and matched over to Danielle.

"Please!" Danielle started to beg. "I haven't done any-"

But then Gotha grabbed her headpiece and tore it off, palming the bloodied mark. "Which one of you was so careless?" Gotha questioned with a look at the guards. "Billy, was it?" He shook his head and the guards didn't answer. "Answer the question!"

47 tilted his head to see the guards that Gotha addressed. They had begun to look uneasy beneath Gotha's sudden questioning. Æthelstan would likely punish them if they were even slightly seen as insubordinate. The thought made a memory prod into the back of his mind. One that he forcefully pushed away.

"Yes, sir. I believe it was Billy," one of the guards answered, his voice slightly shaken.

Gotha rolled his eyes. He looked at Danielle, who stared back at him, shaking from head to toe. Gotha pursed his lips, then roughly grabbed Danielle by the neck to wipe the blood off her temple with the headpiece.

Danielle whimpered and when Gotha pulled back, she cupped her hands together in a silent prayer.

"Find him and bring him here," Gotha told the guard, before turning towards Æthelstan's back. "It's gone, your eminence," Gotha said, his voice softer, folding his hands - and the bloodied headpiece - behind his back.

Æthelstan didn't move for a moment. 47 deduced that he was composing himself. "How peculiar. A serial killer who is averse to the sight of blood," Diana commented.

47 remained silent, but he filed away the fact in his memory. A liability such as an aversion for blood was an incredibly useful advantage against his target.

Eventually, Billy had been found and was being roughly pushed by a pair of uniformed guards. When he was before Æthelstan, he briefly locked gazes with Gotha, who stared impassively at him, but it might as well have been an announcement of his guilt from the hilltops.

"Y-Ye summoned me, s-sire?" Billy asked.

In lieu of acknowledging the question, Æthelstan stared hard into Billy's eyes, and asked, "Tell me, ol' boy, why was the nun bleeding?"

"Tried to up an' escape, she did," Billy replied as evenly as he could manage under Æthelstan's cold gaze. "Her, an' them two blokes there."

He seemed to know he was in trouble, and he realized, probably too late, that he should have tried cleaning off any traces of blood.

"What did you use to subdue them again?"

"It wuz this 'ere wotsit, s-sire," Billy took out the blackjack he'd been given for his work.

Æthelstan snatched the weapon out of his hand and looked at it thoughtfully. Without warning, his hand swerved low, then swung back up with intense force, clocking Billy across the temple. The man went sprawling to the floor, and stayed motionless.

"Keep in mind, ol' boy, bring them to me in pristine condition. Tie their legs next time."

"Will do, sire," the man in the tweed jacket replied on behalf of Billy, and he stepped out to drag his companion out of sight, back into the building. Æthelstan tossed the blackjack carelessly towards Gotha, who reached out with his free hand and easily caught it.

That done, he began walking back down the line, until he came to a pause before 47. Æthelstan eyed him with a curious look.

"You," he said simply, "what was your name again?"

"Tobias Rieper," 47 replied evenly.

Æthelstan seemed to take note of the lack of waver in his voice, the lack of fear. The complete calm.

"And your profession?"

"Liquidator."

"47," Diana's voice had a slight hint of urgency, "I cannot create a cover profile in time. They appear to be quite thorough in their screening process. I should have expected this. It explains how they've gotten away with so many murders. You only have a limited time before they uncover your true intentions."

"Not a barrister?" Æthelstan asked, using the English term for the same profession.

47 didn't reply, and Gotha checked his tablet hurriedly. Æthelstan turned to look at him expectantly, and after a while, Gotha shook his head, a look of mild trepidation on the man's face.

Shifting his gaze back to 47, Æthelstan stated, "Interestingly, there isn't any information about you online. What sort of liquidator doesn't have even the slightest presence on the internet these days, hmm?"

He turned his head a bit more to see the man in the tweed jacket returning and asked, "You and Billy didn't find any identification on this fellow? None at all?"

"Tha's right, nothin' on 'im we could find," the man replied.

"Well, ol' boy, aren't you the enigma," Æthelstan said, looking back towards 47. "I don't think you're a liquidator at all, or that your name really is Tobias Rieper."

He stood a little closer, maintaining eye contact. 47 stared back, unblinking.

"He's got the eyes of a killer, this one," Æthelstan said, "nobody touches him."

He looked 47 up and down. "He's mine."

Æthelstan stepped away as he walked towards the end of the line. "How about a demonstration?" he suggested, pulling his double-barrel shotgun from over his shoulder.

The prisoners whimpered and scattered pleas arose from them. Æthelstan clicked his shotgun shut and pointed at Jacqueline. The woman in the bridesmaid dress. She let out a cry of despair and one of the guards shoved her from the back, pushing her out of line.

"Wh-Why…?" Jacqueline said through her tears. Her legs shook as stood as straight as she could try. She looked as though she was about to fall.

Æthelstan ignored her question. "You're going to run to the trees," he said instead. "As fast as you can."

Jacqueline sniffed and glanced off into the woods. She took an uneasy step forward, looking between Æthelstan and the guards. Finally, she nudged her heels off of her feet and broke out into a run towards the forest.

As Jacqueline went, Æthelstan followed her with his gaze. "Watch carefully," he told the captives, raising his shotgun to brace against his shoulder. He closed an eye and watched down the barrel of his weapon. He traced Jacqueline's outline as she sprinted towards the woods.

Jacqueline sprinted between two trees and pushed through bushes. She stumbled slightly before she caught herself and rushed forward. Her breath frosted in the air and she didn't look back once as she hurried forwards.

Æthelstan's finger curled around the trigger. Then, just as Jacqueline started to slip between the trees, Æthelstan closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger at the same time.

A scream pierced through the air and Jacqueline crashed to the ground in a bloody heap. The captives yelped in shock and horror as Æthelstan turned away from the scene of his quarry. He flipped his shotgun open and pulled the used shells out.

"I hope you all understand your role," Æthelstan said as he dropped the shells to the dirt, then replaced them. Nobody responded to his question as he flipped the gun shut. "Your grace period begins now," he said.

A guard raised his pistol into the air and fired, the bullet cutting through the air with a thundering crack.

And the captives broke out for the cover of the trees. Although some of them shoved each other down, it wasn't long before they were gone into the woods.

All except for one. Crouched down with his hands over his head. He cried in despair and made no attempt to even try to run. He refused to look up at his surroundings, his state of despair was so all encompassing.

"Easy kill!" one of the hunters jeered.

Æthelstan stared at the man, then turned toward his manor. He waited a few seconds longer, then announced, "It's time for the hunt to begin!"

One of the hunters blasted the captive in the head, blowing his skull apart into a bloody mess.

---

47 skulked through the forest, his steps precise and careful. He left no mark behind for the hunters to track. The moonlight cast in front of him just barely illuminated the woods. Behind him, he heard the gunshots and cheers from the hunters. They had already killed a number of their prey.

And it had only begun.

The sound of movement ahead made 47 slip into the bushes silently. He hid himself from view and used the darkness to his advantage, avoiding the spots of moonlight as he went.

The figure ahead of him put his back to a tree. They hid in the dark, but 47 knew from his silhouette who it was. He crept forward, suddenly annoyed that he was unable to acquire his Silverballers for this contract.

47 stepped out of the bush, to the man's back. He allowed his steps to alert him, purposely stepping upon sticks and leaves as he grew closer.

The man spun around at once with a punch already aimed squarely at 47's jaw. Immediately, 47 caught his wrist and deflected the man's next punch with his arm. Then, utilizing the man's momentum, spun them around and 47 shoved him to the ground into a patch of tall grass.

"Agh!" the man grunted.

"Mr. Smith," 47 spoke. He had known who he was far before his features could be registered through the dark.

Carlton Smith planted one hand against the ground as his other protected his head. When he heard 47 speak, he dropped his hand, a relieved smile breaking across his face. "47!" he exclaimed. "Oh, my God! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! When I saw you I thought my mind was playing tricks on me!"

"Be quiet," 47 said simply as he crouched down within the grass.

"Right. Sorry," Smith apologized with a grimace. He started to stand only for 47 to put his hand on his shoulder to force him back down. "I was down in that cellar for days. These people…I got to know some of these people…"

47 scanned their surroundings through the grass. He could hear a pair of hunters walking closer to where they were. The hunters were not subtle. But even if they were, it wouldn't change a thing.

"What are you doing here?" Smith asked after a lull. "Are you here to get me out or a-"

"The usual," 47 answered.

"Right. Right." Smith nodded. "I really should've figured nothing less," he tried to joke with a weak smile.

47 didn't return it.

"You were caught," 47 stated. The hunters slowly grew closer. This conversation needed to end fast.

Smith rubbed his arm sheepishly. "I, uh, was investigating this Æthelstan guy when I tried to take someone's outfit. They, uh, were not happy." He paused. "Listen, I need to get out of here," he told 47 urgently. "I need to report to my superiors, but…" He stopped and looked out at the forest. "I can't just leave these people behind."

"Be quiet," 47 spoke as a flashlight beam appeared. It flew above the grass and Smith clicked his mouth shut. A pair of hunters came into view next. Their pace was relaxed. Without worry. 47 knew that they had no doubts in their mind that they would be stopped.

Smith sank lower into the grass. Anxiety seeped off of his body but 47 didn't pry his attention away from the hunters. Any word they spoke had the potential of being useful intel. Any action they performed, 47 could use to his advantage.

"Oi, mate, if you could choose to hunt anyone, 'oo woul' it be?" the first hunter said to his partner.

"Anyone?" the second hunter asked. "As in the whole world, anyone?"

"That's wot I said, innit?" the other responded without looking at his partner. His flashlight beam flew over the heads of 47 and Smith, before moving it back into the path he walked.

"Well, not really. That's why I asked you to clarify, didn't I?"

"Wanker."

"But ye love me anyway."

They both chuckled. The first of them shone his light through a bush, pointing his shotgun at it. "What about you?" he asked. "'oo would you choose?"

"Ghostly," he said instantly as he glanced skyward up at the trees, shining his light at the branches.

The other man looked away from the bushes and shone his light into his partner's face. "The YouTuber?" he asked, confused.

47 watched the two men as they moved. It would be easy to distract them before he picked them off. But Smith was unpredictable and 47 hated that unpredictability. It was why he had always been alone on assignments. 47 pushed the thought out as he did the measurements of the hunters' outfits in his mind. They were shorter than 47. Nor were they as broad. No. They wouldn't fit.

The first man grunted and held a hand over his face. "Shine that somewhere else, won't you!" he said irritatedly. When his partner pointed it away, he continued, "Yeah, the YouTuber. He's just a dick. You know?"

"Sure. Won't argue that. I mean, he is. But why do you care so much?"

The first man paused. He scanned his surroundings one more time before he looked at his partner. "Did you see how he harassed Mo Chae-young?" he asked, sounding truly upset as he spoke. "How does an asshole like that score an interview with her?"

The second man laughed. "Ah, yeah, I don't really care, mate. But I should've known," he remarked. He turned around and carried on walking through the forest.

"Listen…" the first man said as he started to go after his partner, before he abruptly stopped. "Wait!" he called as his light landed on a spot on the ground. "What's that…?"

The second man turned around. "What is it?" he asked.

"There's some marks 'ere…"

47 saw Smith go pale from the corner of his eye. He hadn't hidden his tracks. 47 crouched backwards and maneuvered himself silently through the tall grass. After a moment's pause, Smith followed.

"Ooh, is someone around here?" the second man said with a wide grin. He cast his flashlight about. "Come on out!" he called.

The first man slid down to one knee, moving his hand to the dirt on the ground.

47 carefully moved his arm, finding a broken log, possibly shot off from one of the nearby trees during a previous hunt. Hefting its weight, he waited for the hunters to be looking away from their general direction, and then hurled the log, watching it sail over their heads and crashing into the underbrush approximately to their right.

"Oi! That way," exclaimed one, "come on then, ye mucker, after 'em!"

The two men's voices became indistinct as they traveled in the direction that 47 had thrown the log. As they disappeared from sight, Smith let out a relieved breath. Frost clouded the air in front of them, before dissipating.

"You left a trail," 47 told Smith. He stood up and began to walk away.

For his part, Smith had the grace to look sheepish, but as he saw 47 walking away, his eyes widened, and he hissed urgently at his companion. He crouch-walked after 47 quickly.

"Hey hey-hey-hey! Wait!" he called out in a frantic whisper.

Part of 47 wanted to continue on by himself, but he knew Smith would have a compelling argument, and wouldn't leave him alone at any rate.

"You're going to take down Æthelstan, right?" Smith asked unnecessarily. "See, this'd mean this is his last hunt, and there won't be anymore abductions, but...please, you gotta help me get this group out! Those that're left anyway…"

They all watched the bridesmaid die, and based on the occasional shrieks and screams and gun fire, a few others had been killed too.

"They're not part of my mission," 47 stated flatly.

Smith frowned and straightened up slightly from his crouched position. "They're not part of mine, either!" he said. "But I'm not just leaving them behind in there!"

47 spared the man a glance, but said nothing. He watched the muscles along Smith's jaw bunching and working, as irritation and frustration was quickly welling up in him.

"Look, I'm not the smartest, strongest, fastest, the best, but I try, okay? And I like to think humanity's my strongest suit."

"And poor taste in underwear," Diana added dryly in 47's earpiece.

"But also…" Smith looked at the ground for a moment, then back at 47, "...you saw the earpiece Æthelstan's wearing, right?"

Though she said nothing, 47 could practically envision Diana stiffening.

"All this time, he's been having people abducted, then hunted like animals, how do you think no one's escaped even once all this time?"

"I'll admit, that is a compelling point, let's see where he's going with this," Diana said.

47 stared at Smith. But he didn't say a word and Smith took that as encouragement to continue.

"He's got a monitoring station, probably in the manor," he said, "he's probably got cameras everywhere." He gestured animatedly with his hands as he spoke. "If he has that, and people are notifying him, you'll never catch him off guard. To say nothing about those dogs of his." He let out a deep breath and finally stood, glancing around at their surroundings. "I'm not telling you how to do your job. I'm just giving you the same information I already have."

47 examined Smith. His previous receding hairline had been replaced by what 47 assumed was hair implants, creating a flattop haircut. He was aged, but similar in appearance to the man that 47 had first met in Kowloon. Smith looked away from him as 47's piercing blue eyes bore into him.

Kowloon, Romania, St. Petersburg, and California. 47 had had to save him too many times before. The CIA were giving him operations that they knew he would fail. Did Smith know?

47 found himself annoyed that he hadn't anticipated Smith's presence here.

"Do your superiors know that you were caught?" 47 asked. He abruptly turned and resumed his walk through the forest. He could only hear the distant sounds of gunfire and screams. There wasn't anyone near them for the time being. But even still, as he emerged from the tall grass, he placed his steps carefully.

"No," Smith said eventually after a lengthy pause. He crouched down once more and copied 47's movements exactly. "They think I'm working undercover." He scratched at the back of his head. What's the plan? Are you getting out of this place?"

"There's a wall encircling the manor," 47 told Smith. "The only way to get in was to get caught."

"Right. Right," Smith said with a nod. "I saw a guy in a van abduct someone, so I tried to steal the guy's clothes and…well, I already told you that I got caught."

47 didn't respond. At the sound of a gunshot, 47 twisted in the direction that it came from and stuck low to the ground. Smith quickly followed as he went.

"Why are we going towards the gunshots?" Smith whispered nervously. His eyes strayed towards 47's feet in order to step where he stepped, avoiding leaving a trail behind as he did the first time.

"I am going to knock them out and I am going to take their clothes as a disguise," 47 responded. Someone screamed and 47 saw Smith jump out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh," Smith said.

The treetops became dense enough that the moonlight could not cut through it. As they crept nearer, 47 heard the begging of a man as one of the hunters stood over him. 47 put his back to a tree, then slowly rose, peering just around the bark so that he could see what was happening.

It was the prisoner that Gotha first questioned. The one who introduced himself as Alex. His left leg was a bloody mess and 47 could see the chunks of skin and bone that covered the ground.

The hunter snickered as he reloaded his shotgun. "'Please!'" he mocked. Then he broke out into full-blown laughter. "Your face! You look so stupid!"

"Please!" Alex begged as he sobbed. "You don't have to do this!" He reached for his pocket before seemingly realizing that his wallet had been taken from him. "I have a wife and daughter! Anne and Lizzie! You-You have a heart, r-right?" he asked the hunter. "You don't wanna take away someone's father, right?"

The hunter was taller than the last ones that 47 had come across. He was slightly broader than them. His measurements would fit, 47 knew.

Without looking at Smith, 47 muttered, "Wait here." He moved away from the tree. He eyed the treetops and bushes for the cameras that Smith had mentioned, but spotted none. This was a blind spot. Without a sound, 47 reached down to pick up a large branch.

"That's what makes this so liberating!" the hunter bragged with a smug grin to his quarry. He clicked his shotgun shut and cocked it. "Nobody knows and there's nothin' the bobbies can do," he said.

Alex pushed himself backwards. He sniffled and held a hand over his mouth as he sobbed. "Please…there's a good person in you! I know there is!" he said, planting one hand just above where his leg had been shot off.

47 slowly circled the perimeter of the area. His steps were as precise as always. Without sound. Then, as he positioned himself behind the hunter, he crept forward, the branch in hand.

The hunter sighed. "So easy!" he remarked and he raised his shotgun to level it directly at Alex's head. "Another tally on the scoreboard for me!"

"PLEASE DON'T!" Alex screamed.

The hunter didn't hear as 47 drew close behind him. The hunter didn't notice as a strong branch was aimed at the back of his head. All he felt was the sudden pain in the back of his skull before darkness consumed him.

The hunter toppled to the ground and 47 swiftly grabbed his body before he could land heavily against the dirt. 47 would not risk the sound bringing the attention of any other hunter in the area.

"Oh, God…" Alex breathed. He looked at 47 in awe. As though he were his guardian angel.

The sound of noise behind Alex made him tense but 47 paid Smith no mind as he rose from his hiding spot. "Oh man," Smith said. "Nice work, but remember what I said about the cameras?"

"There aren't any here," 47 replied without looking up. He grabbed the hunter by the arm and began to drag him towards some foliage. It would hide the hunter for the time being.

"Is he dead?" Alex asked, his tone fearful and anxious.

"No," 47 answered. As soon as the man was hidden, he wasted no time in stripping the hunter down.

"Oh, God," Alex said again. Smith offered his hand and Alex took it gratefully. "You saved me," he said to 47 as he struggled to his one foot. "Thank you."

47 didn't respond. As soon as the hunter was down to his briefs, 47 got to work. He slipped the hunter's coat over his own suit.

"He's not really the talkative type," Smith told Alex.

"What's he doing?" Alex asked confusedly before looking at Smith. "Are you guys getting out of here? You gotta take me with you!"

"Listen," Smith said, helping Alex prop against a tree. "You need to lay low. Okay? You'll get through this."

47 put the hunter's brimless hat on, covering the barcode on the back of his head. Idly, he touched a finger to it. He couldn't feel the mark he had made anymore when he had taken a razor to it.

He buttoned up the outfit over his suit and slipped the hunter's pants over his own. He contemplated swapping his shoes for the hunter's before deciding against it. When he was done, 47 glanced in the direction that he knew the manor was in.

"I'll get through this. I'll get through this…" Alex said. Though he looked at Smith, it sounded like the words were more for himself. When 47 looked back, he saw as Smith wrapped a tourniquet around Alex's destroyed leg.

If Alex survived this ordeal, even with treatment, it was unlikely he'd ever walk properly again, assuming he didn't lose that leg.

When Smith was done, he helped lower Alex into the foliage and grabbed the hunter's shotgun. "Here, take this," Smith told him. "You know how to use one of these?"

Alex stared at the gun before he slowly, slowly reached out for it. "N-No…" he said.

"It's easy," Smith reassured. "Point and shoot." He paused. "And only shoot hunters."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex said with a nod. He swallowed nervously.

Smith looked at 47. "Did he have any more bullets?"

Without looking at Smith, 47 reached into his disguise's pockets and produced the shotgun shells. He deposited them in Smith's hands, who in turn gave them to Alex.

"You got this," Smith reassured. "You can do this. Just stay low, stay quiet. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Alex repeated. He shook from head to toe and grimaced painfully when he touched his injured leg to the ground. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Smith. Carlton Smith."

"Am I gonna…get out of this alive?" Alex asked, shivering as he asked it. He clutched the shotgun close, the barrel pointed out into the dark forest.

"If you do exactly what I said, you'll be fine," Smith said with a reassuring smile. He turned to look back at 47, only to find that he had already begun to walk away. Smith stammered, then, after giving Alex's shoulder and squeeze, hurried after him. "Wait!"

"You should wait here," 47 said calmly without a look at Smith.

"You're not the only one with a mission to accomplish!" Smith argued. He glanced back over his shoulder to where he knew Alex hid in the foliage near the unconscious hunter.

47 didn't respond and Smith quieted when they heard the sound of footsteps up ahead. Acting quickly, Smith threw himself behind a tree.

"Oi, who's there?" a hunter asked. A flashlight beam sailed from left to right, before it caught 47's stern expression. "Bollocks!" the hunter cursed with a jump and put a hand over his heart. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," 47 said flatly, carefully inflecting his accent just enough to imitate most of the hunters.

The hunter flashed the light behind 47. "I 'eard a gunshot. And where's your torch?"

"It gives you away," 47 stated. He brushed past the hunter, who shivered. If he noticed that 47 said nothing about his missing shotgun, he didn't say anything.

The hunter continued forth, shining his flashlight over the trees, grass, and bushes. He couldn't wait until he claimed his first kill. That was why he had come here. And it had taken so much time to wiggle his way into Æthelstan's sphere. But it all paid off for this.

This liberation. Nobody except the hunters and Æthelstan himself would know what he did here tonight. The thought made the hunter grin. If he could do this every so often, then he was perfectly willing to be in Æthelstan's debt.

He couldn't wait to claim that first kill.

But that became an impossibility when a pair of arms ambushed him from behind.

The right arm of 47's wrapped around the larynx of the man, and clenched in a vice that didn't completely cut off his air supply, but put sufficient pressure until he could barely breathe, compounded when he interlocked his left arm with the right hand and the left palm pressed the man's head forwards and downwards, making him lose even more control.

Within ten seconds, the hunter was unconscious.

Quietly sliding the man bonelessly to the ground, 47 looked towards Smith and nodded at him.

How Smith managed in just his boxers was something of a wonder.

"Thanks," he whispered to 47, and quickly began to strip the hunter down.

---

Æthelstan was annoyed.

"Tobias Rieper. Liquidator," he muttered to himself. Æthelstan had men watching every camera on his property, and Rieper had yet to appear on any of them. The man proved more and more to be an enigma.

His labradors kept pace with Æthelstan as he walked through the forest. He knew it like the back of his hand. There weren't many places that someone could hide. Not forever. But what annoyed Æthelstan more than anything was that the cameras didn't cover every inch of his property.

Æthelstan tapped a finger against his shotgun. "How many are left?" he questioned.

"Twelve left, your eminence," Gotha said through the earpiece.

Half, then, Æthelstan thought. He heard a noise suddenly and twisted his head slightly. Someone was there…

The labradors perked up. One by one, they started to growl.

Æthelstan pretended not to know. "Mr. Gotha," he said to his earpiece even as he turned his body towards the sound. "How is your search for Mr. Rieper coming along?" he questioned.

"Ongoing, your eminence," Gotha responded. Æthelstan wasn't surprised. It would take time to pull up a detailed profile. That was, of course, only if Rieper had been telling the truth about who he was. And if not…they would pull it from his corpse.

The labradors jumped forward, furiously barking as they put their front legs on the trunk of one of the trees. They howled at something up above. Æthelstan knew what he would find up there long before he looked.

Æthelstan turned his head skyward to look at the treetops. They were dense here. The moonlight couldn't penetrate it. He raised his shotgun and reached for his torchlight at the same time and flicked it on. His heart raced in anticipation. Was it Tobias Rieper?

The light lit up the branches above and Æthelstan saw his quarry.

It was not Tobias Rieper.

Æthelstan fired his shotgun and watched as the blast tore through the branches above. The man in the tree screamed, and then fell.

His body hit the ground roughly, bouncing in a way that a human body should not. His scream abruptly cut off as soon as he collided with the dirt. Æthelstan eyed the young man. He wasn't one of the prisoners from the cellar, Æthelstan knew as much for he wasn't emaciated.

One of the labradors lunged towards the collapsed man and Æthelstan quickly shot his foot forward before it could pass him. It slammed into the dog's gut and sent it into a whimpering scamper away. "Heel!" Æthelstan ordered and each dog came to a halt.

"Ah," the young man grunted. His arm was bent in a way that a bone should not bend.

Æthelstan scoffed. "Hiding amongst the trees. So sloppy," he commented.

The young man made a noise of pain and pushed himself over onto his back. He glared at Æthelstan with as much heat as he could muster, gritting his teeth through the pain. His face was covered in cuts and bruises. But thankfully, no blood.

"Fuck…you…" the young man choked out through his pain.

Æthelstan's eyes narrowed. He whistled once and the dogs finally stopped barking. They looked towards their master dutifully.

"Now now, young man, that isn't how you address your king," Æthelstan hissed at the young man. And before the young man could respond, Æthelstan formed his lips and whistled a high note.

The labradors jumped into action at once. They leapt at the young man's prone form and began to tear into his flesh. The man screamed in pure agony as blood and gore spurted wildly about, flesh, sinew and cloth alike were rent to deep crimson pieces. The dogs' fur became red as the starving animals shredded him in record time.

Æthelstan turned his head away in disgust. He would need the dogs washed. And quickly. He would have normally waited until there was one person left before he set the dogs out but his annoyance made him make an impulsive decision.

"Send someone to clean the mutts, Mr. Gotha," Æthelstan spoke without looking back at the mess the labradors were causing. The young man's screaming slowly became a gurgling choke, before he finally went silent.

"Of course, your eminence," Gotha said, ever dutifully.

A set of footsteps made the hackles on Æthelstan's neck rise and his fingers darted quickly to his sidearm, hidden beneath his coat. He turned to the side to see two hunters pass behind a pair of trees. It was difficult to avoid the sight of the blood and Æthelstan's face twisted in disgust as he looked away again.

"Sorry, sir. We didn't know it was you," one of them said. He had an American accent.

Æthelstan tilted his head only slightly. "You will refer to me as 'your eminence' or 'sire'. Do I make myself clear?"

The man muttered something under his breath and Æthelstan resisted the urge to turn around.

"Yes, sire," the man said.

Without another word, the hunters walked off. Æthelstan watched the back of the head of the redheaded man as he went before speaking into his earpiece, "We are not to have any more American hunters, Mr. Gotha."

Æthelstan whistled again. Finally the dogs stopped their feast on the young man's body.

As 47 and Smith passed by Æthelstan, 47 recognized James Sinclair as the young man that the dogs were feasting on. He stored in mind the whistle command that Æthelstan gave his dogs.

"Christ," Smith muttered. "Poor kid."

"Excuse me, 47," Diana said suddenly. Her voice was wrought with discomfort. It almost forced 47 to stop in place amidst his trek. It was rare to hear her sound so uncomfortable. "I need a moment."

"Diana?" 47 questioned. But she didn't respond.

"Who?" Smith asked.

"My handler," 47 said simply.

Smith's eyes went towards 47's ears, but he didn't say anything else on the matter.

In the meantime, 47 connected Diana's discomfiture to what they'd just witnessed, given her comment about how he was of the same age as Victoria.

His lips tugged downwards at the thought. Though he hadn't seen Victoria in years, she was one of the few people alive that he felt any form of kinship with. He understood the source of the issue.

Shelving the matter aside, he focused on the task at hand. Æthelstan was sharp enough, and had a sidearm. His speed and alertness meant he wouldn't be so easily caught off guard. Even with the rifle between himself and Smith. Additionally, eliminating him was only one half of the task. Extricating himself without alerting the entire compound was another.

He began to make his way towards the manor, followed by Smith.

The duo took a circuitous route, noting the cameras they could spot, and trying to look like hunters that got turned around in their search for prey.

The front doors were guarded, and as the hunters were more akin to murderous thugs, it was immediately dismissed as an entry point.

Instead, they made their way from the back door to the kitchen.

It was much larger than usual, and had the kind of prep stations, tables and larders found in upscale restaurants, including a walk-in freezer. Several sinks and trays full of plates and various cutlery lined the walls along with the primary larders. Tucked away in the corner were two dining tables and four chairs each, presumably for the kitchen staff when they were on breaks.

Fortunately, the kitchen appeared to be mostly unmanned at the moment save for one.

The man's back was turned to the door. A member of Æthelstan's staff. He wore a dark purple-red waistcoat over a black button-up shirt. His slacks and gloves matched the color of his shirt. 47 knew instinctively that this was not an opportunity that would last for long. Soon, the rest of the staff would return. Moving swiftly, 47 caught the staff member in a sleeper hold, and in ten seconds, the man was unconscious.

"Nice work, man," Smith said quietly, "now if I'm to guess, I'd say the monitoring station is probably on the top floor. How are we going to get up there and not tip off the guards?"

That was a simple solution.

"We dress like we belong," 47 said flatly.

He didn't notice Smith doing a sarcastic roll of his eyes, as if it were a simple matter.

It probably was, for 47.

47 got to work. He began to shed his hunter attire to replace it with the staff uniform. "You should hide," he told Smith.

"Hide?" Smith repeated. He looked around the kitchen briefly. "Where? Why?" He eyed the walk-in freezer in one corner of the room. There were probably fridges in there he could hide in if he was desperate enough. Smith had hid in cold places before; a fridge was nothing.

"Help me hide him," 47 told Smith as soon as the staff tie was in place.

Smith nodded and grabbed the unconscious man's leg, then pulled him towards the walk-in freezer. He didn't notice as 47 produced a body bag that he had taken from one of the hunters. As soon as the unconscious man was in a freezer and Smith returned, he blinked in surprise.

"Get in," 47 said.

Distantly, Smith heard chattering voices approaching. Smith swallowed nervously. "I hope you know what you're doing, 47.

47 didn't reply and Smith felt his nerves thrum. He hopped forward and slid his legs into the bag quickly. Then he dropped back and 47 pulled the bag up around him.

"Don't make a sound," 47 told him sternly.

"No need to tell me that," Smith said shakily. Then 47 zipped the bag up and the darkness became all-consuming.

47 stood up and stepped away from the body bag. Footsteps approached the kitchen and 47 turned his gaze towards the entrance. The doors swung open, revealing two staff members. A male and a female. The female's outfit was almost identical to the male's. Their smiles faded from their faces when they noticed the body bag on the center of the floor.

"Where's Phil?" the man asked.

"What's that?" the woman asked.

"Phil took a break," 47 lied easily to the first question, adjusting his accent. "One of the hunters left their 'catch' for us to deal with," he said in reply to the second.

The woman clicked her teeth. "Typical," she muttered.

"I'll call one of the guards to deal with it," the man said. He sounded more annoyed than disturbed. "There's plenty of them walking about anyway."

The woman nodded in agreement. 47 turned his back to the duo, crouching down to one knee as he opened a cupboard beneath a sink. Quickly, he scanned through the items inside before they landed on a box of rat poison.

47 grabbed it and stood up. His eyes flew over the kitchen counter until they landed on a bottle of wine. Casually, 47 went over to the bottle and grabbed a glass. He opened the bottle and poured the wine inside.

Further footsteps approached and 47 glanced into a glass cabinet to see the reflection of the guards who arrived. Automatic rifles were strapped to their backs. One of them yawned while the other adjusted the sleeves on his red leather coat.

"So one of the blokes just left it there?" one of the guards questioned the male staff member that they had followed into the kitchen.

"Yeah," the man said. "Can you get rid of it?"

One of the guards muttered something under his breath. The other said, "Of course the hunters just abandoned a fuckin' body here. No class."

"What do you expect from murderous thugs?" the first guard said. He walked forward and grabbed the end of the body bag. "Just another day," he commented as he started to drag it away.

"Hey, thanks for doing this," the male staff member said. "It's ridiculous that they just leave them in the kitchen of all places. Wankers. Disgusting."

The men grunted a response and shuffled out, carrying the bag between the two of them.

47 opened the rat poison and silently poured it into the glass of wine. He paused, waiting for the poison to dissolve. When it was done, he placed the glass on a silver platter and carried it away.

---

Gotha paced back and forth along the floor of the command center. His eyes were glued to the screens that broadcasted the camera footage from all over the Beldingford property. He had seen so many hunters kill their victims, left and right.

And yet Gotha's anxiety had yet to settle. There was no sight of a prisoner called Tobias Rieper. Once he had disappeared into the forest he hadn't been seen since. The thought made Gotha dig his nails into his palms. Someone shouldn't be able to disappear into thin air like this.

"How is the progress on Tobias Rieper's profile?" Gotha asked.

Æthelstan had this place manufactured specifically to his designs. It was one of the most advanced monitor wombs ever designed to date. It actually occupied two floors with a command tower set in the middle of the room, where Æthelstan could survey everyone from above. Inside the tower were the primary master controls, and five terminals with all the screens and every other computer was slaved to the terminals here.

Outside of the tower were numerous stations and staff assigned to various tasks, such as observing the cameras, situated throughout the compound, communications, and online research.

It was how they maintained control over the entire compound and also designed cover stories for the disappearances over the years. With most details becoming online based, it was getting easier and easier to forge documentation and obtain or fabricate details of the people's personal and professional lives.

"There's not a lot of information out there," one of the analysts spoke up. She turned in her chair and brushed her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind an ear. She looked tired. "If the name he gave you was his real one, he hides his identity well."

Gotha ground his teeth together. "It was his real name," he stated. It has to be. Gotha feared what would happen if Æthelstan became displeased with him. He didn't want to face what they were. Not again. Not after he crawled himself out of there kicking and screaming.

He glanced at the screens again and watched as one of the hunters gunned down another prisoner. It was hard to relax during these hunts. Gotha always kept an eye on the progress. Even if someone slipped past his watchful eyes, the hunters would get them eventually. There was no escaping the property.

The analyst frowned, but she turned back towards her monitor to resume her search for Tobias Rieper. Gotha resisted the urge to sigh. He couldn't bring nothing to Æthelstan. The thought made him glance towards one of the screens where he could see the mangled body of one of the prisoners. The work of Æthelstan and his labradors.

"I found something," another analyst said and Gotha spun around so quickly he almost knocked his spectacles loose. He was beside the analyst in seconds, who continued, "Looks like Tobias Rieper is a corporate shark. Very rich." He scrolled through a website page that Gotha couldn't even begin to decipher. The man looked at Gotha and he looked back. "It doesn't disprove that he's a liquidator."

"But it doesn't prove it either," Gotha responded. He leaned away. He looked towards the guards that patrolled the command center and resisted the urge to ask Æthelstan to let them clean up the rest of the night's prey. He could feel a churning in his stomach. Something here didn't feel right.

"His Royal Majesty!" someone announced and Gotha turned. Everyone in the room stood as one as Æthelstan entered into the command center. In synchronization, they all lifted their arms into a salute.

Æthelstan grinned and nodded. He folded his hands behind his back and everyone moved back into position to continue their tasks. Æthelstan's dark eyes drifted over the room before they landed on Gotha.

"Your eminence," Gotha greeted.

"How long until we have full control of Solstice, Mr. Gotha?" Æthelstan asked in lieu of acknowledgement. He pointedly did not look at any of the camera screens and Gotha cursed himself internally.

Gotha turned towards his keyboard and hit the button to temporarily turn off the screens. "It's connecting to the facility in Scotland," Gotha reassured. "It is just as Diavolo said. A slow, methodical hijacking."

"This should have been finished hours ago," Æthelstan said. He went past Gotha to peer down at the computer monitor that he spoke about. Files closed and opened automatically as the program did its work.

"It won't be long now, your eminence," Gotha said. He palmed his hands together politely even as his heart raced, pounding against his ribcage. If this went wrong, he didn't dare to think about the consequences.

Æthelstan stared down at the screen. Gotha wished that he knew what Æthelstan was thinking. Finally, Æthelstan said, "Do you know how long I've been waiting?"

Gotha went over the possible answers in his head. Which one would please Æthelstan the most? "I'm afraid not, your eminence," he decided to say.

"My whole life," Æthelstan replied without looking at him. "My whole life has been building up to the moment where I become king. I will bring England back the glory it lost. And in a few short days, I will stand atop it all.

Gotha didn't respond. His eyes strayed towards the computer. Even if he wanted to go back to stop Æthelstan's plan, it was far too late. Soon, the country was going to implode on itself. Soon, Æthelstan was going to take full control and the people were going to applaud him.

"Where did Diavolo get this?" Gotha asked. He didn't expect an answer but he couldn't stop his curiosity.

"Does it matter?" Æthelstan asked. He turned away from the monitor to pierced Gotha with his dark eyes. "Our Prime Minister is corruptible. She does everything she can to keep her own power." He took a short step forward towards Gotha. "Imagine a society free of that corruption, Mr. Gotha. That is what England is going to look like."

"Yes, your eminence," Gotha said with a bow of his head. He kept his eyes glued to his shoes as his mind whirled. Just what was going to happen?

Æthelstan didn't respond for a long moment. Gotha could feel his nerves begin to stand on end when he finally said, "Any eyes on our elusive enigma?"

Oh, Gotha thought. Relief flooded through his system. "I'm afraid not, your eminence." He did a half-turn to see the camera screens before he remembered that they were off. "But we managed to put a dent in Rieper's background. He won't remain a mystery much longer."

Æthelstan brought his hands out from behind his back. "A man like that showing up so close to Solstice's activation is not a coincidence," he stated.

Gotha's expression morphed into surprise. "What makes you say that, your eminence?" he asked, confused.

"These men you see all around you," Æthelstan started without taking his eyes off of Gotha, "are CICADA. The most effective private military in the world. But you knew that of course, didn't you, Mr. Gotha?"

Gotha was unnerved. The way Æthelstan refused to break eye-contact forced Gotha into looking away. He eyed the guards that patrolled the room. Their stern, stoic expressions gave nothing away. Gotha had always thought that. Even the hunters were more expressive. CICADA had a way of setting Gotha on edge.

"Of course, your eminence," Gotha said before finally turning back to Æthelstan, who had yet to look away.

"And despite all of them, Mr. Rieper is the only man on this property to truly look like a killer. The empty eyes, the expressionless face. Who else could he have been but a killer?"

"Then you are of the belief he isn't a liquidator, your eminence?" Gotha asked.

Æthelstan stared at Gotha. He didn't respond for a moment, as though he was weighing his responses. Gotha forced himself to stay still and not move before Æthelstan finally said, "No. There is no such thing as coincidences, and that man being somewhere on my property today of all days is a sign. I want to know who sent him." He edged into Gotha's personal space and Gotha repressed the urge to shiver. "Find out who he is. Now."

With that, Æthelstan brushed past Gotha, who closed his eyes and planted a hand on the desk in front of him. He sucked in a breath before he went over to his keyboard and hit the button to show the camera footage again.

He's going to make a mistake soon, Gotha thought. He has to.

"Mr. Gotha," a guard said and Gotha rotated to look at him. It was one of the CICADA guards holding a glass of wine. "One of the staff made this for you," he said, offering Gotha the glass.

Gotha raised a confused eyebrow. "I didn't ask for anything," he said even as he took it.

The guard shrugged, then turned around to walk away.

Gotha watched him go. Finally, some respect, he thought to himself. He brought the glass to his lips and took a sip of the wine. There was a taste to it that he couldn't identify.

"Hmm," Gotha hummed. He put the glass down and returned to watch the screens. The hunters were slowing down as there became less and less kills to be made. Four left, by the count the hunters reported. An American, a nun, a nobody, and an enigma.

Tobias Rieper was among them.

In the pit of his stomach, he felt something stir unpleasantly. Sweat began to stain his brow and Gotha removed his spectacles to rub the junction between his nose and his eyes.

He tried to watch the screens but his stomach protested against him. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Gotha took a deep breath, drawing in air as he put his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Shit," he cursed. He wasn't going to be able to keep it down.

His hand flew to his earpiece and threw it down on the desk in front of him. He had to pull himself away from his leverage and practically stumbled past the confused looking guards and analysts. Gotha couldn't bear to mumble a word as he went past. He crossed through the doorway and went down the closest staircase.

When he reached the bottom of the staircase and pulled himself around towards a door and pushed it open, revealing a bathroom on the other side. Hurriedly, he shut the door and went to the toilet on the other side of the room, and retched into the bowl.

He felt awful. His hands found the porcelain as he collapsed to his knees. Dimly, he heard the bathroom door open, then close again and Gotha felt himself flush in humiliation. The fact that someone saw him like this was something he would never, ever live down.

Gotha didn't know how long he retched into the bowl, but it couldn't have been longer than two minutes. By then, he felt his stomach begin to settle as he slowed in throwing up. He hovered over the bowl for another minute in case something else came up. But nothing did and Gotha sighed.

He needed to return to the control room. God knows what I missed, he thought to himself as he hit the toilet handle, flushing the contents. He put his hands on his knees and rose.

However, before he could turn, a pair of arms wrapped around his throat and a leg kicked his out from under him. Panic sank into Gotha's mind and within seconds, he felt his vision blur as he balled his hands into fists and made an attempt to hit his attacker.

But the grip around him tightened and slowly, Gotha closed his eyes as he sank into unconsciousness.

When Gotha went limp in 47's arms, he gently dropped the body to the tiled floor. In seconds, 47 shed his staff disguise and replaced it with Gotha's uniform. After rifling through his pockets, 47 pulled out a nondescript key, with no clue what it unlocked. 47 filed the information away and, after putting it in his pocket, took hold of Gotha's legs and dragged him towards the closet at the back of the room. 47 opened the door, ignoring the bathrobes as he laid Gotha inside.

Nobody noticed that Gotha looked slightly different as he left the bathroom.

---

Now in a much more prominent disguise, 47 schooled his expression. Gotha hid his feelings well, but 47 recognized them. Softening his muscles in a conscious effort, he quietly made his way through the narrow corridors. His shoes were the only part of him he did not trade across the disguises he'd already gone through, as the padding of the soles were designed to reduce noise. Coupled with his training, he could approach most people, and even some animals as long as he stayed out of their line of sight.

"Oi, wot's with you an' tha' bleedin' rat, eh?" came a male voice by the corner.

"'s not a rat, you mucker! Mr. Sniffy's a 'amster! Get it roight," retorted another voice.

The first man grunted. "Still a bleedin' rodent, is wot it is. You know them rotters right spread 'em sick on us, yeah?"

"Sod off, mate," grouched the second man, "Sniffy's cleaner'n yer dick, knowin' where it's been, eh?"

47 stuck his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall for a moment, to see if anything else of interest came up in conversation.

There was a few rounds of cursing. These were Cockneys, likely the same bunch of guards or rather the thugs that went out to kidnap potential victims. They fell silent for a moment, then, true to his expectations, something came up in their conversation.

"'ey, you think those fancy wankers upstairs gonna do it, then?" the first man asked, his voice had a gravelly tone, and seemed to be fighting a cough, as if he smoked…a lot.

"Wot? You mean that bollocks 'e was throwin' out there? I dunno, mate. Offin' the royals? Sendin' the pound sterlin' into ruin? If you ask me, jus' wait it, out, the money'll go tits up by itself, won't it?"

The first man cackled.

"Ah you li'l shit, best watch our mouths, eh? Don't need those whotsits to 'ear us now, saw what they did to Billy?"

"'e had it comin'," the second man said, "been getting right sloppy, 'e was. So, McGuffin's tonight or…"

47 had heard enough and deliberately made loud footsteps to announce his approach, and as he rounded the corner, it was the men who'd quickly lowered their heads as soon as they saw a hint of Gotha's attire.

The second man indeed had a white hamster in his hand, who was sniffing repeatedly at 47. He surmised this was why he'd been named Mr. Sniffy.

He paused before them, and kept a hard stare, thoroughly cowing them, and they soon made mumbled excuses and started shuffling out of his way, leaving down the same corridor he'd come through.

Checking for signs of any additional arrivals, 47, saw and heard no further approach, and made his way along the red-carpeted corridor. All along, he saw paintings and banners, with display desks sporting silverware, antique china, and what looked like handmade lace tablecloth.

"Bloody hell, mate," said a male voice, and 47 recognized it as belonging to the two guards earlier who carted Smith away, "next time, you go down first! I swear the corpse got heavier."

"That's gravity for you, Jack," the other guard replied with a laugh, "And what do you mean, next time, eh? After tonight's hunt, if his highness' gets his plans goin', we're gonna be very busy being lords of our own estates!"

"Oh dream on, Will!" Jack grumbled, their footsteps coming closer around the next turn, "If we're lucky, we get a fat wad of pounds, I'm heading northwards. Got a pretty girl up there, and I'd sooner marry and stay there than bring 'er here what after, know what I mean?"

The guards came into view, Will shrugged, "Suit yourself, mate. I'm gonna get made Lord of the Parliament. Evening, Mr. Gotha."

Gotha nodded at them and took the same corridor the guards just came from.

"Man, I don't envy 'im," Jack stated.

"Me neither," Will agreed.

"You still think Parliament will exist after this, mate?"

It didn't take long for 47 to get out of earshot and hearing range of those two men, and by simple process of logic on building structures, he deduced the path to the cellar. The two men, Will and Jack, had been so engrossed in their conversations, neither noticed when he'd swiped the keycard from Will's belt hook.

He found a reinforced steel door in the cellar, and a modern looking keypad with a swipe slot for the cards.

Sliding the card seemed sufficient after a cursory glance at the keypads showed it looked pristine and was never touched. The green light brightened and a long beep followed by an electronic latch unlocking allowed 47 to pull the heavy door open, and he saw a dimly lit room with a long flight of stairs leading in. As he descended, he heard a hushed conversation.

"-m not going to touch it!" said a female voice, "Just leave it alone. Shhh, they're coming back!"

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a small crowd of prisoners in a much worse state than the fresh-caught victims above. Then again, these ones were still alive. They were doing much better in comparison.

Checking to make sure the prisoners weren't going to try anything, 47 approached the body bag and began to unzip it, making the others cringe in fright. Perhaps expecting some new torment. When Smith emerged, taking a deep breath, one of the women outright fainted.

Smith nodded in thanks at 47, then glanced at the prisoners, and he took note of the unconscious woman, and asked, "What happened to her?"

The prisoners gave him an incredulous look.

"Is this all of you?" he asked.

"Aside from those taken out just now, yeah," one of the men replied.

Smith nodded. "All right, we're getting you out of here today."

There was a mixture of noise, some disbelieving, but some sagging, then crying in relief. Smith hushed them urgently.

"We gotta do this silent, and patient, but first, get up, all of you. No more sitting around." He looked at 47 and said, "I can't leave yet, I still need to get that key. But once I do, me and these guys are home free." He cast a look of sorrow towards the prisoners. "Dammit," he cursed softly.

"You should stay here," 47 instructed. He didn't want to risk Smith compromising his mission. "

He heard a soft crackle on his earpiece, and a moment later, Diana spoke, "I'm here, 47."

He nodded, both acknowledging Diana's return and Smith, then turned and headed back up the staircase. He took note of the ventilation system connected to the walls and his gaze followed it up as it disappeared into the ceiling. He cast a quick look through the cellar and saw no vents. 47 filed the information away and he passed the key card to Smith, and as Smith still had the shotgun from the last hunter he'd incapacitated, he was somewhat better equipped than when 47 and Diana spotted him earlier.

Backtracking along the path he'd taken earlier, he followed the corridors leading to the eastern wing, deducing that this would be the residential section where Æthelstan would stay. Meaning his personal quarters would hold a bounty of clues and resources. A man as paranoid and megalomaniacal as him would not entrust everything to the people around him, keeping some things close to his chest.

He heard the sound of footsteps following behind him and turned to find none other than Smith.

47 arched an eyebrow at him.

"I'm sorry. But I need to be proactive, too, if I want to get those people out of here," he said to the unasked question.

Factoring the walking liability that was Smith into his movements added an unnecessary layer of complication, but he decided to allow it for the time being, so long as Smith did not compromise the mission.

They examined a few doors, but most of them were guest or bodyguard rooms, all of which were presently unoccupied.

They eventually reached the end of the corridor, with a set of double doors, most likely leading to Æthelstan's room...chambers.

After checking the edges and the slits for any signs of tampering or the telltale hints of a trap, 47 inched the left door open, examining the place as far as he could see without throwing the doors open.

There didn't appear to be anyone around, so eventually he and Smith eased into the chamber. It looked more like a receiving room, with some chairs, sofas, coffee tables and desks. It clearly was the place Æthelstan received visitors in a more private and personal setting. 47 and Smith began examining the place on opposite ends.

Soon, Smith hissed a call to 47, "Hey! This door is locked!"

47 went over to see what Smith was looking at. Smith gripped the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. He took a step back and took a breath. Smith put one foot back as he got into a stance. "I'm gonna kick it down," he told 47. "Stand back. Uh. This is gonna be pretty loud so be ready when the guards come running," he warned.

47 ignored him and stepped up to the door.

"What are you doing?" Smith asked incredulously.

"I have a key," 47 said.

"Oh…" Smith deflated.

Without pausing, 47 reached into his pocket, producing the key, and slotted it into place, then turned it. The faint sound of a click made Smith grin, and 47 pushed through the door. On the other side was a luxurious bedroom.

Across the room from the door was a large, heavy polished mahogany desk, atop which were several hard-cover books, arranged neatly and stood up by book-ends, a royal seal, an ink pot and a bejeweled ink pen. The laptop which was in the middle of the desk appeared to be the only electronic device there.

Around the rest of the room, 47 saw a row of wooden bookshelves lined against the wall on one side, a wardrobe on the other, and a neat arrangement of display tables, holding valuable items and trinkets; a faberge egg, a bust of Æthelstan himself, an antique collection of knives and a gold-inlaid blunderbuss.

The large bed took up the center of the room. It had silken sheets, covers and a royal blue velvet blanket all tidily lined or tucked in.

He also noted how the room was spotless and dust-free...and the complete absence of windows. Instead, there were large portraits of the kings of Wessex and the Beldingford family.

"47," Diana said, "Æthelstan's security is narrowing in on your alias. I suspect that you have no more than five minutes before you are discovered."

"Understood," 47 acknowledged. Behind him, Smith shut the door.

"What do we do now?" he asked. He scratched at the back of his head as he walked around the room.

47 passed Smith and went towards the computer on the desk beside the balcony door. He bent down to move the mouse and saw the computer come to life. He paused as a password screen popped up. "Diana?"

"Working on it."

47 moved away from the computer. "What is your assignment, Mr. Smith?" he asked as he examined the room. Assessing what he could gather.

Smith was taken aback.

"Uh," he said eloquently, "well, I've been doing a lot of simpler assignments since California. You know, tailing or escorting, and sometimes playing courier. That kind of thing. Well, the CIA gave me this mission to redeem myself and, ah, they got some intel that an arms dealer known as Diavolo sold this…British satellite - called Solstice - key to Æthelstan of Beldingford."

Smith took a breath and put his hand to his forehead. He crossed his arms and glanced around the room.

"You were sent to destroy it," 47 deduced.

Smith nodded.

"Yeah. Well…" He hesitated, "No, but that's what I'm gonna do. Before I got caught, I managed to figure out that Æthelstan is planning to use Solstice to reset the banks and basically every digital currency and everything else electronic."

Diana spoke up, "He's going to obliterate the British economy."

"And out of the ashes, Æthelstan becomes the king," 47 finished.

Smith opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, "Why? Wouldn't he just be a figurehead?"

"Not if he changes the levers of power…" Diana stated. "Shit. He's intending on becoming an autocrat."

47 looked at Smith. "If he has his way, he won't be." He turned and returned to the computer.

"Try twenty-seven, ten, nine-thirty-nine," Diana said and 47 punched the number in.

As soon as the last number was entered, the screen changed. 47 clicked on an app in the top right corner, pulling up a website that looked as though it were from the early internet. 47 spied a series of chat logs and clicked on the only one available.

As he scrolled through it, Diana spoke, "This confirms Smith's story. Diavolo sold Æthelstan the key to the satellite. 47, you must eliminate Æthelstan before that satellite becomes operational."

47 closed the page and spied another app in the bottom right. Without skipping a beat, he opened it, revealing a page with a single button in the center. 47 clicked it and behind him, he heard something heavy move.

47 turned to see the bookcase on the left wall shift and open like a door. Smith drew his weapon and, once he saw nothing happen, lowered it again.

"Of course there's a secret bookcase entrance," Smith remarked.

47 closed the page and stood up.

"Intriguing…" he heard Diana say.

He walked to the door and slipped through the gap.

"You're just gonna…" Smith started to say, then stopped and walked after 47, "You are just gonna, okay."

He squeezed in after him.

It was a darkened room that clearly hadn't been cleaned anytime recently. The walls were bare, with no decoration or color to them. Just the wood that had been once put up. There were no windows and there was a single light-bulb that hung from the ceiling with a cord attached to it. Smith started to reach for it when 47 stopped him.

Smith's vision settled, his stomach dropped.

On the other side of the room were the only pieces of furniture; what appeared to be a hospital bed sat beside a cabinet table and wheelchair. And beneath the covers of the bed was a sleeping man with scars that adorned the side of his face. But even with the scars, he looked nearly identical to Æthelstan.

"47…" Diana spoke urgently, "that is Vincent Beldingford. Æthelstan's twin brother. It seems that tale he told wasn't entirely the truth."

"What the hell…" Smith breathed.

47 silently stepped closer to Vincent. He peered down at him from above, taking note of the scarring. Shrapnel wounds. From the spray of a shotgun. The injury matched, though the scars were somewhat faded. Whenever the injury had happened, it had happened at least a decade ago.

"I'm assuming the objective has changed?" 47 asked.

"No. The contract stipulates Æthelstan and Æthelstan only. His brother is not our prerogative." Her tone took on something more sympathetic. "Even if it would be a mercy. Poor bastard…"

47 moved away from Vincent and crouched down beside the cabinet. He grabbed the handle to open it and looked at the assortment of medical equipment inside. Pain medication and various other pills, bandages, stethoscope, a breathing mask, and a cloth. But the only one 47 grabbed was a flask of chloroform.

"Have they been chloroforming this guy?" Smith questioned with a grimace.

47 stood up. "You should get out of here."

Smith furrowed his brow. "The key-"

"I'll deal with it," 47 interrupted.

Smith blinked in surprise. "I need to get those prisoners out of here. After you, uh, deal with Æthelstan I don't know what's gonna happen to those people."

47 moved past Smith towards the bookcase to leave the room. "Pack them into the van," he said simply.

Smith considered. An idea started to form in his head and he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, alright." He followed after 47 and looked at him. "I guess this is where we part ways?"

"Try not to get caught again," 47 replied. Once Smith passed through the doorway, 47 pushed the bookcase back into place.

Smith smiled slightly. "No promises," he joked.

47 looked at him flatly and Smith's smile turned sheepish. Without another word, 47 left the room.

---

Grace sighed. Dead end after dead end. Æthelstan was asking them the impossible. There was nothing about Tobias Rieper anywhere that she could find. He was almost a ghost. It amazed her that Johnny had found anything.

"What?" Johnny asked from where he worked. His eyes were glued to his screen and he didn't look at her once as he spoke.

Grace repressed another sigh. "I can't find anything," she said, annoyed. "No debit or credit card details anywhere. No family. No past. Nothing." She broke her gaze from her monitor to look at Johnny and she dropped her voice and octave as she said, "Are we sure this guy even exists?"

It was an open secret among everyone who worked within the mansion that Æthelstan was not of sound mind. He had a loose grasp on reality. It wasn't so bad when Grace had first worked under him, but it had only gotten worse in recent times. More and more prisoners were released to be hunted, but the manner of thugs was always the same. Rich and spoiled. People who could get away with anything. And now the scheme to ruin the country's economy.

Grace knew she should run. But if Æthelstan's plan succeeded, she feared what would happen to her. She feared what would happen if it failed. Would she be forced to be one of the prisoners?

"He exists," Johnny said confidently. "I know because I found something that proved it," he added smugly.

"You could show Gotha anything," Grace retorted. "He doesn't understand what he's seeing."

Johnny shrugged. "Are you jealous that I found something about this bloke and you didn't?"

Grace flushed. "No!" she denied.

Johnny grinned. "You are!"

"I'm not!" Grace denied again, but the upward quirk of her lips told differently.

"I found him!" someone shouted and Grace, Johnny, and the rest of the analysts looked in his direction. It was one of the men that Grace had never bothered to learn the name of. And for good reason. He propped his legs up on his desk with an arrogant grin.

"How? What did you do?" one of the other analysts asked.

"A magician never reveals his secrets," the man said. He dropped his legs down and reached for a jar of jam that sat on the edge of his desk.

"You're a prick, Wagner," an analyst said as she fell back into her chair.

Another analyst stepped away, but paused when he saw that the computer connecting to the satellite had finished. "We're connected," he announced.

Grace felt her stomach drop. This was it, then. Once Æthelstan arrived, the country was never going to be the same again. The world was never going to be the same. It was hard to believe it. She had done what she could to try to soften the landing, but the lives of so many people would never be the same.

It was going to be chaotic. Æthelstan had insisted that it had to be and Grace had no reason to doubt it. People were going to lose all the money they had. Their life savings gone in the blink of an eye.

All so one man could become king and harness all the power for himself.

Wagner grinned mockingly. "Someone give his eminence a call?" he suggested as one of the guards headed over to him. "Looks like our guy isn't who he says he is."

Grace perked up and she tried to distract herself from what was coming. "What do you mean?" she questioned curiously. She pulled herself out of her chair, ignoring Johnny's quiet protests as she did so.

Wagner scooped his finger into his jam, then plopped it into his mouth. When he was done, he said, "Tobias Rieper is an alias. I don't know who he is, but he's no liquidator or corporate shark."

Grace crossed her arms. "I don't understand," she said. "Then who is he?"

Wagner hummed. "If you're asking me, I'd say…" He trailed off suddenly. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then, his head fell back and his eyes closed.

"Wagner?" Grace questioned. She could feel her heartbeat against her chest. "What happened?" She looked at the CICADA guard who rushed forward and touched a finger to Wagner's neck.

"He's…alive…" the guard said, before he toppled over and collapsed into Wagner's lap.

"What's…what's…happening?" Grace questioned. She stumbled backwards into one of the other desks. All around her, her co-workers fell asleep one by one. Not even as the guards tried to wake them up, before they too joined the collapsed bodies.

Grace stumbled for the exit of the room. She didn't understand what was happening but her panic grew when she saw that Johnny had fallen unconscious, too. Grace made it only a few steps before her legs gave out and her mind numbed. Slowly, she shut her eyes as she fell unconscious.

Another minute passed before the vents were shut off. Another three passed before 47 entered the command center with the chloroform in the air dissipated.

"Æthelstan's control center," Diana said. "You made it. It seems that the entirety of the compound can be operated from here."

Unconscious bodies littered the ground. Nobody would be getting up for hours. 47 stepped through the control center, pausing at a desk with an earpiece. He grabbed it and put it to his ear.

He looked forward at the wall of screens at the other end of the room, where he found Æthelstan on one of the cameras with his labradors. Æthelstan went through the forest without any worry. 47 had doubted that he would be in the control center at the time that he had poured the chloroform into the vents. But this was confirmation.

47 continued through the control center, pausing only to pick up the pistol off of the unconscious body of a guard. When he was done, he resumed his pace until he saw a laptop that sat on one of the many desks in the room.

"The Solstice control," Diana said. "This is what Mr. Smith is after."

47 examined it. The key supplied to Æthelstan had done its job as the screen patiently waited for two sets of coordinates to be typed in.

The sound of a gunshot in his newly acquired earpiece caused 47 to look up at the cameras above. On the screens, he saw just in time for Æthelstan to blast Danielle Mountpoint with his shotgun. The nun had her chest blown open and she collapsed against a tree.

All the while, Æthelstan refused to look at her.

47 turned back towards the laptop and began to type into it. At the same time, he spoke into the earpiece, "The satellite is ready, sire."

He glanced up at the camera screens to see Æthelstan pause as he walked away from his newest victim. "I recognize your voice," he said. "How do you know about Solstice, Mr. Rieper?"

"Do you think that is the right question?" 47 asked as he entered the coordinates into the laptop. After a pause, 47 saw the screen begin to shift as the Solstice moved. In the corner, a box appeared, revealing a percentage number. In seconds, it began to grow as the satellite moved into place.

"What are you?" Æthelstan asked. On the screen, 47 saw him look around before finding a camera. "MI5? MI6? CIA? Or are you some corporate fixer that is worried about how progress is going to change the world?"

"Does it make a difference?" 47 asked. It wouldn't be long before the Solstice was in place. '25%' the box in the corner read.

"No," Æthelstan responded. On the screen, 47 saw him take his phone out of his pocket. "But if you're talking to me like this, then you've done something with Mr. Gotha. You have taken what is mine."

Æthelstan put his phone to his ear and 47 heard the phone on one of the unconscious guards begin to ring. He let it go, glancing from one screen to another. On the cameras, he saw Æthelstan falter.

"You're in my control room," he stated.

"Yes," 47 confirmed.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Æthelstan questioned as he swiftly walked in the direction of his manor. "You're standing in the way of progress! The Solstice is going to change the world!"

"You intend on giving yourself all the power while leaving everyone else with none," 47 stated. Æthelstan wouldn't arrive in time. '40%' the box in the corner read.

"The people don't deserve the power! Is that why you're here? To preserve the status-quo?"

"I don't care for politics," 47 confessed.

"No. Of course not. You're a lapdog that does whatever your masters tell you," Æthelstan said, his voice filled with vitriol.

For the first time, 47 hesitated.

Æthelstan noticed. "I'm right, aren't I?" He sounded pleased. "You don't have to be. You can choose who you want to be. I did. I cast away my name. Simon Beldingford died and Æthelstan of Beldingford replaced him! That, my friend, is what freedom is."

'60%'

"It doesn't have to be this way. You can forge your own future. You have shown incredible initiative. I wouldn't be averse to having you at my side until you decide just what you want to be."

'70%'

"Or would you rather continue to live in servitude? In slavery to your masters? Do you want to continue to do what they tell you to do? Do they care for your loyalty or are they prepared to cast you aside once you run out of use to them?"

'80%'

"I wouldn't. I see you. I saw you the moment I stepped out of the manor. I knew you were different from the other prey and this proves it. Why would you take orders from people inferior to you? You're so much more than a simple foot soldier."

'90%'

"Let me prove to you that I see you. That you have a future without your master. Why not become the master? You need not be subservient to anyone. You and I could be equals. We need not be enemies."

'100%'

A prompt appeared on the laptop screen, reading 'Confirmation: Y/N'. 47's finger hovered over the 'Y' button. As soon as it was pressed, all technology on Æthelstan's property would be reset.

"What do you say, Mr. Rieper?" Æthelstan asked. He sounded almost hopeful. Silently, 47 debated the merits of his proposal. It was…tempting. Tempting to break away from the ICA - the International Contract Agency.

It had been tempting to step away from them after the Benjamin Travis fiasco. However, that had been a situation where not even the Board of Directors were aware of Travis' scheming. Travis had abused ICA resources for his own purposes. Victoria flashed through 47's mind briefly.

But 47 had been created for one purpose and one purpose alone.

47 reached down to touch the 'Y' key. "A contract is a contract," he said just before pushing it.

"You're making a mist-" Æthelstan started to speak, but the earpiece suddenly went dead. All around 47, the lights went out and every screen went black.

47 removed Æthelstan's earpiece and dropped it onto the desk. He tapped the one that connected him and Diana. The pulse from Solstice had deactivated it. With that, he turned to leave the way he came.

---

"No…" Æthelstan breathed. He picked up his pace. "No. No." It couldn't be. Rieper couldn't have done it. But as he broke through the treeline, he stopped at the back of his mansion. All the lights were out. He saw his guards fiddling with their phones and walkie-talkies.

In the distant sky, Æthelstan saw something. He flicked his attention to it and his heart dropped. Light burned in the air as it sailed high above them. Instinctively, he knew what it was from the second he saw it.

The Solstice!

"NOOOOOO!" Æthelstan screamed.

Engulfed in a fireball, the Solstice flew through the atmosphere, burning away all the while. As it lit up the sky, the hunters and guards all looked skyward. Æthelstan had to resist falling to his knees as he stared up above. Everything he had worked so hard for burnt to nothing.

"FUCK!" Æthelstan screamed. This can't be happening. Not after everything!

"Your eminence-" one of the guards started to speak.

"Shut up!" Æthelstan interrupted. "Let me think!" How did Rieper do this? How did he get to the command center? How did he destroy everything he worked so hard for? His hands shook against his shotgun and his labradors looked at him confusedly. How blissful it must be to be so stupid, he thought.

He gripped his shotgun tightly. He couldn't look away from the Solstice as it came crashing through the atmosphere. It flew far above his head. It was going to crash into the ocean, Æthelstan knew. What was he to do now? The Solstice was his way into taking the throne.

I am the rightful heir! Not them! Æthelstan thought furiously. His ancestors would be rolling in their graves. Æthelstan took a deep breath. "Stupid!" he shouted suddenly as he slammed his foot into one of his dogs. "Useless!" he shouted again, quickly reorienting himself before kicking the dog again. It whimpered and yelped and collapsed onto its side.

Æthelstan cursed again. The worthless mutt didn't move from its position as it lay on the ground. It looked up at him with beady eyes and Æthelstan pulled his gaze away. He took another breath and ran a hand through his slicked hair. This was not the end of the world. This was unexpected, but he could still take the throne. He just had to think. Put together a new plan.

But first, Rieper had to be dealt with.

"That bald bastard is mine!" Æthelstan said and the guards stood at attention. "I want all of you to remain here. No one is to leave their spot until I give an order. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your majesty!"

Æthelstan forced a smile. "Good." He looked at the hunters. "None of you are to go back into that forest until our intruder is dead."

The hunters didn't say a word but Æthelstan could tell that they were displeased. How dare they? After everything he did for them, they were still displeased. Æthelstan let them in on his family tradition and they treated it with no class or taste.

Æthelstan made his way to the back door of his manor, stopping only briefly at the side of one of the guards. "Kill them," he told him with a glance back at the hunters.

The guard bowed his head. "Yes, your highness."

Æthelstan turned away and entered the manor. As soon as the labradors were inside, he shut the door. Rieper would not escape him. He had his chance. Not anymore. The mansion was dark without any lights, and he couldn't even use his torchlight anymore. The Solstice saw to that.

On the other side of the door he had come through, gunfire rang out. Æthelstan heard someone scream and bodies hit the ground. Then silence. Æthelstan felt no pity for the hunters. They didn't deserve it. They were mere thugs pretending to be aristocrats.

He stepped quietly through the kitchen, and in any other circumstance, he would be as silent as he could be. But the dogs wouldn't be quiet. Did Rieper think that he could best him in his own home? He knew the manor better than anyone else. The mere idea that Rieper could best him was ridiculous.

A shallow breath caused him to stop and Æthelstan glimpse through the dark for the source. It could be Rieper or the staff. The pathetic staff that had failed to stop Rieper from infiltrating the manor. Æthelstan's hands gripped his shotgun tighter, and he quickly went around the island counter, his shotgun trained on where the noise came from…

Only to find two unconscious members of staff lying on the ground beside each other. Æthelstan narrowed his eyes. He bent to one knee to examine them more closely. Then his eyes widened. Chloroform. Did he…no. No, there are other places chloroform might be kept, he tried to reassure himself. The hunters might have used them to obtain prey.

Æthelstan grit his teeth and stood up slowly. If Rieper had learned about Vincent's habitation, then it was just one more reason for him to die.

As he stepped into the corridor, however, Æthelstan couldn't help but think of how it was a shame Rieper hadn't taken him up on his offer. He could have been a useful ally to have. He had shown far, far more initiative than even Cuthbert Gotha.

But another part of him felt an eagerness he hadn't before. Æthelstan had never felt any connection with his prey before. Rieper was different. A killer. But he wouldn't be good enough. Æthelstan was sure of it. He would kill Rieper and when he was done, he would cull the staff that had allowed this to happen.

This was a disaster that would not go unpunished. When he found Gotha, Æthelstan would do what should have been done long ago. He was not the same man that he once was.

Æthelstan crept through the corridors, but through each one, there was no sign of Rieper. Only the unconscious bodies of his staff and guards. How did you do this?

"Where are you…?" he muttered to himself.

He paused at the staircase leading upward onto the next floor. Æthelstan didn't think for a moment that Rieper would be in the control center. He wouldn't be so stupid, he hadn't been so far. The labradors sniffed at the ground and looked around in confusion, one of them letting out a small whine.

Æthelstan stepped onto the first step of the staircase, deciding to ignore his dogs for now. They hadn't picked up on any unusual scents. How did Rieper elude them?

Just as Æthelstan reached the top step, he saw him. The silhouette of a man underneath a doorway arch. Without wasting a breath, Æthelstan pointed his shotgun in his direction at the same time that the labradors began to bark.

The silhouette darted to the right as Æthelstan pulled the trigger, blasting apart the wood of the doorway. Splinters flew this way and that from the explosion and Æthelstan let out a growl that sounded barely human.

"Rieper!" he called, "Do you think you have any chance of survival? You're in my home."

He flipped his shotgun open…then dropped it. It would take far too long to reload, he decided. Instead, he upholstered his pistol and walked toward where he had seen his prey.

"None of this had to happen," Æthelstan proclaimed as he reached the doorway. His labradors were on his heels. "If only you hadn't done this, you wouldn't be about to die!"

Æthelstan stalked forward through the corridor. He glimpsed through each door on his way, and found only the unconscious bodies of the staff. It infuriated Æthelstan how someone had so easily done this to everyone in the manor. His guards were meant to prevent this kind of thing from happening, and yet they, too, were unconscious with the rest of the staff.

"Admittedly, I'm impressed," Æthelstan confessed after he looked through the last room in the corridor. "No one working for themselves would be so stupid to do what you did. And you can't be British government if you so easily destroyed the Solstice. So what are you?"

He turned the corner and at the end of the hallway, saw a man with his arms behind the chair he was in. His head was bowed low, but Æthelstan recognized his uniform from the moonlight pouring through a window that cast illumination over his chest.

"Mr. Gotha," Æthelstan said disappointedly. At the end of the hall, Gotha looked up. His spectacles reflected off the moonlight, but still, Æthelstan couldn't see his face.

"Don't bother speaking," he said.

He slowed his approach while his dogs kept close to him. They continued to sniff the ground for a scent unfamiliar to them. But they still came up with nothing.

Æthelstan glanced carefully around at his surroundings. But he saw no sign of Rieper. What kind of trap is this? he wondered. Rieper wouldn't have left Gotha around like this for him to find for no reason. Æthelstan was confident in that.

"Our friend, Mr. Rieper, seems to be of the belief that the world stops spinning once progress is halted," Æthelstan said as he carefully resumed his approach. "He was hired by someone to be here, Mr. Gotha. A hired mercenary." He raised his voice suddenly, "Do I have that right!?"

His voice bounced through the manor halls. Æthelstan tapped the side of his pistol with his finger. It would take no more than a second for him to raise and shoot. The only thing he would need to be mindful of was the blood.

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Gotha. I thought you were better than this. After you were a part of the prey I thought you were incapable of being snuck up on." Æthelstan looked on at Gotha with a shake of his head. "I was wrong. You're no better than these mutts," he said, gesturing with his free hand at the dogs.

Gotha made no sound. So he is capable of doing something right, Æthelstan thought. The only way he could tell that Gotha was even alive was the slight shuffling he made with his body.

Æthelstan stopped walking and his labradors ceased moving with him. He glanced down at them to see that they looked around, confused. They still hadn't picked anything up. Uneasiness began to pool in his stomach. There was no doubt in his mind that this was a trap, but he couldn't think what it could possibly be. What the point of it was.

The only conclusion that came to him was to spring the trap.

Æthelstan took another step forward, his eyes going to the nearby open door. Was Rieper hoping that he would be distracted by Gotha enough that Rieper would try to attack him from behind? "I'm going to ask you one question that I expect you to answer," Æthelstan said slowly. "Where is Mr. Rieper?"

Gotha sat up slightly in his chair and Æthelstan's gaze darted to the door to the open room. "Right here," Gotha said. But he sounded nothing like Gotha. His voice had changed completely.

Too late did Æthelstan realize his mistake. He quickly looked back at 'Gotha', his mind in a panic when 'Gotha' swiftly moved his arm out from behind his back and fired his gun.

The hall lit up by the flash of light and in that brief second, Æthelstan saw Rieper's face lit up. As steely and unemotional as it was before.

Then came the pain as the bullet burst through Æthelstan's hand. Instinctively, he dropped his gun and howled in agony. Behind him, the dogs barked furiously at Rieper, awaiting their permission to attack.

47 stood up from the chair, aimed lower, and fired a second time.

The second bullet went right through Æthelstan's leg, sending him sprawling to the floor.

"Agh!" Æthelstan grunted. He put his uninjured hand on the ground and looked at the one that the bullet had torn through. Blood spilled from the wounds, and Æthelstan couldn't resist the intense disgust and sick feeling. He leaned over and retched onto the floor.

"Fuck!" he coughed out lying in a growing pool of blood and bile.

He couldn't think straight. The pain was unimaginable. His ears filled with the barking of his dogs.

47 formed his lips and whistled a command. The same whistle that he saw Æthelstan use to instruct his labradors to tear one of his victims apart.

The dogs stopped barking suddenly, and in synchronization, they turned towards their master, slavering jaws hanging open.

He always had them deliberately starved for the hunts so they'd be half-mad from starvation and ravenous beyond reason. If they were found out on the streets, the only recourse for them would be being put down as they have become dangerous to humans, having acquired a taste for their flesh.

They also had a justifiably limited loyalty to Æthelstan.

Æthelstan paled tremendously.

"Wait! Wait!" he pleaded, but the dogs attacked.

As he was already prone on the ground, they lunged, some barking, but most busied their jaws on his body. Their teeth tore his skin apart, pulling sinew and muscle out of Æthelstan.

His scream pierced through the air as the starving animals feasted on him. His clothes ran crimson with his blood as they devoured him. One of the labradors lunged for Æthelstan's neck and tore his throat out, turning his screams into bloody gurgles.

Æthelstan reached for his neck, choking on his blood as it spilled down his body. The cleaned fur of the labradors were stained again with blood from the mess they had turned their master into.

Then, finally, Æthelstan fell still.

47 tapped his earpiece and he heard Diana's relieved sigh come from the other end. "Looks like you've settled things here," she commented.

"Yes," 47 agreed, watching as the labradors continued gorging on Æthelstan's corpse.

"That's Æthelstan of Beldingford eliminated. Well done. I'll have the money wired to your account. Now find an exit."

47 stepped forward and as soon as he made a move, the labradors scampered away with flesh dangling from their teeth. He crouched down beside Æthelstan's corpse and searched his pockets, and pulled back with a set of car keys.

With that, 47 made his way to the front of the manor. As soon as he opened the doors the guards on the other side raised their weapons.

"Stand down!" one of them said. He sighed. "Sorry about that, Mr. Gotha. We're all on edge."

47 eyed the guards as they lowered their rifles. He glanced to where he saw the van that he and the other prisoners had arrived in. "Where are the prisoners?" he asked, adjusting his accent.

"One of our guys moved them to a second, secure location," the guard said. "Should we call them back?"

"That's not necessary," 47 responded evenly.

The guard nodded. "As you were, Mr. Gotha."

47 brushed past the guard and scanned the cars at the front of the mansion where they landed on a Rolls-Royce Phantom III. Without wasting a beat, 47 went to it and, using Æthelstan's keys, unlocked it.

Nobody paid 'Gotha' any mind as he started the car and drove out through the main gate.

---

BELDINGFORD MANOR HOME TO BLOODBATH; ÆTHELSTAN OF BELDINGFORD FOUND DEAD!

Æthelstan of Beldingford pinned as the mastermind of hundreds of disappearances.

In a shocking discovery, the controversial populist and critic of the British Royal Family has been found responsible for the disappearances of over three-hundred victims. According to police, they were released into the forest surrounding Beldingford Manor and hunted by Æthelstan and his associates.

Police were alerted when a van driven by one of Æthelstan's staff members unloaded twenty kidnapped victims at the nearest local station. The victims proceeded to tell the police their story. Following a raid on the manor, police rescued another surviving victim of Æthelstan's horrific hunts who had not been recovered during the initial escape. Compounded with the previous victims' statements, the seriously injured survivor, Alexander Mitchell, confirmed Æthelstan of Beldingford to be the mastermind of the operation.

However, Æthelstan's mutilated corpse had been discovered within the manor. It was quickly determined from the missing chunks of flesh and bite wounds that his dogs - three labradors - had turned on him and eaten him alive.

Tests have confirmed that the dogs have been regularly consuming human flesh, and have been put down for safety reasons.

Police have questioned the staff found at the manor, but have not released any official statements.

Furthermore, Æthelstan's younger, identical twin brother, Vincent Beldingford, was found confined to a room adjacent to Æthelstan's bedroom. Beldingford, unable to walk or speak, had been left almost entirely paralyzed from an incident in his youth, wherein he alleged that his brother fired upon him with a pump-action shotgun.

Beldingford has since vowed to redeem his family name, citing the previous Lord Winston Beldingford and his son, Alastair Beldingford, as 'just as awful as Simon (Æthelstan).'

Supporters of Æthelstan of Beldingford, however, are doubtful of the police findings and believe Æthelstan was targeted by the government in an attempt to discredit his movement and ideology.

And when one is to consider the failure of Prime Minister Adelaide Vale, you must consider if those supporters have a point…

SATELLITE CRASHES IN BRISTOL CHANNEL

Citizens were startled last night when a satellite came crashing through the atmosphere and went down in the Bristol Channel. Although there were no injuries, people were alarmed and demanded answers.

No one expected that it was connected to Prime Minister Vale.

Five months ago, Prime Minister Vale had a phone call with General Sidney Birch, where she insinuated that she would do a favor for General Birch.

Last week, 10 Downing Street was raided by the NCA and found highly classified documents poorly hidden throughout the house. This afternoon, it was revealed that one missing, yet compromising material, was the 'key' to a now defunct British satellite, the 'Solstice'. The purposes of which have not yet been disclosed publicly.

In an effort to protect herself, Prime Minister Vale has pointed investigators in the direction of General Birch, but whether this is genuine or a desperate attempt to save herself remains unconfirmed.

Reportedly, Prime Minister Vale may be facing a vote of no confidence, with even her own party distancing themselves from her. Whether charges will be brought against her remains unknown.

Currently, the only comment General Birch has disclosed is as follows: 'I had one call with her. Beyond that, we've never talked.'

When we reached out for additional information from General Birch, no response was given…

SSF FINISHES WORLD TOUR

Seoul Snowball Frequency has concluded their tour in London and are now heading back to their home in Seoul where they are slated to perform a welcome home concert in Spring. Guest celebrities include The Class lead singer, Jordan Cross, drummer Quentin Moriarty, and guitarist Heidi Santoro.

Fans all across the world flew in to meet lead singers of Seoul Snowball Frequency, Mo Chae-young and Ping In-sik in London. Now, fans have one more chance to meet them before the year is out. According to Mo Chae-young, she and Ping In-sik don't intend to have any more concerts until early next year, teasing us with a 'special treat.'

Mo Chae-young, 34, has won the pop Korean Music Awards three years in a row alongside her partner and best friend, Ping In-sik, 34. Together, they took the world by storm and became the fastest growing K-Pop brand this decade!

The Seoul performance aligns with the date of something near and dear to Mo Chae-young's heart. Even our heroes have their demons. Twenty years ago, Mo participated in a truly heartbreaking event that she cites as the inspiration for most of her work and what helped her change as a person.

Finishing the Seoul Snowball Frequency World Tour on the date of Park Ha-yun's passing. Mo has stated her regret for her part in Park's passing and has commemorated the world tour to her.

We reached out for Park's family for comment, and received the following quote: 'That girl ruined our lives! We want nothing to do with her and we don't want her charity! She got away with murder! And you can put that in your article!'

Ping In-sik has remained silent on the matters, but photos have been caught of him and Mo sticking close together and all smiles as they approach the end of their tour…