Magoose Write Short Stories

[Magoose]

Short Story 1

Echo Inc was widely considered one of the greatest tech and investment firms in the world, headed by Malcolm Vine, a shrewd, ruthless and a charismatic billionaire who, like most billionaires, always loved to preach that he started from the very bottom of society, before rising to the very top, with his wits and his brains.

How a man like Jack Walker could work for such a man was beyond him. He was just a small-town kid from California, who somehow lucked into this position as one of his many office workers in New York.

The rent was terrible, and Jack was mostly sleeping in his car and in parking garages whenever he could to avoid the hell that was New York rent. Even with this job, it would take his entire paycheck just to have a roof over his head.

And he needed more money, because dammit he wasn't going to keep sleeping in his car for one more goddamn night.

So, after a week of deliberation, he decided that he needed a raise, and hoped that his boss would understand.

So as he walked into Mr. Vine's office, he was surprised by the holes in the window, and the CEO of one of the most powerful companies in the entire world, cowering behind a wall. His furniture in disarray, but untouched, as if he had tried to find something but couldn't.

"Ah, Mr. Walker get down!" He ordered and you did, hitting the deck the moment a bullet struck the wall next to you.

Jack did as he was told, and hit the deck.

"What the fuck!" Jack found himself shouting. "What the fuck was that!?"

"Schwarzer Industries, they're trying to get me to back off on the US's new mech contract for defending the coasts from the Kaiju." Mr. Vine stated. "They don't want this deal to go through, otherwise it locks them out of the American market and forces them to focus on smaller contracts."

"Why the fuck are they shooting at us?" You shouted again, as you hugged the wall.

"They wanna scare me off, allow them to get one foot in the door in the American mech market. I can't allow that to happen, not when I'm so close to finally sticking it to those German bastards for the Bolivia deal." Malcolm replied. "Also please stop swearing, it's unbecoming of you, your a member of Echo Inc, have some class."

The CEO than snapped his fingers. "Mr. Walker, the second cushion on my couch, please remove it and hand it to me." He ordered.

Jack did as he was told, removing the cushion and found a large briefcase under it. He grabbed it and slide it over to the CEO.

The CEO nodded. "How long have you been with the company?" He asked.

"Uh… six months." Jack replied.

"Ah so a new hire, tell me, how do you like New York?" He asked as he opened the case. It revealed a fucking rocket launcher… a LAW Jacke guessed he's only seen it playing Black Ops on Xbox.

"Uh...is that a rocket launcher?" He asked quietly.

Mr. Vine nodded. "Why yes, yes it is. Usually, I'd have one of my other employees here who know what they are doing to handle this situation, but they're with my daughters in San Francisco ."

"How do your other employees handle this?" You asked.

"Usually with a sniper rifle, or she just goes into the building and causes a massacre." Mr. Vine stated. "Unfortunately, I have to do things myself, and it's far less elegant than her way of doing things."

Jack was at a loss, trying to convey the words that his mind was creating before he just said. "Why? Why do these people go through all the trouble to place a sniper to kill you?"

Mr. Vine smiled. "Well, think of companies as nations in and of themselves, with the contracts from governments foreign aid to aid our research and development front, along with our profits. These people are trying to sabotage us by means of intimidation."

"Can't you call the cops?" Jack asked. "You know, have authorities arrest them?"

Mr. Vine laughed. "Would you believe a multinational corporation hiring an assassin to intimidate me into dropping a deal with the US government for another foreign corporation?"

"Yes!" Jack replied. "That is totally reasonable!"

"Well I can't do that, it's now a matter of pride." He sounded less like a CEO and more like a king. "I built this empire with my own two hands, gave up a very happy marriage with my wife to focus entirely on my work, even as I won custody of the kids because she went insane over the divorce hearings. And I need to send a message to those German bastards trying to kill me that I will not tolerate such dirt actions on US soil, at my office." Mr. Vine stated. He then turned to Jack. "You mind looking across the street at the… I think 75th floor and finding out where the sniper is, and which windows is that sniper in."

"How can I know that?" Jack asked.

"It's the only one that looks White in the background because of their maintenance on that floor." Mr. Vine stated.

"And you know this how?" Jack asked.

"Please Jack, stop yelling and do what I'm paying you for." Mr. Vine replied.

"You're not paying me enough for this." Jack complained.

"Well consider this a promotion to my assistant, now look out the goddamn window and find that sniper." Mr. Vine sounded calm as he said that, not even raising his voice.

Jack looked out, seeing a flash from the 75th floor, at the fifth window on the left.

Jack dove his head back down and a bullet whizzed over him. "Holy crap!"

Mr. Vine was not amused. "Dear god kid, your not filling me with much confidence."

"Fifth window on the left." Jack stated.

"Excellent." He stated as he then pulled out his cellphone. It rang and it was answered. "Yes, Lucy, please open my office windows please." Jack so the windows turn outward and a sliver was right above them. "Thank you."

Mr. Vine turned to him with a smile. "Mr. Walker, this is your lucky day… If you can get to that door without getting shot, I will give you anything you want."

"You're asking me to risk my life for this company?" Jack asked.

"Yes." Mr. Vine replied.

"You're insane!" Jack exclaimed.

"And you're my new assistant, now get your ass moving that door." Mr. Vine replied. "Or that sniper will be the least of your worries."

Jack weighed his options, before seeing the mad glint in his boss's eyes. The eyes of a true ruthless sociopath… or was it psychopath, he didn't really know, but he didn't want to be anywhere near that man when he fired the rocket launcher.

Jack prepared himself, taking off his shoes and got into a runner's stance.

"While we're young Mr. Walker." Mr. Vine stated.

You than dashed, sprinting across the room and to the wall of the doorway, feeling the whizz of a bullet fly past your ear. You dived behind the wall and looked back.

Mr. Vine was smiling. "Smile you son of a bitch!"

The rocket then fired, booming and an explosion than rocketed from across the way, at the Schwarzer industries building.

"Ah…" Mr. Vine then threw his LAW done onto the ground, the barrel smoking.

"Holy crap," Jack said as he examined the damage. "I… did you have to-"

The phone rang, and Mr. Vine, without breaking stride, answered it. "Hey, Fredrik you sonofabitch… I hope you didn't pay too much on the sniper and the wall painting, because whoo wee, is it all fucked up now." He paused. "Now, let's get down to business, either you back off from the deal, or I'll just have to send Sylvia to iron out negotiations."

"Who's Sylvia?" Jack asked.

Mr. Vine didn't answer. "Oh, is that so? Well, need I remind you that I have friends within the Department of Defense who can really make things difficult for you, enough to where you'll lose more than you may gain in this quarter."

There was another pause "Or what, hire another sniper, try to bomb my offices… that's not how business is done around here. We prefer honesty, and good business then these underhanded tactics."

Another pause. "Ah, glad that we have an understanding Fred. Tell Anna and Shinji that I send my love."

Mr. Vine than hung up the phone.

"What the hell was that?" Jack asked, utterly befuddled by the sudden change of tone from his bosses' voice.

"That my dear boy was business." Mr. Vine replied. "Now, what was that you wanted? Provided you can stop swearing."

"I just need a pay raise so I can pay for an apartment in the city so I don't have to take an hour commute to work." Jack replied.

"Done. I'll give you the apartment of my old assistant." He replied.

"What happened to your old assistant?" Jack asked.

"He was thrown off the Brooklyn Bridge with some cinder blocks on his feet." Mr. Vine replied. "Now, get going."

Jack wondered what the hell he got into as he walked out of his bosses' office.

AN: Enjoy.

 

[Magoose]

The City:

He moves quietly through the dark dim city streets, watching the cars slowly move through the dilapidated streets of the loud, blaring city. The rain continued to pour onto his hat and jacket, as the neon glow, the pick, the yellows, the reds, and blues illuminated the streets as they flickered ever so softly in the rain and thunder. However, the man was not a party goer of the local nightlife, his blade made sure that that distinction was… lost to whoever took more than two seconds to look at him.

The people who were out on the street were nothing but tired old men and women enjoying the nightlife that the city seemed to still have in abundance, even after the war and reconstruction, nothing seemed to sap away the vibrant energy of youth.

They had either been too young to see it, too far away, or too drunk to care about how lucky they were to still be alive after the six nuclear bombs dropped on the global centers of the world, and how close the world was to total nuclear annihilation in their aftermath.

Even in the rain, a few people could be heard praying to God in thanks before they wandered out into the streets, shambling along the concrete sidewalks back to whatever hole they crawled out of, to wallow in their filth… or to clean themselves up.

Of course, to the man walking, he did not care about the people shambling along in a haze. They were not important.

Nothing was, not at that moment, not even as he strode towards the quieter side of life and of the cities quiet industrial sector.

The Sector was filled with dilapidated buildings, leftovers from the prewar economic facilities and factories dominated the cities economy. Before the riots and the independence referendum… before the backlash from the mainland... Before the bombs fell… before the soldiers invaded the island and the territories. And the destruction of the city.

Some of the old survivors claimed they heard the ghosts of those who died haunting the halls, their screams filling the empty night.

The man disappeared into the alleyway beside him, seeping into the darkness as he began to move with inhuman speed.

His legs sprung, and the man reached a low rooftop of an old dilapidated building, small apartment that somehow managed to survive the onslaught of the city's destruction and rebuilding.

The rain also seemed to let up, the wind howled in the distance while the buildings beside it covered much of the roof, allowing only a light drizzle to fall upon the man's hat and jacket. The cold wind that followed was but a gentle breeze, blocked by the towering skyline that overrun with lights.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small GPS that blinked with a large red dot in the middle. At it blinked rapidly.

He was near the location that he needed to be at, and he began to run fast, jumping down into the ally below, and towards the large warehouse before him.

The old storage warehouse, where the old Chinese army stored their weapons and munitions before they collapsed after the bombs dropped. All of them were abandoned, their weapons, ammo and other materials were taken by international arms dealers or the local triads who rebuilt themselves after the occupation.

But they were large, they were secure and very easy to defend… making them perfect places to store drugs, people and guns to spread their trade onto the city.

He did not care. They were just in the way of his mission.

The man wandered towards the warehouse entrance through the alley and heard a ringing in his pocket.

He quietly reached into it, and stepped aside, against a wall to avoid the water dripping on top of him, or his phone. He then pressed the call button and held it against his ear.

"]Are you are at the target building?]" The voice asked.

"[Yes.]" Was the man's reply.

"[Good. Get inside and rescue Dr. Song. Remember that he must remain alive, no harm may befall him before he reaches his intended destination.]" The voice replied.

"[Any rules of engagement you want me to follow?]" The man asked quietly, as his other hand quietly

"[I'd rather it not get all over the news, Schwarze.]" The voice replied. "[Try to talk them out of it, and solve it peacefully, but if you must… kill them all, we want to send a message to the Triads who are looking to make a profit on their kidnapping schemes without our permission.]"

"[And what if he's already dead?]" Schwarze asked.

"[Kill them all.]" The voice replied.

The man nodded. "[It shall be done.]" He then hung up the phone.

Diplomacy first, and if it works, not to kill them? That was new, and it filled him with confusion. Why would his superiors even bother with such a tactic? These low lives never seemed to learn about the power his employers wielded, and that their continued existence was something that was allowed only because a dozen more would take their place. And they would be his superiors men taking over.

The warehouse entrance was… disappointingly under guarded. Only a single guard was standing out front, and he was not paying attention to the world around him, instead, he was looking at his phone, laughing at the video on his phone.

The guard was just a kid, maybe a little younger than Schwarze himself, probably a younger to fully understand the chaos that caused his world to completely understand… finding solace in the gangs that could provide work, and stability, and brotherhood.

As shit as it was.

A sigh escaped the man's lips as he stood quietly in front of him. The guard jumped out of his chair, a gun being drawn. "What the fuck!" He said in broken English.

Schwarze looked up to see a security camera looking down onto the chair of the guard. It was a front, the guard wasn't the security here, just a frontman to prevent undesirables from coming in.

The boy was worth nothing to them, only a warning system to allow others to prepare.

That callous disrespect of life, limb, and men were probably why the mainlanders lost the war.

And a few tactical strikes that ended up destroying their entire army, when they thought their air force was enough to defend them. Arrogance.

The gun was pointed at Schrawze's face, but no emotion shown as the threat of imminent death was in front of him. The guard's finger was hovering over the trigger, the discipline of a soldier who had let himself go… or a militiaman, hastily trained, who decided to use his talents in the criminal world.

It made no difference of course. Schwarze's mission was not dealing with these low lives.

The Doctor was all that mattered to him of course.

"I'm here to talk to your bosses about the doctor." He replied sternly as if he was speaking to a child.

The guard froze in terror, finally seeing who was before him. He backed away, knocking on the door. "<Han! We have a visitor!>" He screamed trying his best to sound like he was not afraid of the man that was in front of him.

Schwarze was sure he wasn't that scary… maybe it was his eyes? Maybe the sword on his side, or the fact that his black jacket was like the reaper coming to reap the souls of the dead and the damned.

Maybe he should have brought the scythe, that toy one his neighbor has on his key chain, just to add to the picture of him being the worst nightmare of any who stood in his way.

Maybe not. He liked his sword too much to just hang up and replace it like it was a gimmick.

The door opened at the guard ran in, with his associate looking at you. "<What the fuck do you want?>"

Schwarze did not bother speaking to the man in his tongue. "I'm here for the doctor." He stated.

The color drained from the man's skin as he looked up and down, before running backward and hiding behind a table.

For a moment, only the boy with the gun, the guard at the door was standing between Schwarze and his objective.

Then a loud intercom came online. "<Gao!>" The voice said a name and the boy stood up straight. "<Put down your gun. And allow the man inside, he is here to discuss business.>" The voice stated. The language than changed to English. "You must forgive my men for being a bit jumpy sir… they seem to forget that not everyone in the city is in the hands of the other triads."

A buzzer went off, and a door opened to Schwarze's left. "Fall the hall and go down the stairs. We will meet to discuss Dr. Song."

Schwarze gave a nod and saw the boy run away, behind the table, fear in both his step and his eyes.

Schwarze was about to walk towards the destination, but the buzzer rang again. "Could you please shut the door behind you, sir?" The voice asked.

Schwarze nodded and used his leg to bring the steel door to a close, hearing an automatic lock click and a hydraulic sound churned and turned, and a green light turned on.

As silence reigned over the warehouse, Schwarze found himself walking, following the corridor, towards the staircase, and the warehouse proper.

Overlooking the entire floor was not a fun experience. It was dark, and much of the warehouse was shrouded in shadow or old cargo containers. They had plenty of places to ambush him, stash the doctor away so he would never be seen again.

Schwarze reached the stairs and heard the speaker blare to life again. "I must apologize for my men's cowardness… you know the young can be quite fearful to those who have been in business for a while. They seem to forget their places." He ignored the heckling from the man behind the speaker, wandering down the stairs with the aimless gravitate.

Schwarze could feel the energy from the men who were hiding amongst the shadows, their weapons drawn, aimed hesitantly as him. But they would not fire, not without orders.

Stepping into the light, he saw the table that had been set up, a large aluminum table with a white table cloth covering it. The chairs were steel, but nothing that one couldn't find in a store for cheap.

The man sitting across the near pitiful table was holding a radio transceiver, wielding both the transceive like a microphone, and a smile on his face.

He was a native of the island, or of the Mainland, it didn't really matter, the smile was deadly, with venom and vitriol. Behind his eyes was that of a computer, rational, unafraid of the business being done. The suit he wore was white, crisp, and clean as if this was a social gathering of the elite.

In some ways, perhaps, it was. Only the elite of violence, crime, excitement, and intrigue, than of wealth, privilege, and misery.

The man set down the transceiver and snapped his fingers. One of his men walked forward, dressed as a waiter of a high-class restaurant, with formal wear, a bowtie, and a semi-automatic pistol.

It was an old model from the Chinese army, The Type 77, one of the many surplus weapons from during the war, that were mass-produced on a scale not seen since the Second World War.

Of course, that meant they were cheap, unreliable, and prone to jamming, at least the models made during the war, that clearly showed from the shortened barrel, the filed off trigger guard, and the uncomfortable grip that the guard using it had.

But for a criminal syndicate operating off the coast of the mainland… it would suit their needs well enough. It would at least even the odds against the more… modern police force, armed with the more practical post-war designs.

"I am sorry but you have me at a disadvantage… Mr-?" The man in white asked.

"Schwarze." Schwarze replied, taking off the katana hanging on his side, as he sat down, leaning it against the table.

He felt the men raise their weapons, but the man in white waved them down, and the energy dissipated, the danger subsided. Well, save for the guard with the pistol.

There was a pause, and the man in white leaned in closer, examining Schwarze like he had said words that were impossible.

Then the man laughed. "Oh my!" He bellowed before he laughed uncontrollably. "You… Schwarze! Ahahaha!"

A few moments passed as the man calmed himself down, but Schwarze narrowed his eyes at the outburst. His guard looked at his boss uncomfortably as he slowly regained his composure.

The man in white then relaxed, taking several breaths before he placed his hands on the table. "Forgive my outburst, sir… It's just that… well." He paused. "I was expecting an ape, who blended into the shadows, not a Laoiwai from the west who is… well, you."

"Looks can be deceiving," Schwarze replied. "Now, about Doctor Song."

The man in white clapped his hands together. "Straight to business then." He said. "Though I'm surprised you choose not to speak in my… tongue for this negotiation?" He paused. "I'm sure you speak, my language of course."

"<Yes.>" You replied, speaking Cantonese. "Unless of course, you speak Mandarin? But I'd prefer English."

The man in white sighed. "Well then… English it is, for you. What is your offer for Doctor Song."

"I would like to see him, alive and unharmed first, then I will talk price," Schwarze replied. "Or terms."

The man in white nodded. "Come with me, Mr. Schwarze." he stated, before standing and beginning to walk towards a cargo container. "You know Mr. Schwarze… you interest me."

"How so." He asked.

The man in white turned. "Well… you carry a sword instead of a gun, unlike most… people in our… line of work."

"I don't like guns." Schwarze replied.

"Yes… Quaint." He replied as he stopped in front of the cargo container. "What is your interest in Dr. Song."

"He is a target." Schwarze replied.

Schwarze felt the temperature of the entire room drop as he said those words. The man in white seemed to pale, uncertainty and fear were in his blood.

The man in white than ordered. "Open it."

The container door was opened and flies escaped from it, along with a very… peculiar scent.

The scent of dried blood, and rotting flesh.

On the chair, tied to it, was Doctor Song. He looked up, his dried blood closed as it stung. A light was on, blasting right into the man's face.

Schwarze walked closer and examined the man strapped to the chair, examining both his face and his eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked as his sword was drawn from its scabbard, and he expertly removed the zip ties holding his hand against the chair.

"<I'm sorry. I'm sorry… I'm sorry.>" Dr. Song said, a mantra from being tortured. He had broken under torture it seems.

Or maybe it was something else, he had done something terrible, or perceived as terrible? It mattered little about his health, only that he be returned alive to the location given to him.

"Can you walk?" He asked the doctor, who's eyes widened as he saw him. They were the eyes of a man who was looking at god, and he fell to his knees, crying.

"Can you walk?" Schwarze asked again, this time offering a hand to him. The doctor took it, and he helped the man to his feet.

Schwarze nodded, seeing that the doctor was indeed, still alive. He walked towards the man in white and glared at him.

"I'm sure we can agree upon a price?" The man in white asked, with a fake smile rising on his lips.

"The price is you, and all your men, walk out of here alive," Schwarze replied coldly, his sword being slowly placed back into the scabbard. "Everything else will be dealt with by my employer."

A hand was placed in front of Schwarze as he helped the doctor up to his feet and he carried him towards the container opening.

"That is not how we do things here Lowai." The man in white replied as his men came out from the shadows, their guns were drawn. "We require our payment upfront… we have little in the way of trust in your word." The man in white smiled. "Forgive me, but… We know nothing of you… or your employer. We request you pay, as a sign of good faith."

"How much are you demanding?" Schwarze asked as the doctor scurried behind him, holding his jacket.

"We are not demanding anything… we are requesting 100,000 in unmarked bills to pay for the expenses of our services." The man in white replied.

Schwarze sighed, before pulling out his phone and dialing a number. He then placed it to his ear. "[Is Doctor Song at the location?]"

"No. We have hit a little snag." He replied, making sure his voice was heard.

"What is the problem?" The voice asked.

"They want 100,000 in unmarked bills." Schwarze replied.

There was a beat, a silent hum from across the line. "[Kill them all.]" The voice replied.

"Very well," Schwarze replied. He hung up his phone and set Dr. Song down against the wall of the cargo container. "Stay here."

The Doctor could only nod and whimper in fear.

The man in white was confused as he saw Schwarze walk towards him. "Shut the container." He ordered.

Schwarze walked through the threshold as the doors closed. He looked around and saw only twenty men, all armed with pistols and submachine guns aiming in his general direction. They were staggered, some even taking cover behind the shelves and containers in the room. They were ready to battle, to kill. To preserve their wretched lives of evil and pain.

It would not be enough though. Even if they had the training, it would never be enough.

Not for him.

"Have we reached an agreement?" The man in white asked.

"No." Schwarze replied. "My… Employer has found your request for payment insulting. And that he has requested that you die at my blade."

There was a beat, and the man in white laughed, and the rest of his men laughed as well.

"<Mother fucker!>" he swore, before drawing a pistol and aiming at Schwarze's head. "<You have balls Laowai… Let's see how heavy they are when I put a-"

The man in white went silent as an audible slice before he choked. His hands went to his throat and felt the liquid leaving it… blood.

The blade was drawn and now dripping with blood, steaming in the dirty warehouse air.

The entire room was still, before the body fell backward, the head rolling off the body, as the men of the triad only stare in disbelief, wondering what the hell to do.

Schwarze than smiled. "Goodnight."

And with another flick of his blade, the light popped, and the room was shrouded in darkness.

Schwarze could not see… but neither could the men he wanted to kill.

They were scared, and they unleashed their fire into the shadows. He'd let them, he just hugged the container door, and allow them to shoot each other.

Bullets rang out from the guns as they fired wildly into the shadows.

Perhaps if he were in a hurry, he would have slinked through the shadows and start slitting throats, stabbing and killing them, tracking their movements through the muzzle flash from their guns.

But Schwarze was not in a hurry. He could wait and allow them to destroy themselves, thin their numbers to a more… manageable number.

They were stupid for only having one light bulb, in an entire warehouse on, and allowed it to be so easily cut.

They were fools.

And his was job far easier.

A few moments past, more guns fired, more bodies dropped, more screams of pain were unleashed by the dying criminals.

A few moments past, until a flashlight came to life.

"<Find the lightswitch!>" A voice cried out.

Schwarze followed the light, his blade ready to strike. The light was moving frantically in fear as the voices speak.

"<I'm trying you idiot!>" The other spoke. "<Bring the light over here.>"

The light turned, and Schwarze found the man holding it with little effort.

His blade quietly went through him, like a whisper. The light fell to the ground and Schwarze rushed forward as the light came to life. The entire world flashed before the eyes of all still alive, as a devil in black, sword in hand, just executed the last man still alive and unharmed.

The criminal looked terrified as he reached for the blade that was through his heart… before it was swiftly removed, and he fell to the ground, either living out the last few moments of his pitiful life in pain and agony… or he was dead.

Schwarze sighed, cleaning his blade with his scabbard, and looking at the carnage he caused.

Bodies were on the ground, behind cover, but they were riddled with bullet holes. Those that were still alive were groaning in pain, all the shots that hit them hit vital organs.

They would all die before the night was done.

Schwarze wandered over to the cargo container with the doctor in it, and opened it up again, seeing the doctor curled up into a ball, whimpering to himself.

"Get up." Schwarze stated as he kicked the man softly. "Get up!"

Dr. Song looked up and unfurled himself. "My… You're still alive?" He whimpered.

"Yes… now get up." Schwarze was growing impatient.

The doctor stood up, trying his best to not throw up as he saw the bodies. "You killed them?" He asked.

"No, they killed themselves by their own stupidity, I just helped speed up the process." Schwarze replied as he used his free hand to adjust his hat to cover his eyes.

The doctor did not need to see his… condition.

Unfortunately, as he reached the top of the stairs, the doctor must have seen them. "Your eyes iris' are crimson Mr. Schwarze… are you alright?"

"Don't worry about me." Schwarze replied.

"Sir that condition is from prolonged exposure to-" The doctor started to diagnose.

"I'm fine," Schwarze replied, stopping the doctor and showing him just the hilt of his katana. "And if you don't want to end up like the rest of the men in that cargo container, you'll do well to ignore it."

The doctor was silent at the threat, and the men both, clearly cowed by the threat, was assisted by Schwarze out into the street.

It seems the two fearful boys who had stood guard had run away, leaving nothing behind to identify themselves with.

Schwarze sighed. He knew that trying the diplomatic approach was going to be costly, and that his employer was a fool for suggesting such an approach, to begin with. Now his exploits… and potentially his face was going to wind up everywhere in the local news.

Schwarze sighed and dialed the number to his employer. "The Doctor is secured. Send in the Bird for the Pickup."

"[I take it that they are all dead?]" The voice asked.

"No."

"[What?!" The voice on the other end shouted. "[How!?]"

"Your advice to try diplomacy first backfired," Schwarze replied. "Two escaped when I was retrieving the doctor."

"[Well, find them and kill them!?"] The voice replied.

"Need I remind you that you requested I try to be diplomatic first… the time between those orders and the orders to kill them all were five minutes. Plenty of time for them both to be halfway across the city by now. The doctor, my mission will be returned to you first." Schwarze replied. "Use your influence to fix the mistake that you made, instead of forcing it onto me."

There was a grumble on the other end, and the voice replied. "[Fuck you, you lazy shit.]"

"You haven't even paid me yet… take off my bonus if your that pissed off." Schwarze replied.

There was another grumble. "[The bird will meet you at the street in five minutes.]"

"Thank you." Schwarze nodded and hung up the phone. "Follow me, doctor, your ride is coming."

The doctor nodded. "Thank you.

It took less than a minute for the two men to reach the main road, the throbbing artery of the city of Hong Kong.

The rain was becoming heavier, the wind still, but the rain coming down was never going to stop.

"Tell me, Mr Schwarze… what's a man like you doing here in Hong Kong… I'm sure there are plenty of places in the world where your skills could be useful to help people?" Dr. Song asked.

"I wanted to get away." Schwarze replied.

"Away from what?" The Doctor asked. "Your past? Your enemies… the scars from the war?"

Schwarze nodded. "That is none of your business." His hand found itself on his blade's hilt.

A Black van drove up and the door opened. "Hey, Schwarze." The driver said in a heavy Irish accent. "That the doc?"

"Yes," Schwarze replied. "Get inside the Van doctor."

The doctor looked at him with a quiet glare. "Are they going to kill me?" He asked.

"I don't know, I don't care… Your not my problem anymore." Schwarze replied.

The doctor looked concerned, but he walked into the van, and the door closed.

"Schwarze." The driver said. "The boss is pretty pissed at you, and wants you to come down to the office tomorrow for a debriefing."

"You're not going to drive me back home?" Schwarze asked.

"Hey man, I got the doc to deal with… you're on your own." He replied.

The van then drove away, leaving Schwarze alone in the rain, to walk home, alone.