As the door guard focused on lighting his third cigarette, I sprinted from the corner where I had been hiding. The man looked up, burning match still in hand, and his eyes widened as I crashed into him knife first. The knife went into his neck with a sick crunch and my momentum drove both of us to the ground.

I gagged as blood sprayed my face. Wiping ineffectually, I rolled off the now very dead guard. I got lucky. Either the knife or his head smacking into the street cobbles as we fell had killed him quickly.

I dry heaved a few times, but forced myself to pull off the corpse’s hat and jacket before they could soak up any more blood. The disguise wouldn’t hold up to any kind of scrutiny, but the sunlight was fading rapidly. Hopefully in the dark, the costume would buy me a few seconds.

I dragged the corpse back to my hiding spot around the corner. The corner’s previous occupant, the street kid I had seen earlier, had been more than happy to take my penny and deliver a message to Ajax. Apparently, being a lookout for the Greys didn’t pay very well. Which was good for me, since I had forgotten to rob the rooftop lookout and only had the coin Jim had sent me.

Speaking of which, I searched around until I found the dead guard's coin pouch. I checked it briefly before stashing it away. There would be plenty of time for counting when my work was done. For now I had to get moving before somebody missed this guy.

One down, nine or ten left. Not great odds, but oh well. I slipped into the warehouse. It was dark inside and there were plenty of shelves to hide behind. The Greys must value storage over efficiency, because I every space that could hold a crate did.

I didn’t crouch as I quietly made my way along. I wasn’t really sure how videogame characters were supposed to do it. Instead, I just focused on not making any noise. Speaking of which, I touched my chest absently. The cloth shirt and too small jacket were much less comforting than my usual chainmail. Better hope stealth worked out, because I was not looking forward to trying to fight without armor.

I first heard the poker game. Their conversation was loud and exuberant. Apparently the game was good enough to provide ample entertainment. Either that, or the booze was flowing. I could see the light from their lantern coming from the far end of the building, but didn’t head that way. There were at least three distinct voices and the area was well lit. I would start with easier prey.

I worked my way over to the only other source of light I saw. There were two of them working by the light of a dim lantern. They talked quietly as they unpacked small bundles from a wooden crate. One carefully weighed each bundle on a rickety scale before handing it to the other. The second man then wrote something in a thick book before tossing the bundle into one of the piles scattered around where they were working.

“I’m telling you Rigs, one second the chainmail’s there, the next it’s just gone,” The man with the scale said.

The other man, Rigs, marked the weight down before responding. “Sure, I believe you. I’m just saying you might want to come up with something better than ‘disappearing armor’ before the Boss asks.”

“They say if you kill a priest, a demon will haunt you,” the first man whispered conspiratorially.

“Demons don’t haunt people, that’s ghosts. Demons just possess your body to go on a killing spree. Besides, he wasn't a priest,” Rigs replied derisively. “He was an inquisitor, a church boogeyman. Not sure why one of them would come around here.”

“You could ask the Boss.”

When Rigs stood up and took a step to toss his current bundle into one of the furthest piles, I seized the moment. As quietly as possible I stepped up and rammed my knife into the first man’s neck.

“Fuck that, you know he hates -” Rigs cut off and spun around as his ally let out a choaked gurrgle. He drew in breath to shout as I let go of the dagger and lunged for him. His breath went out in a huff as I landed on him with all my weight. My hands wrapped around his throat and I squeezed as hard as I could.

Rigs tried to pull my hands off, but I was strong and had the leverage from my weight. A peal of raucous laughter came from the poker game as Rigs and I struggled quietly. Failing to get free, Rigs started clawing at me frantically. His ragged nails scratched my hands, drawing blood, but the jacket protected my wrists.

I turned my head and closed my eyes as his panicked hands tried to scratch my face. Luckily, his struggles got weaker and weaker before he could do any real damage. If he had gone for my eyes right away, I might have been maimed. Eyes closed, I felt Rigs go still as I listened to the poker game.

There were no shouts of alarm, just the gleeful cackle of a winning hand and sighs from the losing players. I held onto Rigs’s throat for a long time. My hands felt locked in place. I breathed slowly, trying to steady my racing heart.

When I calmed down, I checked Rigs’s heartbeat by putting my head to his chest. I couldn’t find a pulse, but I wasn’t really confident in my technique. I knew that movies never choked people for long enough, but I had no idea how long it actually took.

Eventually, I pulled my hands free. They ached, not from the bleeding scratches, I couldn’t even feel those, but from the strain of squeezing so hard. They curled involuntarily and hurt to force open.

Without my hands blocking the view, I could see Rigs’s windpipe was thoroughly crushed. I sat back and closed my eyes, forcing myself to take deep breaths. I finally stood, my legs feeling wobbly. When I went to retrieve my dagger, a surprising sight greeted me.

The man I had stabbed was about a dozen feet away where he started. He lay unmoving in a growing pool of blood. In my struggle with Rigs I hadn’t even noticed the man crawling towards the exit. I found my knife on the floor at the start of the trail of blood.

He must have pulled it out before dragging himself away. Bad move, I thought absently. If he had left the knife in, he wouldn’t have lost blood so fast. I checked that the man was dead and cleaned my knife off on his shirt.

I had planned on taking the gang members out one after another with quick stabs. Video game enemies were supposed to die right away. How else was stealth supposed to be viable? Then again, I had just killed my third man, and no alarms yet. Maybe there was some gamification on my side. That or I had just gotten lucky so far.

As quietly as I could, I stripped off Rigs’s coat and traded it for the door guard’s. It fit better and wasn't covered in blood. That done, I checked one of the bundles the two men were sorting.

Inside was a sticky dark tar substance that smelled strongly. I was hardly an expert, but I figured this was the opium the lookout had mentioned. I grabbed a few of the bundles and shoved them in the jacket’s pockets. Opium and morphine were related, so it stood to reason that opium would work as a painkiller, right? Not that it was a perfect solution, but I could really use something to help me with injuries.

My pilfering complete, I crept towards the poker game. When I saw them, laughing by the light of a hanging oil lantern, I stopped and counted. Three poker players, three dead, one cook, and two in the office. That was only nine. Even if that asshole that stabbed me was still gone, there was one missing.

Backing away from the card game, I started exploring the rest of the warehouse. I found the cook first. The room had clearly been repurposed to work as a kitchen. The two large sinks embedded in one wall looked original, but the cast iron stove was shoved messely in a corner. The cutting board set up on a wooden box and the myriad of random cooking implements scattered around completed the look.

The cook was washing a big pot in one of the sinks. From the pile of dirty dishes, I guessed that dinner was already over. It was too bad. I had all this lovely opium I could have tried to drug the food with. Oh well, who knows what that would have done to the taste.

I silently walked up behind the fat man. Covering his mouth with my left hand, I stabbed him through the back where I thought his heart should be. The knife scraped against ribs and I had to twist and push to get it through.

Learning from how slowly the last two died, I ripped the knife out stabbed again as fast as I could. Despite my efforts, he started struggling and forcing screams through my hand. Heart pounding, I pulled out the knife and started bashing the cook in the head with the pommel.

The blows disoriented the man, breaking off his shouts. I kept hitting him until he stopped moving. Then I lowered the body to the ground and made sure he was dead. I dragged the corpse to the corner. With a heave and a few puffs, I managed to push him behind the wooden crate cutting board and out of site. Not that that would do much to hide the blood. Speaking of which, I looked down at my now gore coated jacket. Shit.

I snuffed the oil lights in the kitchen and stalked back out into the warehouse proper. Worried about the missing gang member, I systematically searched the building. I avoided the poker table and the corner I knew held the office. The more enemies I could kill before getting in a big confrontation, the better.

As I carefully skirted around the poker game, I came across what had to be the sewer entrance. It was just a simple metal hatch embedded into the concrete. A large rusty padlock secured the hatch to a metal ring.

So much for having an escape route if things didn't go my way. Well, if I couldn’t have an escape route, no reason to let them have one either. Searching around for something to jam the lock with, I scooped up some debris from the floor. The broken off head of a nail, some small pieces of rock, and grit went into the old fashioned keyhole.

That done, I examined my work. There was no way the lock could be opened with the debris in there, but there was nothing to stop a person from just shaking the junk out. Remembering my stolen goods, I took out one of the bundles of opium. I jammed as much of the sticky gunk into the lock as I could before putting the rest away. It might not block the exit permanently, but it would definitely slow someone down. That done, I resumed my search.

I found the last gang member by smell before I saw him. The far corner of the building stank of the pungent opium. In the near darkness, I could just barely see wisps of smoke coming from one of the higher shelves. I ascended as quietly as I could, but that turned out to be needless caution.

The last gang member was either unconscious or in such a haze that he might as well have been. I don’t know how much of the opium he had smoked, but from the multiple bundle wrappers scattered around, I was guessing a lot.

As I slid the knife into his heart, I felt like a murderer. It was just a bit too realistic to dismiss it as ‘just a game’. But, well, fuck these guys. They were a bunch of drug running murderers anyway.

Besides, I didn't want to risk leaving any of the gang members alive to raise an alarm. That, and I was still bitter about the whole ‘killing me’ thing. Did that make me petty? I am fairly sure people have gone on quests for revenge for less.

Another enemy down, I worked my way back to the poker table. I sat in the shadows for what seemed like hours, but was probably only ten minutes or so, wracking my brain for how to take out the three men. Just when I was considering abandoning stealth and charging in weapons drawn, one of the men stood.

He tossed his cards in to fold before stumbling off to ‘have a slash’ as he called it. I held my breath as he passed the darkened kitchen. My hand clenched on the hilt of my sword. If he noticed the cook’s absence and raised the alarm, I would rush the other two while they were distracted.

When he walked past without comment, I slowly let out my breath. Then, realizing this was a golden opportunity, I crept away from the poker table and towards the bathroom.

Despite my efforts, the bathroom door squeaked as I slowly pushed it open. I froze, but the gang member didn’t look up from his task. He just grunted something that might have been a greeting.

Using the same method as how I dispatched the cook, I managed to kill him fairly quietly. He managed to bite my hand hard enough to draw blood before dying though. As I dragged him away from the urinal trough and into the stall I mourned my scratched and now bitten hands. Maybe this world has healing potions. Magic was real, so why not? If they did exist, I was going to stock up.

Six down, two poker players, the boss and his bodyguard, and that backstabber Rich left to kill. I worked my way back to the poker table for the last time.

The two remaining card players were sitting across from each other and the lantern hanging from a hook kept the whole area fairly bright. I wasn't confident I could approach without being noticed.

After a few minutes of me contemplating the issue, the closer man stood.

“The hell is taking ‘im so long?” He asked in a gruff voice. He started towards the bathroom and called out. “Did you fall in? I thought you were just having a piss?”

I adjusted my grip on my knife and started to follow the man. I could take this guy out in the bathroom, then the last poker player. My celebration turned out to be premature. The man squinted at the unlit kitchen.

“Hey, where did John go?” The man looked around at the poorly lit building. “John? Eric? Logan? Where the hell is everybody!?”