Traffic jams. Always, at all times, and at every turn, there is a traffic jam.

  Probably the worst part of living in Houston.

  Well, that, and the car being hotter than a boiler room.

  Benjamin Hosmer, fifty-four year old, born Texan, could not help but groan at the annoyance that was his daily life in the summer. This wise reaction at the current inferno entrapping him, was all the more justified because of his passengers who were not keen on making his job easier. Unfortunately, creating an underground business alongside the rejects of a brutal system meant tension could rise high from the stupidest arguments.

  “Swear to God, Rohan! We are not going to grab KFC for the fifth time this week!” was the sentence that almost broke the camel’s back. If those prickly employees of his were not calming down in the next few minutes, Benjamin swore he would swerve the car into the opposite line.

  Thankfully, not all of them were as abrasive as the nineteen year old, Dora Hermedilla-Fisher, the woman willing to let bitterness over her condition cloud her judgment when the cards were stacked against their crew. On the other hand, Rohan Jamwal, twenty-three years old, could keep his composure no matter the situation. Sadly, no one was perfect. Despite being the personification of friendliness and intellectual freedom, this round Indian guy was not devoid of flaws. For once, he liked his voice way too much: “I’m just saying. It’s a safe bet. We have a long day ahead of us, so why risk our enjoyment for meaningless changes in our nutrition?”

  “Hey! I mean… hey. Don’t diss Louisiana's cuisine, mate...” meekly replied the newest addition to their troupe, thirty-one, Maurice Babin. His unapologetic pride over his mixed heritage could not prevent his response from lacking the punch to really be heard among the rowdiness of the car. So, he settled on muttering a French insult to himself after being ignored. One day, he hoped, one day he would get them to recognize the superiority of Cajun and Creole’s delights over the Texan ways. Long live New Orleans and the Bayou!

  “Stop arguing you damn monkeys!” yelled Ingrid Marek, twenty-six, from the trunk of Benjamin’s SUV. Even though her seat was backward due to the structure of the car, her voice and pride were enough for everyone to be forced to hear her insults. “If me or Oscar get our hands on you, kiss your ride home goodbye!”

  “Yeah, no Ingrid. You’re alone on this. We are not even facing the same way as them.” sensibly replied her seat companion, Oscar Moreno, twenty-eight. Behind his childish black banana, adorned by a prehistoric skeletal jaw, hid a disinterested man. He had been there the longest and he was at the end of his rope. Shifting position, he looked out of the window. The rare moments he could experience free of stress, he wished for nothing more than to savor them with music. This man had better things to do than get into more petty arguments.

  Nevertheless, Ingrid’s words incurred the wrath of the only other hothead in this car. Dora taunted: “What? Healing cunt wants to retort to violence?! You sure you ain’t gonna puke when we draw blood?” That last dig was uncalled for, thought Benjamin pragmatically. Dora wished death upon anyone that mocked her three insecurities: Her freckles and green eyes which contrasted heavily against her Filipino heritage, as well as her disability that sapped her strength and bound her to a wheelchair most of the time. If she was not hypocritical, she would not have mocked the violent reactions of Ingrid to her phobia. This was starting to get out of hand.

  This was starting piss Benjamin off.

  Scratch that, this was starting to enrage him.

  However, the moment he decided to act on his internal thoughts:

  “Fucking hell! All of you, shut up!” yelled the forty-seven year old woman on the passenger seat. Murdina ‘Blair’ Hosmer, his wife, and the only non-awakened human in their group, was the most respected figure in the group, even before her husband at times. Who else, but the bravest, stupidest, and most respectable of all the Scottish Texan women to accompany this group in their endeavors, without any power? All the while, might Benjamin add, looking as gorgeous in her impeccable dresses and outfits as the day he had met her?

  “But-!”

  “One more word and all of you can kiss your pay goodbye!” Benjamin silently thanked the heavens everyday for even being allowed to marry her. She was his most prized ‘possession’ and judging by her smirk, she knew it and reveled in the special place she had in his dysfunctional heart. Since her intervention, the car had gone very quiet. Pleasantly so, might he add.

  Despite the ill-timing, Rohan, who hated logical fallacies and inconsistencies, tried to make a valid point: “It would be unfair though. We did not-...”

  “Quiet.” simply replied Benjamin with as much restrain as he could muster. He would not let any of them disrespect his wife’s orders any longer. Blair herself had turned off her hearing aids to catch a break.

  Henceforth, the bad atmosphere in the car. They were still stuck in the traffic after all, except they still had no idea where to eat, nor the ability to go back into their hideout. This afternoon could not get any worse.

  “Woohoo! C’mon guys! Let’s get going!”

  God, was the universe testing their patience today. Nothing would permanently sour the mood of this group more than hearing the usual taunts of some flying dickhead. “Have fun with the traffic, mates!” Among the general population, only 50% of them were blessed with the opportunity to elevate themselves naturally to a greater power. Sadly, this very car was proof that the Saints were not awakened equally. Some went on to become the best of the best, Liberators was their moniker. They had the ability to free their bodies from the constraint of Nature, all the while protecting civilians from the impossible monsters that longed only for destruction.

  Others had to resign themselves to less glorious work. Even then, 90% of civilian jobs were restricted to regular humans. It made too much sense in theory: “How else are we meant to contribute to society?”. However, it really was used as an outlet against Saints who were unfortunate enough to awaken without a sufficient enough power to fight or contribute to the important battles that involved any monster.

  Being reduced to a Peon was possible but an ungrateful experience. Benjamin had too much pride to kneel before the people that scorned him for becoming disabled after a painful encounter that left his lungs in disarray and one of his legs fully paralyzed. As long as he could breath on his own, no matter how heavy it had to be, he would work for himself. The system did not want him? Not even as a professor? Are the years of experience not worth the baggage and dysfunctional mind that came with it? Fine.

  If being free meant he had to become an underground Legionnaire and a Lascar in the eyes of that damn Council and its insulting laws, then so be it.

  “They got it so easy...” lamented Maurice as he looked in envy from the window.

  This snapped Benjamin awake from his daydreaming. Right. No matter how grandiose he tried to make himself and his underground mercenary agency appear, he was still currently, indubitably, eternally, I’m gonna kill my family, stuck in traffic.

  Oscar sighed. “For sure. Hell, I’d give anything to be able to bypass traffic this way.”

  “At least we awakened, that’s something.” Dora interjected, before internally cursing herself for having forgotten Blair. “Sorry...” she tried to muster.

  “That’s fine, dear. I’m only here because of that fool.” Blair calmly responded while lovingly looking at her husband. Despite being deaf at the moment for respite, her unmatched spatial awareness enabled her to keep up with the conversation. Her competency made Benjamin smile.

  Sensing that he was calming down, he recounted a pleasant memory to his apprentices: “You know, before the injury I was actually able to jump from road to road.” Yes, a long time ago, before the crutch and broken leg, he could stand among the joyful Liberators that were cutting traffic.

  “Oh mon dieu! That’s awesome!” yelled Maurice in admiration.

  Oscar shrugged. “Well, he is the leader for a reason.”

  “Still, I wouldn’t expect anything less from our local legend.” Dora nodded.

  However, that past minute fueled Ingrid enough for another argument. “Oh my god! Who fucking cares about past glory? The reality is that we are stuck in this shitty middle-ground. We do not have the luxury of being civilians expecting to be saved, nor are we useful enough to actually go and save people, or even be paid. We suck that’s all!” Her poor attitude could be explained by her rough background, but it made her widely unpopular among the rest of the crew.

  Without even hearing her rant, Blair flatly commented: “See, that’s why you are stuck in the back.”

  “Yeah. Be thankful Oscar is there to tolerate you.” chipped Dora in.

  If Ingrid’s words were made out of the hard truth of their situation, then Rohan’s were even more brutal because his tone was colder than ice: “If healers weren’t so dire to come by, your usefulness would drastically be outweighed by your attitude.”

  Once more, just as the ambiance was improving, everything was brought down because of a rant. Benjamin wondered what would be the best course of action, at least, until they can get some private time on their own. Moreover, he could see that despite acting tough, Ingrid wanted to cry. She was an annoying person to work with at times, but the situation was really getting to her. Oscar lent her his shoulder. Nevertheless, the situation was once again resolved without Benjamin doing anything. This time Maurice had something to say:

  “Well… she is kinda right...” he muttered which redirect Dora’s ire towards him.

  She laughed: “Oh come on, you ain’t gonna side with this dickhead, are you Newbie?”

  “Nah. Just… I dunno about you but since the apparition of awakenings, my family constantly got strong ranks. And then I came in. For twenty long years I prayed everyday for an awakening, to help my family and honor their legacy. However, when I finally got my wish granted last year, I ended up as an F-rank Sniper. I can just see slightly farther than other people. No enhancement, or even gun aptitude. Talk about a shitty deal. If not for this gig thanks to M’sieur Hosmer, a month ago, I would have just drowned under the weight of past achievements that I did not even accomplish.” he explained with a quiet resolve mixed with the sorrow that he was reliving.

  A more solemn silence dawned on the crew. Maurice had to leave his beloved New Orleans behind, and no matter how much he craved going back to his grandparents’ in Lafayette, he knew he could not come back unless he proved himself. More so for his own ego than his family, if he was being honest with himself. That bum needed to be useful, otherwise he feared becoming the worst version of himself. That desire was burning, just like his loyalty to Benjamin. He wanted to improve, no matter the cost.

  He was far from the only one either. The crew self-reflected through his words. There were so many things they were and had been shunned for. The rarest F-rank Mage ever born that can wield every elements but only once a day to pathetic results, the pettiest D-rank Healer with hemophobia and traumatophobia, an E-rank Tank that only knows how to make others slightly weaker, a D-rank Thief that can only run a lap before needing to rest in her wheelchair due to awakening after becoming disabled, and a former C-rank Fighter that stopped being a local legend the moment he started to limp.

  And the only form of salvation they found from this system was carrying out odd jobs, no matter how unethical, to exist in the system’s shadow and offer a voice for the regular folks and mediocre Saints that were left behind. Maurice really had opened a can of worms that Benjamin was not sure how to close.

  Blair did not need to hear what was said to chime in. Just by looking at the somber look on everyone’s face was enough for her to understand the matter. “If you guys are worried about being useless, prove yourself in missions.” were her words before going back into her own little world.

  There was no malice in her sentence, just stern encouragement. “Tita Blair’s right! The Council disposed of us, but we can still get recognized!” yelled Dora, finally deciding to use her energy to motivate the others.

  Rohan tried to bring some nuance into this discourse: “We should not be doing this just for personal profit though. The civilians need to see us as reliable, not-”

  “Screw that mentality. When you need to get out of the gutter you gotta have an ego.” was the rebuttal of Ingrid. Rohan himself agreed with the statement but kept it to himself, as without nuance, they could easily just become another lawless gang.

  “How many contracts do we have tonight, already?” asked Oscar who finally got motivated enough to put his earplugs and his music away for now.

  Benjamin answered without skipping a bit: “Two. Tonight we bring an end to the serial killer case. However, we also need to take care of a B-rank Mage.”

  “What?! Why aim so high? I thought only the serial killer case was underway!” whined Ingrid. Ranks mostly highlighted the energy reserve and potential of an individual so they could, and had, taken care of much higher folks before with good planning but every battle was a challenge.

  Benjamin shrugged. “At first, yes. I accepted it at the last minute.”

  “Why…?” inquired Dora nervously.

  “It pays well.” he answered nonchalantly.

  Rohan butted in at that remark. This situation was really unusual, even for them: “That seems to be highly risky. We did not even get the time to assess who the client is, or what their deal even is. What if this is a ploy by the Council?”

  “Why don’t you inquire more about this situation from your comrades?” Benjamin simply answered darkly. “Blair did what she could to warn them...”

  Rohan looked around the car only to find Oscar, Ingrid, and Dora looking uncharacteristically well-behaved. Whether it was about clothes, games, or make-ups, they were terrible spenders. “Dear god, we are screwed.” he lamented.

  To move onto a different topic, Maurice asked: “By the way, M’sieur, should I stay with you regarding the C-rank killer?”

  “Yes. You will get a better feel for the job if you take part in one incapacitation first, even if it is not your priority.” explained Benjamin, whereas Maurice nodded alongside the explanation.

  Dora was unconvinced: “What about the B-rank? Do we just throw ourselves at them?”

  “No. The client gave us pictures, a clear description of his powers, and his localization. Oscar and Ingrid should be able to take care of him.” summarized Benjamin.

  This information did not sit well with her. Only two of them to take care of a B-rank? Why was their leader so confident in their victory? “Wait, how do we have so much intel on them just from the client? Are they someone important?”

  “No.” Benjamin answered in a tone that meant it was time to stop asking too many questions.

  Ingrid broke the tension by pulling out her work phone. “Whatever. As long as it pays. Just show us the fucking file when we get home.” This did not ease Dora but she reckoned this was not about her anyway. If Ingrid and Oscar decided to not care about the specifics it was their problem, not hers.

  Her name being called was what snapped her from her own thoughts: “Dora and Rohan, you are on escort duty tonight.”

  “Halá! That’s boring.” Dora spat.

  Rohan was the one to actually be invested in this mission. At least on a higher level than his partner. “For what mission? We got something else planned?”

  “A notorious gang from Dallas is trying to spread its influence here. So we need to keep them… in check.” They did not need much more explanation. They were far from the only illegal gang in town and had done this dance countless times. Keeping civilians and mediocre Saints out of harm’s way, which meant having a good control over the activities of their town. Certainly something more exciting than being stuck in a car.

  “Obviously, it’s just a friendly negotiation!” Blair laughed. No one was quite sure when she turned her hearing aids on again, but it was to be expected with her. She felt more refreshed now.

  This actually managed to convince Dora, all the while making her giddy. “I’m in. Just the pleasure of experiencing the negotiations of our Tita is a treat.”

  “Agreed. It’s actually perfect timing. I finished developing new ways to spread my power. I needed new test subjects.” snickered Rohan.

  “Finally… an agreement.” yawned Benjamin. “With this, we should get enough for the rent, the business expenses, and your hobbies.” Nonetheless, he glared at the rest of his crew for good measures. “Don’t you dare pull another stunt like this again.”

  A gulp was the only vocal response to the sheer intensity of their leader. Every other response they could have mustered died in their throats or manifested as frantic nodding. Thankfully for them, the tension quickly died down when traffic was moving again. Through some skillful swerving, they arrived at a Vietnamese restaurant in ten minutes, not counting the waiting time, and got out of the car.

  Benjamin parked in a handicapped spot as usual. He grabbed his crutch and, after getting far enough, observed from a distance alongside Blair. The crew was coordinated, as if their argument never happened. Despite how often they get on each other’s nerves Ingrid even took the time to bring Dora her wheelchair. “Sit down before I shove you into oncoming traffic.”

  “Aw, glad you care, you cunt.” That was just their way of showing affection.

  Perfect, thought Benjamin satisfied, if we are together there is no contract we will fail.

  We cannot harm the strange creatures coming out of those portals, but that is fine.

  Our targets are only humans after all.

  At night they move,

  Stains were to be expected,

  At night they remove,

  Proof that you ever existed.

  On a rooftop, three blocks away from their actual target, Benjamin was having a smoke in spite of the masks they had handcrafted for this mission. The first rule of their operation was to always switch their headgear around. Never let targets and future ones communicate between them over which mask’s owner. Sadly, he could not quite knock out his bad habits, and combined with his recognizable stature and crutch, he tried to intervene as little as possible during outdoor operations. Unless, he knew the target would not speak for… reasons.

  Maurice was the lookout thanks to his powers freeing them from even bringing goggles. His normally blue eyes now glowed brightly in the dark, just like any Saint using magic or power, which Benjamin hoped to use to throw that C-rank monster off-guard. If he was honest, the old man had trouble understanding why no organism wanted to even hire Maurice. Sure, he would have been useless in combat or in enclosed lairs, but a scout could always be valuable. Especially if he could turn into bait!

  Whatever, more manpower for him was always a good thing. Plus he liked the man, beyond his years of self-doubt and abuse lied the heart of a warrior. He could sense it.

  “M’sieur! She’s starting her... process.” whispered loudly Maurice, as oxymoronic as it sounded, he had done it. That boy definitely needed more lessons on stealth. Especially because that “process” was quite the gruesome art experiment that he could not watch without loudly expressing his thoughts on the matter. Good thing they were in a vacant area in an abandoned building, and that stealth was not exactly the plan.

  In the midst of that loud lookout’s rant, Benjamin grabbed his crutch and stood up. He took a glance around the rooftop. Everything was perfectly set up. They had the terrain set up, some tools for Maurice to use in case they needed to fight, a drone for later, and the rest was buried at the right spot. Tapping on his apprentice’s shoulder, he asked: “Is she next to her window?”

  “Y...yes!” The boy answered a bit taken off guard after getting cut in the middle of a sentence;

  His surprise did not stop here, as Benjamin wordlessly grabbed his shoulder from behind. He began to move himself and the boy slightly closer to the center of the roof. “Then increase your magic output.”

  Maurice was obviously aware of the plan but he still had his doubts. Doubts that were amplified by the lack of response from doing as he was told. Normally, the farther you zoom in, the brighter the light in your eyes is reflected due to how concentrated it becomes. Unless, of course, you could mask it which he could not. For each passing second of silence, he felt himself grow more nervous.

  “C-rank Fighter, Bonnie Estrella Soules, thirty-one years old. 6,1ft for 189 pounds of muscle.”

  The boy found himself caught off guard again. Why was Benjamin summarizing their case to him?

  “No familial connection. No friend or lover, online or in real life. Lied about not being a Saint to keep her white-collar job. No criminal record.”

  He already knew all of his like the back of his hand! He studied harder than anyone else for his first case!

  “Ever since her awakening, she has become a regular at a DIY workshop, and trained even harder.”

  Had he missed something that appeared so evident to the veteran?

  “Did not even notice our trailing once. Completely unaware of her surroundings. Seems to kill for herself but stays completely silent.”

  They already determined thanks to this that she was not experienced in killing. “Why… why are you telling me all about this?” he asked.

  “Do you know what is the common trait found among all of the awakened Fighters?”

  Maurice stayed silent. However, he could feel the cold gaze of M’sieur Hosmer on him. After a few more seconds of agonizing tension for the young boy, Benjamin answered his own question:

  “A lust for power and control.”

  The lookout was shocked. Did he include himself? Maybe he was outside the norm? He was loving towards them and his wife. Or… was he like this at one point? Tentatively, he inquired more details: “So…?”

  “Awakening does not change who you are nor does it affect your psyche. However, it gives you the power to reveal, and amplify, who you were all along beneath the surface.”

  His voice was stone cold, which made Maurice all the more confused. More and more questions whirled in his mind. Was M’sieur Hosmer disappointed or just informative? He ended up admitting to his ignorance: “I don’t follow.”

  “Do you know what the second most common trait found among Fighters is?”

  “No…?” He answered honestly. He should probably research more statistics related to Saints, awakenings and the known classes registered by the Council.

  “Emptiness.”

  Was it? He thought most of the Fighters he had encountered, especially the successful ones, were more hotheaded and abrasive than quiet and reserved. Benjamin simply continued his explanation, seeing Maurice was still too inexperienced to get what he was implying. Perfect, this would be a fruitful training.

  “And people that tick all those boxes...”

  His sentence was not even finished and he was already proven right. The terrifyingly imposing frame of this hulking woman flying out of her own window, smiling wildly in the night, rapidly closing in on them, a vision of absolute nightmare… made him smile as well.

  “We have poor impulse control.”

  Maurice was terrified. Seeing such a strong figure jump over entire roads, and onto rooftops with complete ease made him realize how big the gap between them and the Saints they were supposed to fight was. Benjamin Hosmer was the man he had the utmost respect for, and even he could not do this because of his injury. “Duck!”

  The lookout snapped out of his trance by his mentor’s yell. Furthermore, he felt himself being pushed forward. Now, his body was taking in the horrifying truth. The killer had closed the distance in mere seconds, jumped in the air, and was inches away from his face. Her smile over the situation scarred him in a way he never thought possible. How could someone the same age as him look so gleeful in such dire circumstances?

  “So long… It’s been so long!” were the half-whisper and the yell that seemed to finally snap Maurice into action. Her voice was still so sickeningly joyful, even though she had just fractured the cement at the center of the rooftop. “And you can fight? You can fight!” Had he not properly dived down, his entire body would have been blown away by her sheer strength.

  Benjamin himself had to maneuver around his limping leg which always hurt like hell. However, his apprentice was completely paralyzed by fear. He could not be happier. “Indeed we can, beautiful. Tell me though, how much have you fought in your life?”

  “Not enough. Not enough!” she answered, almost foaming from the excitement. “I can finally...” She cut herself before she tried to speak again. “Now that I… I can… want…”

  “It’s hard to describe isn’t it?” She nodded excitedly.

  “People just annoy you, don’t they?” She laughed.

  “How many times has it been now?” Maurice had now gotten up even if he was still shaking.

  She looked like she could barely register as a human being now. Even the worst of beasts would run away from her. Her sweat and saliva were mixing themselves to create an aroma of pure dread. Ms. Soules was no more for a few dreadful minutes. “I can’t help it. Crushing them is so…”

  “More than thirty, with over a thousand thoughts even before getting your awakening.” predicted Benjamin with the same nonchalance he had when choosing a menu.

  Looking awe-struck, Ms. Soules was now readying her fist. The more she observed that man, the more she felt a connection with him. Did she know him from somewhere? She had to! How could he read her so well otherwise? She could swear this would be the fight of her life! “That’s right! That’s right! How did you know?”

  “Your kind is always so predictable.” He answered blankly, throwing her completely off-guard. Before she even had time to react, he drove his crutch into the ground to finish breaking the part of the roof she was standing on, the part she weakened herself. Without any idea on how to deal with this situation, she could only watch in a mixture of horror and amazement the individual looking down on her. Despite the mask, she could picture his eyes, and how their emptiness betrayed a real bitterness against her. “I hate how people like you give us a bad name.”

  Her fall came at a halt when she felt sharp objects piercing through her skin.

  Maurice joined Benjamin and looked in horror at the scene before them. The monstrous Fighter that had just been terrorizing him a few moments ago was now resting in a pool of her own blood after being impaled into the trap his boss had set up in preparation for this fight. Speaking of which, his smile had completely disappeared, and he was back to his cold attitude. Maurice had no idea what part of his previous attitude was genuine. He did not even have time to ask since his mentor found himself at the bottom of the building in an instant, through a bit of careful navigation and landing to avoid putting any kind of pressure on his damaged leg. The boy could only concede that, despite his age and injury, M’sieur Hosmer still got it.

  In any case, there was no time to waste, the rumbling probably alerted a few people and their work was far from over. Maurice went to grab the bag of tools, keeping the guns inside, but taking out the drone to fly it into the apartment of the killer. They needed to put the proof next to her, alongside as much information as possible, and humiliate her all the while wording a threat to all of the other Saints. Interacting with his first client made the boy realize just how a grieving mother’s ruthlessness was stronger than even the pure blooded rage of a-

  “Berserker?!”

  Benjamin did not mean to sound so surprised externally but this was quite the shock. Despite her multiple injuries that should have paralyzed any C-rank Fighter, and not kill her as per the instructions, she was visibly starting to heal and move out of the trap. The air pressure started to feel suffocating alongside her skin reddening. Oh dear, this was quite the troublesome situation. Berserkers were the rarest form of Fighters, and its most dangerous. Trading sanity for power and a healing factor, Benjamin could not help but think this was a terrible deal. Furthermore, if the person in question had no combat experience.

  Having regained his composure, he delicately put his crutch away. His balance was now off, but he had both of his arms free: “Cry! Scream! You could not get me to do this but I will! I will make sure this contract of yours is never completed!” yelled Bonnie Soules before lunging at him.

  Despite his still leg and their power difference, Benjamin effortlessly deflected her first few strikes until he could find an opening. “I admit. I underestimated you.”

  “Then surrender! I will be merciful!” fired back the uncontrollable woman. A confident boast that she soon came to regret when she realized that he grabbed her arm.

  Without any hesitation, he broke it, not perturbed in the least by the sound or the horrified yell of his opponent. “See why you do not sell someone short? I just needed to hit you a little harder.”

  To his annoyance, her arm only stayed dislocated for a few seconds before she put it back in place, using her healing as a backdrop in case she failed to properly put her bone back. Benjamin forgot that having access to permanent healing could allow you to be far more reckless. After all he was the face for the Saints who could not get access to healing quick enough…

  Although this did not matter, because he could still fight.

  “Then allow me to apply this advice!” laughed the woman as she started to hit him in ways and angles that forced him to pivot to avoid a direct confrontation, inflicting too much strain on his valid leg. Thankfully, he managed to dodge a low kick meant to permanently put him out. However, Bonnie Soules was revealing herself to be quite the resourceful combatant, as she tried to put Benjamin in a clinch. Even though that maneuver also failed, she now had his hands clasped against hers, and by pushing her against him, she was managing to force him into bending backwards to delay his leg giving out as much as possible. If she could push him further, just a little further, she could break him. He was already starting to yield, and now she towered that old man entirely. She was win-

  “Sorry, this is gonna hurt.”

  Without even having the time to register what was happening, Bonnie Soules felt her body giving out. The sound of the gunshot was perceived by her ears a second too late. Her eyes wandered in the direction of the voice. It was the handsome fella she tried to crush a few moments prior. He seemed so weak then, but now, despite his gentle words, his eyes were narrow and he had not missed. Looking back at her opponent, he was smiling… at her.

  Dammit. “You motherfu...” She passed out before even finishing her sentence. He really had a contingency for everything. Her vision darkened. Wherever that wound was, it was not healing that easily.

  “Good job, Maurice.” sincerely praised Benjamin as he took a sit next to his opponent, before his apprentice gave him his crutch back. “Do not announce your presence next time though. And don’t apologize. Part of our job is to inflict pain on others.”

  The apprentice was happy about the praise, but quite shaken by what he just did. “Merde.” He whispered to himself. “Her brain is all over the floor.” He had used a 12 gauge as instructed by his mentor. C-rank Fighters and above were almost entirely unaffected by small calibers from conventional weaponry, and tanks were straight up immune to them. So they had to adapt. Maurice had seen the effect of such weaponry, or even the effect of their 45 ACP and 308 Winchester, on dummies. He thought the damage displayed was exaggerated, especially if used against such strong humans.

  It was not.

  “It will heal, don’t worry. Berserkers are freakishly resilient. Excellent aim on your part.” reassured Benjamin. This is precisely why he did not want Maurice’s job to be an execution, but exceptional circumstances had to call for drastic measures. Still, he took it better than most. After all, Benjamin had the time to train him physically and psychologically in the month they spent together. So, by setting remorse aside and shock being quickly subsided, they managed to resume their work almost instantly. “Let’s finish this.”

  Resuming where they left off, Maurice brought incriminating evidence and pictures back with his drone, while Benjamin tied her with a rope made to restrain even a B-rank Fighter. They then strung that cord to the top of the building to later lift that woman in the air, although Benjamin asked to position the rope so only the hands of the criminal were tied to the building. In the meantime, Bonnie Soules’ vital functions were revived. Her head was still reforming but now she found herself hands tied to the side of a building, unable to move, evidence attached to her by a belt, her clothes gone beside her underwear, insulting messages written on her skin in ink, and a bold message written in the facade behind her in her blood and guts: “A warning for those who have transcended humanity: treat all life with the utmost respect.”

  Ah. She was to be made an example. What a boring and childish request. Plus, the blood smelled.

  After taking in her surroundings, she noticed Benjamin had not moved from his position in front of her. Resigned to her fate, she wanted to confirm her suspicion at least before losing sight of him, the new light in her life: “You are like me, aren’t you?”

  He nodded in response, before going back to instructing things to his associate. Knew it, but there were so many questions left unanswered. The instructions for the scenery of her humiliation were so precise it was getting ridiculous. Who had she killed to deserve this already? Eh. Did it really matter? She was irredeemable and had her fun. She could not really ask for her without being greedy. So, she did anyway: “Why? Why are you doing this? These clients mean nothing to you don’t they?”

  “Could say the same about you.” He shot back, glaring at her.

  Now, she was getting annoyed at how judgmental he was being, especially given the morbid ceremony they were preparing. “You know how empty life is! What’s wrong with trying to entertain myself?”

  He grabbed her by the hair, forcing their eyes to meet. “I already told you. You give people like us a bad name. We lack empathy and sometimes emotion besides anger, not reason.” She felt nothing at his accusations. “And stop generalizing your issues, there is a whole spectrum of us.” She felt rage at his words but could do nothing to act on her emotions.

  “And so what? Outsiders do not understand. They worship or fear us anyway!” she spat.

  She noticed that he never raised his voice, apart from that time she caught him by surprise. It infuriated her even more. Especially because he seemed to have the answer to everything: “The actions of a minority impact their larger group. What a surprise.”

  This time, Bonnie stayed silent at his comment. The reason she never came out to her colleagues, or never got close to anyone… was because of the stigma surrounding her condition. It was not normal to feel so empty, so emotionless, to the point the thrill of murder became her only source of excitement. From bratty thrill-seeker to serial killer, she had fallen so far.

  Benjamin ended up relaunching the conversation again: “Some see our condition as a curse but I’m comfortable with it. We can do jobs no one can. We have values. And I found someone worth my time.” She groaned. How perfect was his life? Why were they so different if their internal world was identical? “This new job gives me meaning. That’s why I carry on despite losing my previous career. The reason behind why I execute the wishes of insignificant people.”

  “Lucky you.” was the only answer of Bonnie, a throwaway line of jealousy and envy.

  Another painfully isolating silence weighed on the kindred spirits. Until Bonnie asked a completely different question: “How long have you known?”

  “They were signs early on. My family took me to a specialist and upon learning of my condition, my father made sure to teach me the meaning of values, relations, empathy and how I could work with them, without ever shaming me for not emotionally resonating with them.” answered Benjamin, not skipping a beat.

  Bonnie bit her tongue. Lucky bastard. “I was abandoned as a baby, so when the signs showed themselves, I was wrongfully diagnosed. Then, years later, I was treated as a monster for my vision of the world so I closed myself. I didn’t need anyone anyway, therefore this was fine by me.”

  “But you still became that monster.” replied Benjamin. Bonnie reflected on those words and how much she wishes he would not have said them. How did she wish he was not so easy to confide in. She felt naked sharing her thoughts with him. Was this how it felt to trust someone? It was a terrible sensation. “Berserkers are among the rarest classes and can heal on their own.”

  She looked at him confused. He seemed to read her well but also talked completely unprompted. Was this his experience speaking? Did he see something she did not? “I know the police’s routine by heart and can calculate everything perfectly.”

  “Good for you?” was her only response.

  He groaned. She was too dense. “Your head is almost fully reformed now. The rest of your injuries will heal fully in two hours, starting with the less severe ones we inflicted on your limbs as a precaution in twenty minutes. The police will arrive at thirty.” Her eyes started to light up, both out of admiration and fear. “People heard the gunshot and the building collapsing. Since I still have a privileged contact with the police, I reported this incident to them, but lied slightly about the location to make them lose a bit of time.” He then pinched the rope that was binding her hands together. “Even a child could remove this knot.”

  “You’re insane.” She gasped.

  He shook his head. “I’m not asking you to run.”

  “Then why?!” She yelled exasperated.

  He shrugged. “I’m just giving you a choice.”

  “After everything… you still believe in…?” She asked horrified but hoping that she was not grasping at straws.

  Sadly for her, he kept crushing her hopes. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, there is nothing redeemable about you.” To be fair, why would a deranged serial killer ever get her wish granted?

  “So…?” She pried.

  Benjamin sat at her level for this. “A C-rank Berserker is too invaluable to let drown in insanity. You will choose to reform, or try to escape and die being a piece of shit.”

  She laughed in disbelief. “Not much of a choice. And how are you going to justify saving me to your client?”

  “She personally wished that we kept you alive.” He replied flatly. The confusion of Bonnie turned into genuine laughter. “Believe me, I would not have gotten through the trouble otherwise.”

  “I can imagine. But that choice?” She asked, now genuinely curious.

  He smiled. “I’m not against taking liberties, as long as it bears results.”

  “So what was the plan then?” She smiled back.

  Benjamin sighed, annoyed: “Something about you being forced to leave with the humiliation of being discovered in this state, and with the guilt of your murders.”

  “Heh. Pointless then.” She replied.

  He shrugged once again. “Don’t ask me about it. I’m not one for sentimentalism.”

  “What’s your opinion though?” She inquired.

  This time, he was the one caught off-guard. “About?”

  “About this ordeal. Should I be left alive?” She was not sure what kind of response she could expect from this guy, or even what she wanted to hear herself.

  “Absolutely not. I was asked to kill for far less.” He answered in a flash. This was predictable and normal. However, he looked deep in thought for a few more moments before speaking again. What Bonnie was sure of was that after the long silence that followed the initial answer, the new one was bound to be interesting. “But if you save twice as many people as you murdered, then I guess you have done your due.”

  She laughed again: “Utilitarian to the extreme, aren’t you?”

  “That’s the only belief that I don’t have to fake understanding.” was the only answer needed to this question. She agreed it made the most sense, but she was an impulsive person.

  One last silence, more comfortable but filled with sorrow, embraced them. In the end, for no reason, or no logical point, Bonnie did what she does best, acting impulsively: “I wish I could have met you earlier.”

  “It’s less lonely, isn’t it?” ‘Knowing there are others like you’, but he tastefully left that part out.

  She heard it anyway, just like those pointless words had reached him. In the end, the terrifying C-rank Berserker was left silently crying to herself. Benjamin put a hand on her head, gently stroking her hair. A few minutes passed before he coldly told her: “Never show your face again to me.”

  “Likewise.”

  In the end, Maurice strung her up and they left the scenery in a car with a stolen license plate. He was not sure how to feel about the ordeal, even if the unexpected had happened, this was a lot for him to take in. However, for this night, this was enough, and hopefully the client would be happy with their work. Whatever the case, this was his client to handle. Benjamin told him he had other things to take care of, and seeing how ruthless he truly was cut him any desire to go with him, for tonight.

  Oscar loves,

  Himself,

  Ingrid loves,

  Herself,

  Their Target loves,

  Him Self,

  Their Client loves,

  Him.

  Through the two years they have been working together, Benjamin, El Jefe, as Oscar calls him, always had the same four golden rules prepared for Ingrid:

  -Wear gloves.

  -Hide yourself with clothes and masks that are different from the last one.

  -Don’t damage the target more than necessary.

  -Take a paper bag with you.

  Ingrid herself was not sure if she found this insulting or monotonous. After all of these adventures, was she really that unreliable that he had to prepare a list for her each time? Oscar had no such precaution taken for him. Maybe he had botched less operation, that was true. They always completed their contracts and never got caught, but they did come close a few times thanks to her… Thinking back on it, despite being the Healer, she might have broken all of those rules at least once.

  Unfortunately, her poor performances were a surprise to no one, even her. Healers, no matter their rank, are highly coveted due to their rarity and incredible powers. The very few A-rank and S-rank had powers that completely redefined the realm of possibilities in healthcare. Obviously, this led to them becoming far out of reach from the regular folks. However, as long as they could heal when the injury was still fresh, even the lower-ranked healers could produce miracles. Moreover, their energy did not drain as fast as other magic users. Sadly, Ingrid could not even prove her usefulness by healing Benjamin’s limp and ribs, she would have needed to be an A-rank to fix scars that ran so deep in his body for so long. After all, if Ingrid had been so invaluable, she would not have been the only registered healer of the Southern States to be fired from the Council.

  Nevertheless, never mind her attitude, or the self-doubts creeping up on her, deep down she was content with her situation. She really was. She was earning money! Her own, precious, undisputed, money. Nothing mattered more to her than a stack of cash. Not that she came from a poor background, quite the contrary in fact. She was rich. So rich she had to earn triple the salaries Benjamin had earned in his entire lifetime. However, one day she was left without nothing. Her entire savings vanished.

  It was the same day she had been fired.

  After sleeping where she could, and could not, Ingrid reached a conclusion. Instead of begging, she would make a name for herself. That grown woman would quadruple the money she initially earned. Everything would be resolved if she could just earn a little more…

  Cut to two years later, she was still broke, still a mediocre Saint, and now she was standing before the unlocked door of an apartment, about to break into a B-rank Mage’s home to beat him up. All over a stupid story of exes. Glorious… But after they get their pay, and rent, she would change. She would start to save. She would build her funding back.

  After making this mission, Ingrid Marek would feel whole again.

  This was a risky operation. With no preparation time, besides the intel they had gotten from their client, they had to strike today without the possibility of creating an opportunity to properly jump him. Firearms inside a residential area were too risky, especially given the “process” they needed to go through before leaving. Ingrid had taken in a brand new mask and clothes for anonymity, alongside a metal bat that should reduce the blood splatters and visible injuries to a minimum… she hoped.

  Oscar simply looked at his partner as he was equipping both of his brass knuckles. Just like in the car, he was unbothered by the situation. They had a job to do. He was going to do it. Life was as simple as that. Hence his straightforward choice of weaponry, even for a Mage. He could feel after finishing it, but for now, emotions needed to be set aside. Yet, he felt a tingle in his heart. It displeased him to see his closest friend this way.

  Despite their mutual issues, Oscar seemed to be the only one left even willing to put up with Ingrid. She was shaking, eyes on the verge of tears. Her legs looked like they could give out at any moment. The girl planning to assault another person looked like a frightened animal. Knowing her, she did not even want any form of comfort. She was too prideful. Just the thought of Oscar noticing her distress would be a defeat in her eyes.

  Personally, he found it annoying. This was exactly why social interactions frightened him so much. Why bother sticking with fickle people? It’s not like he could not do things on his own. He had been by El Jefe’s side the longest after all, not counting his wife of course. Now, there were two choices before him. They could start right away, but risk Ingrid messing up one more time, or…

  “La Lavanda”

  He whispered quietly enough that among all of the lifeforms surrounding them, only she could hear the gentle voice of her partner. These words were followed by the snap of a finger, releasing the aroma of her favorite flower for it to embrace them. Smelling it instantly calmed Ingrid down.

  Her breath was shaky and her words unclear. She asked: “Why… why did you waste…?” The sentence she could not form was about his extremely limited resource of energy.

  Oscar Moreno was an anomaly. Once awakened Mages were usually assigned one element that they could wield, unless they had access to a unique kind of magic. Dual-wielding was already rare, and invaluable even among the lower ranks. Despite this, Oscar broke every norm, becoming the second Mage to ever be able to wield every element to perfection. He could do everything, learn every spell, and even revolutionize the world of magic by creating new spells… if only his luck had stopped there.

  There are an equal number of S-rank and F-rank Saints. Theories began circulating about why, but in any case it was extremely rare to end up on either side of the spectrum. The previous “Omni-Mage” as he had been nicknamed was a C-rank for example, not too bad nor too good.

  Oscar ended up being an F-rank and not just any regular one. He ended up breaking the record for the Saint with the least amount of energy ever registered. In the end, that guy could wield every element but only twice a day. A spell each, and just the low-tiers one could be used at full-power.

  There was no logical reason behind his actions. He could have done this mission even if Ingrid was not fully efficient, he had already done so multiple times. So, when she asked why he wasted one of his only chances to end the battle quickly, he looked at her.

  Not the persona, but the broken reflection.

  And he smiled. “You deserve it.”

  Ingrid felt like crying but she held it. That woman found herself pathetic for yielding such a fickle amount of affection. Still, she could not deny she would not partner up with anyone else.

  Now, they were both ready to finish this contract. They would sneak up on that Mage and beat him up before collecting what the client requested. Simple and easy. It was with this confidence that Oscar opened the front door which revealed….

  “What do you think you’re doing?!”

  ...that nothing ever goes as planned.

  The scared but courageous figure of that B-rank Mage stood firm, a rolling pin in his left hand and foam enveloping the other. Oscar stood frozen during the brief moments of silence that followed his question. He tried to analyze, to understand where they went wrong. In this entrance there were only a few small empty vases, a heavy closet by the door, and… and…!

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  Their target, Ishmael Cohen, was a fire-specialist. Supposedly, he had no more capability in magic detection than Oscar or Ingrid themselves. Could they have made too much noise? Was it the lavender? Has he always known? Were they simply… unlucky?

  No. No. No! There had to be something they had done wrong, a logical explanation for his presence behind the locked door. There is no such thing as dumb luck. There is no…

  Oscar hated the unexpected.

  Ingrid too…

  But she could act.

  In a blink she had closed in the distance between her and Ishmael. “H-Hey! Who are you people?” He asked while dodging a swing from her bat. “Why are you wearing masks?” was his foolish next question as he tried to create more space for himself. “What are you planning on doing?!” was his final question of the encounter as panic was starting to really cripple his actions.

  In his confusion, he swung wildly with his right arm in an arc, his eyes reflecting a red light: “Esh!” Instead of a powerful fire that would have burned Ingrid in a matter of seconds, only sparkles were formed. His mind was too perturbed to properly commit to an action. They managed to blind her for a few seconds, but he did not take proper advantage of the situation while she powered through the light burns with her healing, her eyes glowing an orange light.

  Seeing Ingrid fight snapped Oscar out of his trance. He closed the front door behind him, locking it, and throwing his bag of tools next to it, before lunging at Ishmael. They needed to corner him. The advantage of taking him on in a confined space that he held dear, especially as a fire wielder, was that he could not unleash his full power without risking hurting himself or his possessions in the process. The fact he was described as caring by the client meant he probably had emotional attachment to the objects in his apartment.

  “Esh Zarah!” yelled Ishmael more confidently. However, Oscar easily saw through the string of fire that his fellow Mage was launching. Its shape was unconventional, just like its tracking ability, but Ingrid’s ferocious attacks mixed with the stress of the situation meant Oscar could dispel the attack quite easily by using one of Ishmael’s vases as a shield before launching at the Mage. He responded in kind by making Ingrid back down with an intentionally wild swing of his rolling pin before chanting: “Neshamah Esh!” which allowed him to disintegrate the vase by breathing blue flames on it. He tried to redirect his fire towards the woman, but Oscar cut his breath short by almost caving his head in with a knuckle sandwich. No matter, thought Ishmael, I just need to keep my distance. He then elbowed the other man to stagger him before preparing something in his hand.

  Now that she had been almost incinerated alive, something feral overtook Ingrid. It was a strange condition, she could feel it. When the door first opened, she saw how innocent the man looked, how prim and proper he was. She felt an intense hatred overtaking her. How dare he appear like a human, a kind but firm one, despite being someone with such a gorgeous flat? How could he look normal despite fighting everyday for his life against monsters no one on their crew could take on? How dare he exist and make her hope that a normal person could reach heights so high!

  Sadly for her, reckless abandonment made for a good surprise attack, but Ishmael was the more experienced fighter. After moving into the living room, he kicked her away by striking her stomach, triggering involuntarily her traumatophobia which left her gagging as a reflex. Seizing this opportunity, he launched the fireball he was holding at her: “Kaesh!” However, it ended up being partially absorbed by her accomplice who dashed in front of her. His hands were damaged, but that intruder could still fight. Another fire Mage? Seemed likely since you can only absorb a magic spell by mastering the element of said attack.

  That other one was probably a Healer given how she could power through the light burns of his sparkles. This was not good. He could die at any instant by forgetting they were two or not figuring out exactly both of their powers soon enough. Although he had no idea why they were even attacking him, this was the least of his concern. I need to get out of here, thought Ishmael, before coming to the realization that he would have to reopen the front door or leave via the balcony that is next to one of the fire exits. He was screwed unless he could create an opportunity for himself.

  At first, Ishmael thought about the fire alarm, putting a hand behind him to charge up enough power to create a flame that could reach his ceiling. However, his current opponent, the intruder with the brass knuckles rushed him with strikes that he could not simply dodge in this posture due to their precision and strengths. “Yamen Esh!” he chanted before grabbing the left hand of his assailant with his right hand and burning it with the magic he infused in it. Ishmael made that man wince in pain all the while overheating, almost melting, his weapon, before breaking it in a few seconds.

  However, this fellow Mage gut-punched him which made him lose his grip. Oscar took the brief window of time this offered time to put away the crumbles of this brass knuckles in his pocket, keeping the other ready to go. He could have thrown another punch, but his mind was preoccupied, obsessed even, with making sure him and Ingrid could leave with as little incriminating evidence behind as possible.

  The resistance granted to Ishmael by being a B-rank allowed him to tank relatively well that intruder’s punch, all things considered. He spit the blood-colored saliva that accumulated in his mouth in the direction of his opponent. Moreover, he infused it with a bit of magic to have it explode on contact, unless…

  Oscar made it all disappear within his now free palm. “So you are a Fire Mage, uh.” observed Ishmael only to be met with pure contempt and silence from Oscar. “What? Lost your tongue? If you needed to become a Red Mage to even compete against me during a home invasion, only to bring me to a draw, then you must suck at your job, don’t you?” Taunted Ishmael.

  Oscar stayed quiet. He knew. The tone of his opponent changed too radically. Ishmael was trying to hear his voice in case he survived this encounter, which he had to for the contract to be completed in accordance to their client’s wish. He would leave as little personal information onto this crime scene as possible. Furthermore, those childish affiliations given to Mages, “Red” for those that ‘barbarically’ fought in close combats with reckless abandon, “Blue” for those with unique magic that went beyond elements to results that varied in wonder and horror, and “Purple” for the dignified mages that found balance between all of the aspects of magic like Ishmael… they meant nothing to a man that had a job to do. Henceforth the resuming of his assault, unperturbed.

  To Ishmael’s benefit, the advantage of being an experienced Saint, one valued in the Council, was that he could quickly analyze what kind of opponent he was facing. While dodging the vicious strikes of the person before him, he tried to get a powerful strike in with the pin but, unlike with his previous opponent, he was going nowhere with it. He was too sluggish and that person could see through them. Ishmael clicked his tongue. He did not have much experience fighting other Saints, much less one that, despite being a Mage, was slightly taller and much more toned. Either his true magic was not strong enough to allow him to fight or they are that much stronger than me, he figured out, even if he was saving the pleasantries for after he made sure to be safe.

  He could not take him on physically, especially after tanking that gut-punch, but he was not out of options. A true master of fire could be quite resourceful no matter the situation if they had sufficient enough control of their craft!

  Firstly, he threw his weapon in the direction of the still whining second intruder on the floor, which forced the persistent one to back off in order to catch it. With both of his hands now free, Ishmael chanted: “Shedim Deh-rekh. Havel Pateh!” before quickly tracing a horizontal arc with his arms that he ended by clapping his hands together. Flames engulfed the areas he went over before combusting and releasing cinders and smokes in front of him. Since he was not allowed to fully utilize his arsenals, he could only hope this distraction would grant him enough time to escape. If his current opponent was a conventional Fire Mage, then the smoke and cinder typical of this technique were things he could not absorb. This was the most a mono-elemental Mage like him could toy with elements he had no control over.

  Furthermore, he had one final trick up his sleeve. In a quiet mutter, he chanted: “Emet Kfufa” and started to alter reality as much as he could with his B-rank power. By heating up the atmosphere and his surroundings to an absurd degree, the foam generated mixed with the smoke he already produced was messing with the brain and senses of his opponents. This was his ultimate camouflage technique. Confident in his ability, he tried to turn back and make a run for it.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He heard this sentence much too close to his ear for his comfort. Thankfully he managed to pivot just in time to avoid a punch reinforced by the brass knuckles of his wielder that could have put him out of commission. He was surprised to notice the smoke had already cleared. Was that man not a fire Mage after all? But that is so improbable. Moreover, how did he see him through his technique?

  Unfortunately for Ishmael, Oscar had been expecting a Saint of his rank to push the boundaries of his element to his absolute limit. By meticulously studying the intel of his client, he prepared a special filter over his mask to mitigate any kind of illusion or reality bending he could pull off by trying to trick his senses. Being obsessed with efficiency had its perks.

  On the other hand, Ishmael was struggling to think about what to do. He could maybe go for the fire alarm, or he could try to actually put his current opponent out of his commission, given he had been the most troublesome so far. Still, what was his power really? Maybe he was toying with him?

  No. There had to be a rational explanation. The smoke being cleared could have been a result of his ventilation system… or… or…

  Wait.

  Breathe.

  Think.

  This personal mantra allowed Ishmael to clear his mind, and just like that, a new answer flashed in his mind. Was this the doing of that second intruder?

  Wait…

  Where was she?!

  His answer came in the form of a sharp pain in the ribs. Shit, he forgot to get rid of her metal bat. However, he could not give up so close to the window of his balcony. Screw the property, he was going all out. Adrenaline was helping him regain his balance. He used the small window where both of his opponents thought he would fall down from the pain.

  Taping his right foot on the floor, he whispered: “Komat-Esh.” creating a small field of fire around him that forced both of his assailants to back down. Ishmael was starting to get exhausted but the adrenaline gave him the necessary push to create distance. By now, his back was against the glass of the window. He smiled, now onto the last bluff. He opened his palms and directed them at his two enemies, charging one of his most powerful spells. Truthfully, Ishmael hoped he would not have to incinerate them since he was aiming for the window behind him but…

  “Akal E-!”

  … but nothing ever goes as planned.

  Oscar understood immediately what his fellow Mage was trying to pull. Furthermore, he had excellent knowledge of the anatomy of magic users. Without a moment of hesitation, he grabbed his hands, redirected both arms towards himself, before plucking them with the nails on his thumbs that he had secretly infused with wind magic, the last spell he could cast today. Those nails were acting as syringes that injected the wind into his bloodstream, where any magic first manifested before being casted. A few seconds were all that Ishmael needed to realize the gravity of his lapse in judgment. “A multi-elemental-”

  The wind and fire mixed together, creating an explosion powerful enough to knock Oscar and Ingrid away, activating the fire alarm as well as making an absolute ruckus. What followed made the Healer turn around and grab her paper bag to puke in it. A blood curdling scream, and a real vision of nightmare unfolded before them.

  The fact Ingrid even partially removed her mask did not matter to Ishmael who was in pure agony to the point of almost being unable to see. His body had completely rejected the wind which created the explosion a bit before his elbow. His hands had been completely separated from the rest of his body which was wriggling in pain at the burns all over it. He was also losing blood at rapid speed but the contract stipulated that he had to be kept alive.

  As soon as he recovered, Oscar rushed to the side of their target. Ishmael was still breathing, good. The criminal then pulled the binds of the window down to reveal as little of the scenery as possible. He was short of breath but could not remove his mask. He needed to keep it together. This was far beyond what he wished to happen. It was only a little wind after all! However, he had forgotten the most important rule of their business: “When facing high-ranking Saints, throw away all common sense and natural laws, because they will break them all in their display of pure power.”

  Feeling himself tremble, he called out to his partner, desperate. “Ingrid! Please!”

  This mission was an absolute disaster, and her phobias were completely crushing her. The fire alarm was even going off. At this rate they would be caught. She felt like puking again but held it in. Hearing Oscar’s voice drowning in panic made her momentarily snap out of her own trance. They needed to finish the contract and get out. However, that body, the blood, the smell, the rain, the yells, those scars… Ingrid felt like her soul was leaving her body, but she held it in again, trying her best not to cry. They had to leave no fingerprint or DNA trace, hence the paper bag. First, they needed to cauterize the wound. She could not reattach his limbs or regrow them, neither with tools nor her magic, but she knew how to stop people from bleeding. This could… this could work out.

  “Mael! Hey Mael! Are you okay?!” These desperate cries and the frantic banging on the door put both of the mercenaries in a panic. It seemed like a witness was trying to break down the entrance. If they did, they would have to leave and not finish the contract, otherwise they would get caught. What to do? What to…

  As she felt herself faint from the stress, Oscar slapped her awake before hugging her. “This was not the original plan but I beg of you: Focus.” His voice was tender which heavily contrasted with his actions. “Keep the target alive and finish the contract. I’ll keep that other guy busy.” She nodded.

  However, before leaving he whispered to her: “This is all of my fault. I underestimated the power of the blast, and you have done nothing wrong.” These words sent a shock down her spine. She was not responsible for this mess. She could still be useful! Seeing the fire in her eyes, Oscar rushed to the entrance, throwing her the bag of tools he left there, and putting himself in front of the locked door.

  She got this.

  Ingrid grabbed the bag and placed herself next to Ishmael after putting her mask back on, and putting a second pair of gloves, surgical ones this time, over her previous pair. “Don’t move.” She ordered coldly which her patient managed to do thanks to the little amount of consciousness he still had left. Frankly, this was probably the gruesomest scene she ever had to work on. With each signal her senses were sending her, her phobias were urging her to run away and vomit. She was already getting cleaned up from the water of the fire alarm after all. Thankfully, Benjamin taught her a trick to work despite her traumas, not through stress nor remorse, but simply dissociation. If she was seeing this situation as a drill, as someone inconsequential, and Ishmael as someone that did not exist and was not really suffering, she could make it work. She just needed her mind to be empty and not be reminded of the reality of this situation.

  The banging on the door was becoming more and more frantic by the second. Quick on his feet, Oscar answered the desperate cries of the neighbor through the door: “Ishmael had an accident! His power went out of control!” It was easy to feign concern when you were already so distressed.

  “Shit!” yelled the other man. “Who is it?” He asked, his voice not betraying an ounce of malice.

  Oscar needed to improvise quickly. Given the general panic and the fact more neighbors might come or have already called the dispatchers, a fast response was better than a well thought-out one: “I’m a first-aider! I saw an explosion outside and rushed upward through the fire exit. The window has been completely blown away.”

  “Wait, professor Ortiz? Is that you?!” asked the neighbor bewildered.

  Channeling the energy of an exhausted scholar was easy enough when you were actually frustrated by the pointless questions of another person. “Yeah? What if I am?!”

  “Weren’t you supposed to be at a doctorate’s conference today?!”

  “?Dios mío! ?Maldito idiota!” Thank god the professor seemed to be a fellow Latino, because Oscar had not meant to start speaking in his native language but that situation exasperated him. “Do I sound like I can talk right now?!” Seriously man, have some common sense!

  “S...sorry! Do you need me to come in-” Before he could finish his questions, a huge crash resonated through the door. Given his impertinence, Oscar anticipated he would ask to come inside, and had already started to push the closet down to block the entrance.

  Oscar yelled back as quickly as he could: “It’s too late! Call the dispatchers and try to have everyone evacuated in the meantime!”

  “All right! Hang in there, both of you!” Oscar heard the sounds of footsteps and panicked talking being further away from the door by the minute. Thank god, he had left. Now, onto planning the escape route, he thought to himself before rushing into the kitchen.

  In the meantime, Ingrid was hard at work. She tightened two pieces of fabric over what remained of Ishmael’s arms to block the blood flow. Moreover, she put the stumps over clean new white tissues to prevent them from being further infected by whatever bacteria was on this mess of a floor. The tool bag Oscar took with them contained mostly medical equipment due to what they were actually supposed to inflict on Ishmael, as per the client’s wishes. Ironically, despite said client’s animosity for him, Ingrid was actually saving his life thanks to it.

  Having cast two spells on him to increase his durability and ease his system, to prevent a heart failure from the stress and shock of the situation, her patient was now resting peacefully. Good. She could now move on to the most painful part of the process.

  “Bo?ské světlo.” she quietly chanted.

  Despite the holy light coming from her hands, the experience was about to be far from pleasant. As soon as her fingertips touched the open wound of Ishmael, an unimaginable pain surged in the exact spot where he was hurt. She winced but kept going. With each finger she was posing on the wound, it cauterized quite nicely. Her patient seemed much calmer than at the start of the operation. However, on the flip side, she was reeling from the pain. Still, she could not do it the slow and easy way, so after bracing herself, she put both of her hands on the two open wounds to cauterize them.

  The ensuing sensations were akin to torture. She tried to keep quiet but was still inadvertently whining from the pure agony she was feeling. For each cell, each tissue that she was fixing, her nerves recreated the sensation over to her arms. Despite being healthy, it was as if her arms were burning and exploding over and over again, with no way to stop unless she left Ishmael to die.

  This was not normal. This was not normal for a healer to get this kind of drawback over minor spells. Ingrid was truly a failure in every conceivable way… but even so-!

  “It was my fault.” The words of Oscar resonated within her. She could still do her part. She had not derailed the mission! She could still help her loved one! So she pushed through. She pushed through the agony! Eventually, the blood stopped flowing and Ishmael was peacefully resting. She checked his pulse, and he was still among the living. Thank god.

  After bearing so much pain, Ingrid took out her paper bag again and evacuated the trauma she had just endured before focusing back on the mission at hand. After she located the torn hands of Ishmael, she took out the bone saw out of the tool bag and got to work. With an innate speed and precision, thanks to her medical studies, she cut off the annular fingers out of both hands, putting them into a plastic envelope. Now, they were done.

  The moment she took a breather, Oscar came running back into the living room. “Are you done?”

  “Yup. He’ll survive and get his limbs back.” She replied while collecting their evidence. “Is the escape route ready?”

  “Indeed.” was his answer.

  Perfect.

  Ingrid did not need or want to hear what Oscar had planned beyond what they already agreed upon. Instead, she simply asked for his hand and to stand up before packing up everything. However, she was surprised by his intense staring at the body of Ishmael. Among the water still flowing, and the ruckus outside, it worried her that her partner seemed to be internally debating over something. “Is something the matter?”

  Oscar stayed silent. He was thinking about his early days in the business, when he had a tendency to apologize to his targets. After getting used to it, even the innocent folks he had to put down do not get much sympathy from him. Unless he could do something about it, he detached himself. This is how you survive as an illegal Legionnaire.

  Furthermore, Ishmael was everything he could not be. A confirmed Mage, a successful Saint, and a compassionate individual. Oscar’s whole being screamed at him to leave him in his misery, to hate him for what he represented. How could this fool not have known to date a mentally unwell woman? Really, he put himself in his situation. This was his fault he was getting beaten up here! No one can fix a person besides a professional.

  However, Oscar was so far past his old regrets.

  Slipping a picture of their client into his hands, as proof of their passage: “A warning for those who have transcended humanity: See your relations for what they are.” he hoped this would allow their client to not go unpunished for putting Ishmael in this position. Moreover, this was vague enough to be interpreted in a myriad of ways that would satisfy the delusional client that hired them. Although this went directly against Benjamin’s orders and his own want to stay as anonymous as possible, Oscar still felt guilty for the unnecessary damage he caused this innocent man.

  All of that over a break-up… this was not right.

  Ingrid put a hand on his shoulder. She would not question his choices, but they needed to go.

  “You liar! Who is in there?! What did you do to Mael?!”

  The banging on the door resumed stronger than before. Multiple voices were heard beyond the door, but Oscar was not worried. Even if they broke the door the following minute, alongside the closet, they would be far already. They already packed everything. So, he rushed Ingrid to the kitchen’s window. “Grab on tight.” He said to her.

  “Wait. You didn’t put a rope?” She replied, suddenly feeling very anxious.

  He shrugged. “It’s only the second floor. I’ll manage.” was his only response before putting the handle of a wooden spatula he had stolen from the kitchen between his teeth.

  Instead of letting her object any further, Oscar jumped the second he was ready, taking her along for the ride. Despite the insanity of the situation, and her fright, she was forced to stay silent so as to not attract any more attention.

  The landing was rough for Oscar’s legs, hence his forethought with the spatula. Thankfully, his injuries still allowed him to limp. Ingrid rushed ahead to start the car, which they had parked only a meter or two from the side of the building they had jumped from, with no witness.

  Despite the injuries he currently had to deal with, until Ingrid could heal him at least, he felt proud of himself. Thanks to the intel given by the client, they knew where the windows of Ishmael’s apartment were. Looking over the building and linking where the flat and its exits were just before infiltrating it with a bit rewiring thanks to a custom-made jammer by Rohan, allowed Oscar to plan their exit in advance and where to park their vehicle, away from the main entrance and not on the side of the emergency fire exits. Furthermore, asking that neighbor to evacuate or alert everyone allowed them to make sure most of the neighborhood were currently talking with the emergencies, inadvertently blocking them, or currently looking to break into the apartment, leaving them free to escape by the one spot they were not patrolling. The car was stolen anyway by a third party, so even if it was spotted they would not be in trouble. Obviously, it would have been better if none of these secondary measures were necessary and they could have entirely done the mission without alerting anyone, but if there is one thing Benjamin taught him, it was…

  “Let go of your perfectionism, boy. Nothing ever goes as planned.”

  Oscar smiled when Ingrid picked him up and, inside the car, they laughed.

  They laughed because this was a disaster through and through.

  They laughed because they’d lose it otherwise.

  They laughed because their job is absurd.

  They laughed because they’re alive.

  In the moment, with the adrenaline, they mistakenly thought the story would end there. However, they still left traces on the crime scene, especially Oscar. His writing, his shoe sizes in the wet grass where he landed, his ease with Spanish, his status as a multi-elemental Mage with a “Red” fighting style, and Ingrid’s healing power… These elements were not necessarily linked together at first. They were careful enough as to not leave too many clues behind. Furthermore, Oscar knew that this was their biggest blunder of the year for now. Benjamin would probably ask him to lay low for a while. He was ready for that punishment.

  Instead, what preoccupied his mind right now was his conscious decision to leave their client’s face behind. As per his own personal code of honor, he would tell Benjamin upon arriving. Before accepting a job, it was the custom of their group to ask for a picture and an ID of their client as a safety measure. If the client was thinking about denouncing them for their activities, for example. This was not infallible due to the existence of Shapeshifters and Imitators among Saints, but since most of their clientele were normal humans, this worked well enough. Oscar had betrayed the trust with this client by leaving a picture at the crime scene.

  He thought about what he did in the car.

  Although, ultimately, he knew what his conclusion would be.

  Not a positive nor a negative one, just an astute observation.

  Whatever the cost, morality had not been trampled on.

  Oscar Moreno was an anomaly… who could not discard his heart.

  But Benjamin already knew that.

  For the Crew a night is never complete,

  Without conflicts in the street,

  Before the Fools who wished to compete,

  The Queen had taken her seat,

  Time to teach those souls of pure conceit,

  The meaning of a painful defeat.

  She was Murdina ‘Blair’ Hosmer, daughter of Annabel Blackwood, and wife of Benjamin Hosmer. By virtue of her age and legacy within the criminal world, she deserved to be treated with respect. But right now? She felt as if she was not treated with the reverence that she deserved. Sitting on a cramped, frankly unhygienic, couch was one thing. Not everyone had the funds to afford good furniture, especially when they first arrive in a new town. However, being looked down upon by a bunch of so-called ‘gangsters’ who were lacking the attitude, panache, and intelligence of real criminals? Unacceptable.

  “Lady. Do you even know the kind of shit you’re into?” mocked the leader of this group. According to her observations, he was probably a lieutenant of some kind back in Dallas. Given how much he paraded around his status, his wealth, and the importance of this mission to establish a branch of his gang at Houston… he was very new to this, or desperate.

  No matter. She would not be overly rash with a newbie. They just needed to be taught the ropes. How violent the lesson would be simply depended on how unreasonable he would be. “I believe I know very well the situation I find myself in.”

  “Really?! That’s the best the Crew’s got?!” laughed a very lousy looking hoodlum. Given his rapid pace, rude tone, and grating voice, he was probably the clown of this division. Moreover, he could also be their second-in-command since among disorganized or unimpressive groups, the difference between those two roles was negligible.

  After all, what kind of idiot wants to provoke the ire of members from a local group that is known across town as an organization you do not wish to mess with?

  The leader explained himself further: “See we wish to have a serious discussion regarding our implantation in Dallas and the current split of territories among underworld organizations. We were told your organism was the one to contact about such matters.”

  “And they were absolutely justified. So, what is the problem?” answered Blair, sitting cross-legged on the couch, letting her vintage dress embellish her presence.

  Much to her annoyance, one of her hearing aids suddenly found itself in the hands of that lousy one. “Check it out guys! That old bitch is deaf!” He yelled which made the rest of their group join in on their laughter. A Thief, quite the annoying Saints to deal with, especially if they were not properly taught. Judging by his physique he might even be an Assassin, but his loud nature prevented him from fully utilizing his potential. Blair already knew how her lesson would go tonight.

  Still, it was worth noting that their leader did get up to snatch the hearing aid back from his underling before throwing it back at her. Blair stayed stoic through the ordeal, but did appreciate the bare minimum of respect displayed. When he sat down, the room had become very quiet: “This meeting is absurd. You’re not even the leader of this group, are you?”

  “Why does it matter? You’re not the leader either.” She answered without missing a beat.

  This made him sigh: “Seriously, lady. Don’t you think you are severely underestimating us?”

  “Please, elaborate.” She replied mockingly, finally relaxing on the couch. If that is all it took to perturb him, then he was too new to the line of work. Why was he the one chosen to infiltrate Houston, anyway?

  The leader clicked his tongue in annoyance. “We’re part of the M.O.O.N, the biggest crime family in Dallas. Isn’t that enough proof?”

  “Never heard of it.” was her only reply before leaning forward. Oh, taunting the youth made her feel young again. “But enlighten me. How do I know you gentlemen are the real deal?”

  That annoying thug yelled his answer to that question: “Bitch! You ain’t got nothing but a fat pig and a cripple at your side. We’re over twenty, and you got three chumps. You think you can take us on?!” During his rant, he made sure to rudely point at Dora and Rohan, who were positioned on either side of Blair, behind the couch. Without even seeing her, Blair gestured at Dora to calm down, since she could feel her murderous intent from her position. That girl was much too bloodthirsty. They were not here to kill people.

  Although it was always quite thrilling to murder them with their words: “Quite the astute observation. I am very proud to know you passed the 4th grade.”

  “Hey listen here you old hag-”

  “Why don’t you let your boss do the talking now?” Her voice was cold and her gaze left no doubt over her lack of pleasantry. If disdain and threats could be summarized by one action, this would be it.

  Again, the leader of that little group proved himself to be the more reasonable fellow by shushing his underling. “Forgive Jeremiah. He might not be the most… eloquent.” That was one way of putting it, given his attitude. “However, he does bring up a good point. In the M.O.O.N, we only accept the best of the best. Saints need to have an awakening of at least C-rank to join us. You have no chance.”

  “Interesting philosophy. I deduce you do not find value in regular humans, or D-rank and below?” Blair laughed internally. These wannabe gangsters always come up with the funniest ideologies.

  However, that guy was quite serious. “What good would they do? Humans can work as information brokers or wallets, but that’s it. Plus, when we see the monsters outside, there is no point in recruiting someone weaker to help deal with them, right? So why bring them to fight other Saints as well. They serve no purpose!”

  Blair took a bit of time before verbally answering his claims. At first, she found him amusing, if a bit pathetic. However, she now wondered where this specific ideology came from, especially since it reminded her of something. Once she finished sternly staring at him and noticing how uncomfortable he looked after spilling his ways before her, she finished deciding on her next course of actions: “Tell me, um...”

  “Tye.” He replied immediately, a bit too quick might she add. Almost as if he was desperate for her validation.

  “Right. Tye.” Although this was bad manners, she had no trouble admitting to herself that she will have forgotten that name the moment they stepped out of this negotiation. “Tell me, did the leader of your gang instill this philosophy in you?”

  He stayed silent, looking mostly confused, just like the rest of his men.

  Knowing that her interlocutor was not the sharpest tool in the shed, she decided to be generous: “Let me rephrase that: Does the leader of ‘the biggest gang in Dallas’ hold the same view as you?”

  “I mean it’d only make sense that they hold the same view as one of their personal enforcers.” Tye answered, embarrassed.

  “Ah, so you have no idea.” was her straightforward reply.

  In the same motion, Jeremiah tried to reach for his gun and threaten Blair after already yelling to showcase how offended he was. Unfortunately for him, the queen was always three steps ahead. “Where the fuck-”

  “Looking for this?” laughed Dora twirling the gun around.

  In his rage Jeremiah did not even notice the fact Dora looked so much more exhausted than a few seconds ago, nor the fact her lower half was hidden behind the couch Blair sat on. Too obsessed with getting immediate retribution, he did not notice the several missing weapons all around the hideout. Although, frankly, this was the least of his worries when his legs gave him and he crashed head first onto the coffee table.

  Other members of the gang tried to help him, Tye first obviously, but their legs gave out as well. The, oh so proud, leader could not even fathom the strength to get up from his couch or move his arms. Not so surprisingly, their voices started to crack and all of their bravado seemed to have disappeared down the drain. What is happening? What is going on? “Rohan. Step forward please.”

  “Of course.” He replied stoically, even though he was giggling inside.

  Blair stretched her hand towards him. He handed her a water bottle with strange particles floating inside it. Thanking him, she then placed it on top of Jeremiah’s head. “While they were making empty threats, what did you manage to learn about them?”

  “They are mostly C-rank among them. That guy is a B-one.” He coldly answered, pointing at Tye who looked less and less concerned. The worries readable on his face were indeed disappearing, instead being replaced by the forcibly silent horror of a man on death row. “Their class doesn't matter, I can kill them in the next second if you wish me to.”

  The well-mannered Rohan, empathetic and reasonable, had his face being deformed by the biggest grin the Dallas gang members had ever seen. The kindest member of the Crew was enough to take them all out, all the while haunting their nightmares for the rest of their life. However, Blair did not have quite her fun yet: “And what rank are you?”

  “E-rank Tank.” To the complete bewilderment of those gang members.

  “I’m completely useless against the monsters or their lairs.” assessed honestly the youngest guy of the group. “I can just manipulate puddles of water.” He then feigned to close his hand, constricting the top of the water bottle, letting the rest of the gang guess what happened if he fully clutched it. “Like this.”

  “What do you think would happen to Jeremiah if that poisoned water fell on him?” Asked Blair.

  Rohan answered just as quickly. “A coma, and a possible cardiac arrest.”

  “Stop! Stop.” shouted Tye in desperation who had been struggling with all of his might to break free from Rohan’s curse. At this point, he was trembling: “I… We… we get it… Just…”

  “Stop? Oh no, Tye. I don’t think you understand.” said Blair, barely hiding her malicious intentions anymore. Although, she did put the water bottle aside. Good manners were essential even in the underworld. “This is not a question of negotiation, right now. This is about honor.”

  Her words were followed by a simple action. She stood up from the couch. Blair found herself very pleased with the fact this seemed enough to terrify the poor Jeremiah that was desperately struggling to move out of the table. This terror was further amplified when she grabbed his body effortlessly to lie him on his back, drawing a pocket knife from the top of her dress like it was a magic trick that he was forced to watch, incapable of escaping her clutches or the coffee table. “Did your mentor really teach you nothing? About politeness and attitude within our families?”

  Blair eyed Tye but the knife drew closer to Jeremiah. “Your underling did mock my family and my disability. It’s only fair that I give him a taste of his own medicine.” Before he could brace himself, the cold steel of her blade pierced through his ear. He could not even cry to exorcise his pain, so his body evacuated the stress through a few tears.

  Blair wiped them for him. He had nothing to worry about. She simply stabbed an innocuous area of his outer ear, close enough to his inner organs to make him panic and be irrational about losing his audition without doing irreparable damage to it. Blair was not cruel enough to inflict on someone else the suffering she went through in her youth. Something that rendered her completely unable to hear without hearing aids even though she was just legally deaf at first.

  With that said, she did not fault him for crying. On the outside it seemed probably painful, judging by the reactions of the other gang members, Tye included. Even Dora and Rohan winced a bit, due to their young age and lack of experience with torture methods.

  Yes, this was simply a lesson. Not a cruel punishment. Nonetheless, she did approach Jeremiah’s functional ear and whispered something specifically intended towards him: “One more insult from your filthy mouth and the rest of your organs will become acquainted with the pavement.”

  He looked at her as if she was the devil. Nonsense. She was just sharing her experience.

  Speaking of which, she still had values to teach that imbecile of a leader, so the graceful lady stepped over the table, to directly talk with her student: “We are criminals. We don’t give two shits about power ranks, name-calling or whatever bullshit the Council came up with. The only things worth a damn here are money, honor and respect. So you and your goons better be on your best fucking behavior the next time you come to beg for a place here. Understood?”

  Despite the insults, her tone never changed from the calm and menacing one she exhibited throughout this meeting. Self-control was very important for a regular human in the underworld.

  Tye meekly nodded while avoiding any eye contact with her. Close enough, she thought. With a sign, Rohan obeyed her will and released the curse he inflicted on the gang members while she sat down on her couch. What a marvel of biology, thought Blair reading the viruses Rohan had created through his studies and mastery of his limited power. She was polite enough to wait for Jeremiah to slowly go back to the rest of his group, holding his wound and shivering.

  Once that was taken care of, her tone shifted to something a little more joyful, to lighten up the mood: “Now, onto more pressing matters. Who sent you?”

  “Wha- I mean. The boss? He wanted us to...”

  This scrambled explanation by Tye did not satisfy Blair. “The leader of the ‘biggest gang in Dallas’ would have taught you these essential rules to survive. Otherwise, he would just be some chump.” Frankly, she already had her answer, but she needed him to spill it out, first. “I reiterate my question. Who sent you?”

  “One… one of his personal bodyguards! I swear. We are… we are part...” part of his gang? Honey, you would not need to precise it if your situation was as clear as you first made it out to be.

  Still, she offered some reassuring words. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” Here, this was about as much as she could muster before going on a rant to entangle the situation herself. “Although, let me guess the recruitment process: You guys admire that gang leader. He’s like your local hero so you want to join his gang. Lucky for you, one of the personal bodyguards of said leader mentors you, and you all become official members of the gang! You keep growing and growing in numbers! Hooray!”

  At this point her tone changed to something more cold-hearted: “However, you never end up meeting the leader of the gang. Your mentor is the real deal, because he has tattoos and everything, but you wish to meet your idol. Therefore, said mentor coincidentally thinks you are now ready to move up in the hierarchy of the gang, on one condition: Go to Houston to expand the gang’s activities into another town. That way, you will be hailed as heroes!”

  Throughout this explanation, Tye stayed silent, his face contorting as the euphoria he felt back then had now crumbled, and the realization was hitting. Jeremiah was the one who asked: “What are you implying…?”

  “I do not know myself.” Blair answered honestly, before furthering her point: “Maybe that mentor of yours was the real deal or...”

  These few seconds of silence were eating away at the sanity of the pathetic folks in front of her: “Maybe he was another gang leader, a Council mole, or just a pathological liar. That guy could be anyone and anything really.”

  She smiled: “Maybe the leader you admire so much is already dead because this was a ploy to make sure he could not bring new forces into his gang after a crushing defeat. Maybe this was just a test to see if you would blindly follow orders and later rebel against your hero. Maybe your mentor was just a bored man who wanted to send you to your death...”

  No one had any objection to her hypotheses. Sensing that she was losing their focus though, she clapped her hand together once, to gain back their attention even if it made them slightly jumpy. They already lost their weapons anyway, so they had to shut up and listen. In the end, Blair concluded her rant by being as blunt as possible for their own good:

  “All in all, you got played.”

  This time she let them take the news at their rhythm. For her, and her two bodyguards, it only lasted a few seconds. For Tye and his men, it felt agonizing for hours on end. However, making them despair was not the main goal of Blair so she resumed talking: “Maybe it’s not too late. If you go back to Dallas...” She doesn’t finish her sentence but doesn’t need to, their faces were lighting back up.

  “Anyway, it’s your choice to make.” were her last words before packing things up alongside Rohan and Dora.

  “Regardless, welcome to Houston darlings.” She smiled.

  “We are thrilled to be doing business with you.” She grabbed the limp hand of Tye to shake it before leaving the hideout for good.

  Tye’s eyes drifted to the water bottle that was still on the coffee table. The viruses inside of them were visible, too visible. If that Rohan dude had to manipulate such noticeable monstrosities for his powers to work, even he, as prideful and reckless as he acted, could have noticed them infiltrating his skin. This bottle was not left at random. It was a warning. A very efficient one.

  He stood up to look behind the couch and all of their weapons, personal ones, and those hidden in the inventory upstairs found themselves in the same couch, minus a 9mm. That wheelchair girl said close to nothing of note during the whole meeting, but she also played them like fiddles. And now Tye was lost in thought. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this life after all.

  “We need to go back to Dallas.” spoke Jeremiah, now humbled beyond belief.

  He is right, thought Tye. They couldn’t sit there. They needed to act and once in Dallas, they will make their choice on how to advance.

  Meanwhile on the outside, Rohan was pushing Dora’s wheelchair for her, while she clutched against her chest the stolen gun Benjamin had told her to keep in advance as long as she kept her gloves on. Using her power left her completely exhausted as her tachycardia made her chest feel like it was about to burst open. She struggled to breath, and her chronic fatigue syndrome made her whole body sore, sleepy, and in pain from doing a single action all meeting. Fuck this body, she thought to herself. Although she was forced to recognize her awakening made the situation way less uncomfortable than it could have been otherwise.

  Rohan noticed how much she suffered and earnestly asked her: “Do you want some water?”

  However, she laughed it off. “I’m never accepting water from you.”

  “Fair.” he snickered.

  Considering nothing illegal would have happened in their mission, and the city’s emergencies were already busy with other incidents happening around town, they came on foot. This had the advantage of granting them much more freedom of movement, so they took their time going back to the hideout. The cold air of the night was refreshing and for Dora who needed that pure air to prevent her body from degrading any further, she felt at peace, just letting herself be pushed by Rohan.

  Still her natural spunkiness and curiosity were not fully satiated, so she asked Blair: “Don’t you think you downplayed M.O.O.N and Reggie a bit?”

  “Hmm?” asked her boss who had turned off her hearing aids during the first ten minutes of their walk.

  Despite her mentor not paying attention, Dora continued to speak: “I mean, we all know he would not get caught this easily by a mole in his organization.” Blair was now fully attentive and blinked at her in agreement. Of course, the Reggie of M.O.O.N was not some man to be trifled with. “Even if he was caught off guard, he is the one that taught Oscar how to fight so...”

  “Of course, but we are the only ones aware of this fact. By making it seem like he made a critical mistake, his crew and him are going to scramble back to Dallas stressed out of their mind. During the whole trip, he’s going to be cursing himself and be full of regrets.” She replied with a warm smile that felt really disturbing when she was the one doing it.

  “Doesn’t that make for a more impactful lesson?”

  Dora shrugged. “I guess.” Nevertheless, on the inside she was both terrified but also pleased to be able to witness her idol doing cool things.

  Rohan butted in the conversation: “With that said, whether that mentor is a mole, part of Reggie’s gang, or affiliated with the Council, I wished they would stop using our reputation to see if stupid kids would get themselves killed.”

  Blair nodded in agreement. Most of the time, they straight-up killed any mole sent by the Council. They could not afford any record of them being present in the database of such a powerful organization. Sadly, even if the members were not known, their reputation preceded them. Thank god, Benjamin and Oscar were always so adamant about the procedure before a job to be as incognito as possible. However, this was starting to get harder and harder to go under the radar.

  Regardless, this was a worry for another day, so Blair did not let it ruin her night.

  Dora asked: “Think any of them is going to be accepted into the M.O.O.N gang when they come back?”

  Rohan was the one to answer this one: “Well first they’d have to face the consequences of their actions… and Reggie’s machete.”

  “That leader, his second in command, and maybe one or two more members could have the guts to withstand any torture he might put them through with the help of Karl’s healing.” concluded Blair from her own observation and instinct regarding the ordeal.

  This made Dora laugh. “Tita! You already forgot their names?”

  “We’ll see if they deserve to be remembered or not, later.” Among the ones she had met throughout her life, so many were not that it was just depressing. However, maybe these kids could make something of themselves. Although, if she was frank with herself, she did not really care.

  She already had a family to care for in the Crew.

  And she did not need anymore.

  And that was Murdina ‘Blair’ Hosmer’s night.

  She could not wait to go back home and be pampered by her husband for a job well done.

  Did you expect any further twist or complication during this meeting?

  Why?

  This is absurd because for her, regular human that she is…

  ...everything always goes as planned.

  The Night had been long,

  But it was now time for the closing act,

  For the purge of any wrong,

  And the twisting of any attack and fact.

  Their respective jobs started at eleven pm, and now rung three am.

  Everyone had regrouped.

  Upon discovery, Ishmael Cohen was transported to the nearest hospital where he survived.

  Upon arriving, Ingrid and Oscar were reprimanded for their messes.

  Benjamin was not surprised by their attitude, however. In fact, he had been expecting it. He knew Oscar’ good nature would have caused him to despise the client that put a hit on that youngster, the twenty year old Ishmael Cohen. He just never expected him and Ingrid to make such a mess.

  Whatever. What was done was done.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He also had received a proper apology from his protegee. That man’s honesty would probably lead him astray, or put him in mortal peril eventually. Losing such a precious tool would hurt, probably more than financially, but he had to anticipate any kind of loss on his side. To be honest though, Benjamin was used to killing people. It would only be fair that the universe makes him go through the same trials as his clients and the closed ones of his victims. Even so, he wasn’t sure what it would feel like to lose people he was so attached to. His parents were very old but still present, his love was by his side, and despite his dangerous line of work, his apprentices were alive and well.

  Yes, he wondered.

  “Let me go! Let me-”

  As he effortlessly crushed the skull of his former client, he wondered how her family would feel about this. Losing a family member was one thing, but a twenty-two year old bright-eyed lady? That must hurt even more, supposedly. Although he wondered what kind of family led her to develop such intensive jealousy and bitterness. He had not delved into this case more than necessary, but the brief time she spent with that lady was not pleasant.

  Looking at her lifeless corpse, he felt nothing once again. Before removing his gloves, he collected the money she owed his agency for the work accomplished, as well as the plastic envelope used to store the fingers, and placed the 9mm he requested in her hands.

  He then fired a few shots in his previous directions or directly against his own hands to injure them, by having ‘her’ pull the trigger. He let his blood hit the floor in spots where it would have been present, before his natural immune system stopped the bleeding on its own. He then put his gloves back on.

  Seemed credible enough.

  The gun might be traced back to Dallas and Reggie’s gang but it was only fair to use him in turn. After all, he had probably used them to sort the new recruits, or whatever case is going on inside their gang, so it was their turn to ask him for a favor.

  After that set-up, he moved back into his car and checked his phone: “Breaking News: Rising star Ishmael Cohen has been found on the verge of death in his own apartment.” Perfect. News outlets were the greatest invention known to man.

  Looking at the hour, it was half-past three. The search would have a bit of a delay, hence why he prepared a set-up. Driving to a warehouse he was lending all year under the pretense of stocking equipment and materials for a weapon shop, Benjamin took the bag of money and stored around 75% of the loot here. Afterward, he drove to an alleyway known by the underworld as well as the Council due to its lack of cameras. He stored the car here with the rest of the money. It was a different stolen car that a colleague of his asked him for a way to make it disappear. Since he had changed the paint and its license plate, the car was unrecognizable and perfect for this bait.

  Exiting the alleyway through a hidden exit in the basement of the neighborhood’s building that could only be accessed via a password and contacts in the underworld, Benjamin resurfaced close to an empty and calm area. Now, he simply had to resume his walk to the hospital Ishmael was in. Although the location was kept private, he simply triangulated the position of the hospital by looking for the closest one to his apartment with the least amount of possible roadblocks or traffic.

  When he arrived, the sun was starting to rise and a plethora of journalists amassed themselves against the building. Seeing so many people making noise, and trying to violate the intimacy of a trauma patient, was giving Benjamin a headache. Although, at least he had the excuse of not being the only one figuring out the right hospital before the information was made publicly available. Still, this was unpleasant but he had to push through. When he was close enough to these journalists, these people he mostly towered over, he cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me. I need to go.”

  “Mister Hosmer, care to answer a few questions?”

  “Mister Hosmer. What is the reason for your presence here?”

  “Mister Hosmer! What is going with Ishmael?”

  Mister Hosmer! Mister Hosmer! Mister Hosmer!

  His legacy was preceding him, and he could not deny he did enjoy the attention. Nonetheless, getting praised by meaningless people was not the reason for his presence here, so he advanced. Although, he still took the time to look directly at the cameras, eyes watered by tears he knew how to control so well: “What happened to this young man is unacceptable.” Pushing forward his crutch and slightly exaggerating his breathing difficulties for the media, he claimed: “I know what it is like to be crippled after a bad encounter. Therefore, I wish to be present at his side for a few moments. That is all.”

  When the staff of the hospital opened the doors to let him enter, the journalists were still screaming his name in awe. This was good publicity, he smiled, pleased with himself, even if the hospital staff thought he was just being grateful towards them.

  Further into the hospital, he saw three figures standing next to the room he was supposed to go into next. He clicked his tongue. Members of the Council, he thought annoyed, three S-ranks for this kid is too disproportionate. Sure, they were probably doing something useful, like collecting his testimony but still. Adding onto his frustration was the fact two of them already stood by his bedside when he found himself in the same position as Ishmael.

  The S-rank Gunslinger, Austin Sawyer, who looked much older than Benjamin remembered him. The pride of his state, as the cowboy aficionado, felt stronger but also much more accomplished. Although it was fair to say he had only seen him in person ten years ago, when he first started limping. The years were simply catching up to them. If his calculation was correct, he would be around twenty-eight now, in the prime of his career.

  “Oh! Pops Hosmer? Mighty pleasure to see you there!” He shouted cheerfully. This kind of loudness Benjamin could tolerate.

  He accepted the warm embrace of his colleague before replying. “Good to see you too Austin. You’ve grown quite a lot since I last saw you.”

  “Hell yeah! I mean, I was knee-high to a grasshopper back then. Thank god I’ve gotten bigger by now!” Benjamin always found a sense of paternal love whenever he saw earnest young ones in his field grown up to be fine gentlemen. Nevertheless, he knew those feelings were fleeting and that one of the main reasons he never had kids was because he had the self-awareness to know he would only see his biological children as extensions of himself, to the point of being unnecessarily harsh to them. Therefore, he would be content earning enough to simply spend the rest of his life watching the younger generation grow up. Now, if only the thrill of the business and the desire for freedom and rebellion was not so addictive.

  Austin’s positive energy was counterbalanced by the person separating him from Benjamin. “Let Benjamin breathe, Austin. If he’s there, it must be important for him.” The name of that S-rank, and of the unofficial leader of the Council’s Saints, was Calvin D. Bishop. He was sporting his usual durag with his purple pristine costume that offered a nice contrast with his brown skin. As lifelong colleagues since both were the same age, Benjamin had to admit to himself, he was probably the closest their reality had to a real-life Superman. “It is good to see you here. You might be the only one capable of comforting that poor kid.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He answered. “I came as soon as I heard in the news.”

  Calvin nodded understandably. If Benjamin had to cite a flaw for Calvin, however, it is his unwavering trust in others. This might sound cynical, but Benjamin knew this man better than anyone else. The reason he was so trusting was because he could afford it. He was far from his prime, yet he still had no insecurity regarding his place in society or his decreasing power. When someone that powerful trusts you, it is not that they actually like you, it is simply that you are not a threat to them.

  All in all, despite their life-long partnership, Calvin never took time off his day to visit Benjamin after the initial day where he lost the only thing that gave his life purpose. However, they were civil enough to keep this tension between them. In short, they did not like each other very much.

  The final person in that hallway was a giant young man of African descent. Despite the sunglasses, he was fairly easy to read. Tattoos across his arms and flashy clothes, with a streak of blue... He was probably new to this job and enjoying the attention or the wealth. However, his posture and lack of speech indicated a complete lack of interest in whatever was going on.

  Seeing Benjamin eyeing the third person, made Calvin intervene to try and smooth things over: “That’s Musa Robinson. His sister and him are the newest recruits among the Council.” Benjamin silently thanked Calvin for the presentation, and kept in mind that he would probably need to look up information about him later. A name being completely foreign to Benjamin worried him since he always kept in touch with whatever was going on in the world of Saints.

  Regardless, he tried to extend a hand but was sternly denied by Musa. Whatever.

  Still, before he could enter the room, Calvin stopped him: “By the way, do you have any useful information regarding this case?” Or in other words, if you came here this quickly, given how far you live from here, this means you must have been somewhere tonight. Calvin was trusting, not stupid.

  Obviously, Benjamin knew that and prepared a defense. “Yes, I was doing my bimonthly patrol of the town. Your boss should have gotten the notification. Tonight, I heard a building collapsing, which I reported to the emergency services. I tried to go in its general direction, but instead I came across a shady blue car, a Ford I believe, driving away from a warehouse. I wanted to give chase but it was impossible in my condition, so I went inside the building and got shot at. I had to defend myself. Sadly…” He trailed off, making his voice sound like it was full of regret.

  There were no details amiss since Benjamin made sure to direct the location of Bonnie’s fight, the false location he gave to the emergencies, and the meeting with Ishmael’s client to happen in nearby areas to corroborate his story. This was one of the perks of operating in a town you knew like the back of your hand. The self-inflicted gunshot wounds helped his case too. Really, Calvin only had one question: “Do you know what was going on, there?”

  “No. Nevertheless, given the time and place of this deal, at around half past three, when I thought about going back home, it could very well be linked to Ishmael’s case.” The good thing about his plans, is that they always allowed him to say the truth while simply omitting the inconvenient details.

  Calvin put a hand on his shoulder in appreciation and Austin hugged him. They all knew what it felt like to forget that you are fighting humans and not monsters when forced into their survival mode. They were nice people.

  And so easy to trick.

  After a tense moment, Benjamin found himself before the door of Ishmael’s hospital room. He knocked on the door and was allowed to be the only one inside, while the other three went on their way to report the Mage’s condition. Austin gave him a friendly wave in support before leaving. However, Benjamin had to take a moment before going to directly confront the poor boy. Seeing him badly burned and still missing most of his arms felt uncomfortable for the older man. It would be hypocritical to say he felt empathy for him. Nonetheless, the closeness of his experience with his own was something that tore at him. “Sorry to bother you.” He said earnestly.

  To his surprise, Ishmael stared at him for a full minute without saying anything. Benjamin was not sure what to make of it, until the younger boy burst into tears. “Oh… Oh! I… did not expect…”

  “I can come back later if you do not feel like it.” replied Benjamin before handing him a tissue.

  Ishmael shook his head. “That’s… not it. I just… I feel embarrassed right now.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked in return.

  Ishmael stayed silent for a moment before taking a breath and meeting Benjamin’s gaze. It was full of sorrow and admiration. “I’ve always been a fan of yours. Ever since I was 4.”

  “I see.” replied Benjamin. Internally he was happy for two very opposite reasons. On the one hand he loved being appreciated, on the other this would make his goal much easier to achieve.

  Ishmael turned his face to look at the ceiling, but Benjamin could catch a blush overtaking his face. “I did not expect to be visited by my idol at my lowest point.”

  “Life is full of surprises.” was Benjamin’s best answer at the moment. It was quite awkward, he was self-aware to know that.

  This did manage to get a laugh out of the injured man. “Right? Maybe this day isn’t so bad after all.” Despite his words, Benjamin could see that he was trying his hardest to hide his body shaking.

  The older man offered him a comforting hand. The Mage let himself be vulnerable. No words were exchanged between them during his first fit of despair, but it didn’t take a genius to understand just how traumatic this experience had been for the young Saint. “I don’t know… I don’t know what to do now.” He cried. “I shouldn’t have cheated… I know… I know this but… what if… what if she comes back with more people?”

  “She won’t.” Benjamin replied calmly. He was going into the riskiest part of his plan, but he knew those hospital rooms by heart. There were no cameras or microphones. “I promise.”

  Ishmael stopped crying and looked at him, confused. “What are you…?”

  Benjamin pulled out the plastic envelope with Ishmael’s annular fingers inside. “Listen, I do not know what went on between you two, but I ended up encountering your exe last night. She attacked me with a firearm and I had no choice but to defend myself. Unfortunately, she perished.”

  “Oh god.” choked Ishmael. The fact he could believe him this easily, made Benjamin realize that either he trusted him much more than he let on, or that this woman had been subjecting him to one particular form of hell. “These are… mine.”

  “Indeed. When I heard about your story, I immediately understood what was going on so I decided to bring them back to you.” Ishmael looked at him, thankful for his service, which Benjamin used to get closer to him. He whispered: “This is between you and me, as I did not report the fact she had this in her possession. I thought you might want to hide this fact from others, or be the one to decide when to share this with others, since it is a traumatic event for you.”

  Ishmael found himself crying again. “Thank you for your consideration.”

  “It’s nothing.” It really was nothing. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “If you need anything, when I’m fully healed, give me a call. I’ll be glad to help you!” announced the younger boy enthusiastically. Right, Benjamin thought to himself, this kid is highly valued for his unique power and his mastery over it, he’ll get access to A-rank or even S-rank healers to fully heal. Only the psychological pain will remain while his body will be as good as new.

  I’m glad Oscar and Ingrid botched the operation that badly.

  Externally, Benjamin did not let any of his dark thoughts cloud his act or judgment. He simply ruffled the hair of Ishmael. “I’ll be sure to call you, boy. I’ll be sure to call you.” And he never backed down on his promises.

  In the end, they spent one hour or two together.

  Ishmael later testified that Benjamin Hosmer was the kindest Saint he had ever encountered, and that he was glad to have spent a private moment with such a legend.

  The press ate this story up and Benjamin’s reputation was as high as ever.

  How lucky for that boy, he had met his idol who helped him out of the kindness of his heart.

  How lucky for that boy, to be born a B-rank Mage.

  Benjamin was utilitarian to the extreme.

  A B-rank Mage as an ally was much more valuable than an unstable civilian.

  This entire last operation was done for this specifically

  To solve a problem his group had created for an ally, some cash, and good press.

  For someone that claimed to value his freedom above all, that swore to never bow down against this oppressive system that was too harsh on handicapped people, and who claimed to give mediocre Saints and civilians a voice and an opportunity to get revenge on the wealthy and powerful that wronged them...

  ...In the end, Benjamin Hosmer was just another self-serving scumbag with useful pawns.

  Once she found herself in the police station, Bonnie Soules had the opportunity to look through the bars and see the news flash on the station’s main television. It did not take her long to realize who the man who bested her was. “How heartless.” she laughed. “And he dares to lecture me.” Sadly, she had no one to share her amusement with, because no civilian would have gotten her.

  Through all of this tragedy, nothing really changed in Houston besides the fact the Crew now had enough money to pay their rent. They decided to take a day off and go out to eat to celebrate the completion of their contract…

  And they got stuck in traffic.

  Well, they still lived in Houston after all.

  Statistics for today: 1 mortally injured and jailed woman, 1 traumatized man, and 20 gang members removed from the town.

  Total: 593 targets killed. 1,366 injured people. 435 traumatized targets. 765 gang members removed from the town.