We were back outside the crosshair house. The time was just before noon, and alongside me was Jack, one of Sigmund’s disciples(that’s what he called his top students, the ones he lets into the church), and a group of recruits. The orphans I had ‘rescued’ earlier looked excited and nervous at the same time.

I walk in front of them, about-facing to the recruits in particular. “Alright. We’re looking to hopefully capture one or two of them for information, especially if they look important. That being said, self-preservation should remain your priority. Don’t be afraid to slice ‘em up some if you need to do it to finish a fight. I’ll be challenging myself to take them alive first and foremost, so be sure to cover me when I’ve got one on the ropes.”

For some reason the recruits saw it fit to salute me military-style. “YES, SIR-I mean, ma’am.”

I turn my vision to the orphan that corrected himself. “’Sir’ is fine. The semantics don’t matter to me.”

“Alright Jack, once you get the door unlocked, don’t open it. I want you to stay outside and keep watch in case someone jumps out a window. You’ve got a gun, you know what to do, but if you can resolve the issue without firing your weapon, it’d be a lot better.” To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if I’d prefer Jack shooting someone to having them escape, because I had a feeling a gunshot would bring on an incredible amount of headaches for me to deal with, not to mention unwanted attention.

“Yeah, I get it. Gunshots are rare out here so they tend to get plenty of attention.” Jack moved to the door, pulling out the fabric container from before and looking directly into the keyhole. He then pulls out a pair of instruments and proceeds to rake at the lock’s internals for less than a minute before getting it unlocked. He then steps back, stuffing his utensils back into their compartments. “Alright, I’ll just go and sweep the perimeter from here on in.”

I wave the recruits to stack up behind me, and then I think to use my secondary ears on the door-except there are others watching. I settle for covering the back of my secondary ears with my jacket sleeve as I listen for whoever may be on the other side of that door. I think there’s one, not too far from the door on the left side-probably easy prey, if I can move quickly enough. I fold my secondary ears back down.

“3, 2, 1, break.” I open the door, seeing a rather large table dominating the center of the room, and sure enough there was a man sitting with a bottle of liquor on the left side, not too far from me. Overhead, a fancy brass chandelier hangs, lighting up the room with a warm, affirmative glow. I seize the opportunity as I run forward, springing onto the table and drawing my katana as he stands up, drawing a machete and trying to backpedal. I jump forward and onto him, moving my sword to block his as his footing slips due to the chair below him, and as my off-hand latches onto his shoulder he falls to the ground with an audible grunt, the back of his head bumping against the floor. I deftly snake my off-arm around his main arm counter-clockwise, constraining his sword arm like an anaconda while he’s still dazed. I hold my sword’s hilt high and hold the point right over his eye as I smother his left arm with my knee. “Who hired you boys for that assassination at the Italian restaurant the other day?” I see him leave his daze as his eyes scream terror and he whimpers, fully realizing just how utterly helpless he was.

“I… I don’t know, I had nothing to do with deciding who walked into that meat-grinder! I lost good friends to that fucking job!” Just on cue, I hear doors slamming to my right and look over to see two doors on the opposite side of the table opening, with thugs coming out of each door, my recruits stepping forward to meet them in close combat. I turn my focus back to the hapless goon below me.

“Then tell me who does before you end up losing an eye!” I let the point of my sword move an inch towards his eye, dangling above, a metaphor for death’s shadow looming over his soul as he whimpers again.

“If I tell you, he’ll just kill me anyway!” He blurts the sentence out, probably trying to reach my more merciful side. It isn’t answering the phone, though. I feel my emotions chill over again; emanations of a more coldly rational and uncaring self.

I stab the katana into the floor, the point scraping the side of his head and leaving blood spilling onto the wooden floor. I watch him wince before I speak. “Or I can give you plastic surgery and THEN kill you RIGHT NOW.” I move my face right over his. “Wanna bet on me missing again?”

The death stare seems to do its job as he finally breaks under my show of force, almost sobbing hysterically at this point. “Captain Radik! He-He’s upstairs behind the…” He pauses for but a second, but in the space of that second I can feel him almost break down into a hysterical bawl. Maybe I’m a little too effective at this for my own good. “Behind the green door!”

“If you’re lying, I’ll kill you later.” I tug the blade’s point free of the wood, flipping the katana over and pulling my head back up, briefly studying the primal terror in his eyes, the terrible uncertainty of finding himself in my clutches put on full display. “Night night, sellsword.” I bring the hilt down onto his head, leaving him out cold as I unbind my arm from his and come to a stand.

I look over, to find that for the most part we were handling the situation, but finding one of our own grappling an enemy on the floor, I walk over and prime my sword to skewer him through both lungs, and pause as I remember we’re supposed to be taking prisoners today. I feel a slight pang of disappointment as I slam a boot into the side of his head, giving the recruit enough time to end up on top and disarm him before ending with another boot to the head for good measure. I turn back and eye up the rest of the recruits, seeing no major damage among them. I look back to the recruit I had assisted and discovered that he was the orphan with the red coat, and that he was sporting a painful slash across his side, willfully ignoring it as he slides his sword back into its scabbard. He notices me staring at him. “I can still fight, sir!”

“I don’t doubt it.” I wipe my sword off, letting it back into its scabbard. I watch the others do the same. “Alright. The man we’re looking for is behind a green door… remember that.”

Without further ceremony we quickly advance to the second floor, which has scratched blue paint on the walls overlooked by a pair of decorated lights in the ceiling, with one window, shuttered, at the end of the hall. Where the paint is scratched, you can see bare wood. There’s four doors here, one yellow, two blue, and one green.

I let the recruits stack around the green door, as I press my forehead against the door itself and flick my secondary ears up as I cover them with my arm. I hear a strong, steady noise on the right side of the room, but nothing else in there. If I focus, it almost sounds like TV static. I fold my secondary ears back down and my hand settles over the doorknob as I pause. I can’t tell why, but something inside me is practically screaming that the room I was about to enter was a trap.

I open the door and step out, retreating to the doorway and motioning to the recruits to stay back. I look inside and sure enough, there’s a TV on the right side, making noises of loud static and emitting light with a glow to match. Otherwise, the room is almost completely dark, the curtains denying the sunlight any purchase against the interior of the room. I could imagine it in my head; the TV glowing like an anglerfish’s light in a black abyss, a beacon to attract prey for the fangs of terrible things hiding in the dark. The solution was obvious: Someone was going to have to go inside and stick their foot in the beartrap. It’s quite obvious to me, given what I’ve survived before, that if I got nailed in the neck with a throwing knife, I’d probably be able to survive it, but that’s only if the recruits finish the job instead of fleeing at the sight of their leader getting ambushed, like the result of a sniper attack in a war movie. There was one disciple among them, but I’m not entirely sure if he could finish the job against a veteran mercenary on his own. As ‘low’ as the risks were of me actually dying if I take point, they were still too high for me to take the shot. The silent admission hurts my heart, but some say discretion is the better part of valor.

Having made my decision, I look among the others. I choose the other orphan and one of the other recruits; the disciple was too valuable to be used as mere bait, and I felt Sigmund would actually flip a table if I got one of his favorites killed in such a foolish way. The redcoat orphan was already wounded, and he’d stand no chance if my hunch was correct. I point towards my two selections. “You two, take point and keep your eyes open. I don’t like this room.”

The redcoat orphan steps forward. “No, send me, I can still fight!” I can hear his voice, impassioned, clearly displaying a desire to keep his friend safe.

Regardless, I hold him back, halting him with a hand. “You’re already hit, you won’t even stand a chance if you get jumped.” While it made more tactical sense to sacrifice an already wounded soldier instead, I hadn’t completely given up on getting everyone out alive just yet-even in spite of me treating them as near-literal pawns in a chess match. I motion the recruits in, and they tensely walk through the door, their eyes searching, their footsteps slow and cautious. I can feel the red-coated orphan’s nervousness and concern as he watches, barely able to contain his emotions. The silence is practically deafening, until it’s broken by a knife flying out of the dark and sailing into the orphan’s throat. He clutches at it as he falls onto his knees, and then over. I hear the redcoat orphan’s barely contained scream as it happens, in tempo with my own suppressed grief. The other recruit barely has time to realize what’s happened as a figure darts out of the shadows and into the TV’s light, wielding a machete as he barely draws his sword in time to block it, as I feel my emotions freeze over again. The recruit backpedals, trying to gain space and counterattack as the man keeps advancing, cutting the recruit’s swing off with his own hand grabbing the recruit’s arm as he swiftly stabs the recruit in the chest. Setting both hands over my katana and unlocking the sword with my thumb, I start moving through the doorway. I hear the recruit audibly cry out in pain as he’s shoved back, clearing the path between me and the man as he falls over. The man’s wearing a gray coat like the other knife-thrower back at the Italian restaurant.

Protect what you can, and give nothing for free. Those were the words that played in my head as I darted towards him, moving my katana’s scabbard up, primed for a strike and uncaring of measuring distance or staying out of grappling range. As I draw my sword fully, I catch him rising his sword up to block an overhead attack. Instead of going low and hoping he doesn’t backpedal in time, I decide to simply swing at his hand instead. He doesn’t catch on to my plan and my sword tears into his hand, cutting through as he growls in pain, dropping his machete on the floor with a clatter. I consciously hold myself back from finishing him off right then and there as I watch him clutch his wrist with his good hand, pulling up his right hand. The light of the TV does little to hide the details; his hand is split in half right down the middle, almost all the way to the wrist, the halves of his hand drifting apart slightly. He stares in complete horror at his hand, before screaming in pain. I slam my off-hand into his guts, interrupting his scream and sending him toppling over.

“Ulf, what the fuck is this about-” I crouch down, letting my katana rest on my shoulder as I snatch up his right wrist with my left hand. I could feel his blood coming down onto my hand.

“Who hired your boys for the Italian restaurant assassination recently?”

“I… I don’t know, man-AAAUUUGHHH” I reach two of my fingers in the divide between the halves of his hand, putting pressure on either half of his hand. His blood was warm as it gets all over my fingers, and his reaction was predictably that of a man in true agony.

“Your friend downstairs told me you’re one of the big men here. He was practically crying like a bitch by the time we were done talking.” I rotate my katana in my right hand, slamming the point into the wood an inch from his head as I lean onto it, moving my face much closer to his. I stare into his eyes and find a man trying to keep up a tough face, but ultimately on the verge of breaking. “Waste time and fuck around, and I will do so much worse to you.” It was stranger than fiction to me, how little emotion I felt at that exact moment. I felt as if there was a part of me that should’ve been disgusted, but just like with the last man, that more merciful and benevolent part of me just wasn’t going to pick up the phone.

“Fine! His name was… Malkov, or some shit, gray suit, slicked black hair, really good taste in shades.”

“Good start, but who does he work for?”

“I don’t know, he said he specifically was acting on behalf of one of the big crime outfits in town to keep their name out of it. You’d have to take that up with him.”

“And where do you figure I can find him…?”

“He asked me to meet him inside some random restaurant, nothing too special… He probably ends up sipping wine with the rest of the bigwigs of the underworld, seemed like a little bit of a big deal to me.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s all...” He seemed scared, like I wouldn’t be satisfied with all he’d given me anyway. He was almost correct in that assumption. I let go of his hand and stand, pulling my katana out of the wood. “If I find you’ve been lying, I’ll find you again.” I look over to the others, finding the redcoat orphan huddled over his friend’s dead body, and the disciple stabilizing the recruit with field dressing. The very sight of the dead orphan reminded me of a compelling reason to kill him right then and there, as I aim my sword’s point over his neck. His eyes recognized his uncertain situation, and I could feel him plead for mercy, even though he didn’t say anything.

It was a difficult decision, because he had technically cooperated with me, so it would be unfair to simply kill him, but it would feel wrong to leave that orphan unavenged. I almost can’t believe I let my crooked sense of honor win as I move the point up, my now-bloodied left hand plucking a blood rag out of my pocket as I take the opportunity to wipe both the blade and my fingers of his blood before seeing it back into its scabbard. As I look closer, I can’t help but notice that he seems to be getting a little on the pale side, and I silently hope that blood loss does the job for me as I turn to the others.

“We know our guy, let’s go.”

The redcoat orphan’s still sobbing as I start to walk over, and then pause. He probably resented me for what I did. I instead turn over to the disciple, hoisting up the wounded recruit-who now has blood on his mouth. “Help him with the body. I’ll take this one.” The disciple nods and gets to work carrying the body out after ordering the orphan leader along. I turn my focus back on the recruit in my hands, as I notice him coughing up some blood. I think to pull out my phone and call for pickup, my thumb alone dialing it as I prop the recruit up against the wall with my other hand. I speak the address into it shortly, and pocket it, as we make out way out of the house, leaving a hell of a blood trail behind. Jack rounds the corner of the house and quickly walks over.

“Holy shit, should I call an ambulance?”

“I’m already on top of that much. Unfortunately, we lost a man.” I can already see him look dissatisfied, as if he was blaming himself for it. “Not your fault, trust me.”

“Well...” Jack sighed heavily, putting his hands in his pockets as he looks at the now-dead 13 year old with a knife sticking out of his neck. “Was it worth it?”

I frown subtly. “We didn’t get much, but we do know this much: their liason is a man named Malkov, with black, slicked-back hair, a gray suit, and an affinity for good shades. I think he’s a known character in the more elegant part of the criminal underworld, the guy said something about him ‘sipping wine with the other bigwigs’, whatever that meant. He’s also definitely acting as a middleman for our true enemy.” I look over to the body briefly, wondering how in hell such little information could be truly worth a pre-teen boy dying over.

Jack frowns, putting his hand on his chin. “Well, that’s definitely kind of vague, but...” Jack smiles. “I actually might be able to do something with that information. I know a guy, not that well but I do know a guy that arranges a lot of parties for the richest people in the city. I bet he also does parties for the big-shots in the criminal underworld.”

“So we can actually do something with information like that?”

“Like I said, I don’t know him very well and I don’t really have dirt to blackmail him with, so he might not be so willing to volunteer any information readily. He’ll probably ask something out of us in turn.”

“Guess we won’t know if we can pull it off until he lays the terms down in front of us.”

“He’ll probably end up asking for something that’s right up your alley.”

“Great.” I sighed. “Another opportunity for me to send adolescent boys to their deaths.”

Jack laughed at that joke, and I rolled my eyes-though I didn’t hate him for laughing at all. I thought it was pretty funny, even if I wasn’t in the mood to laugh at my own failures right now. “Alright, well, I’ll call you back once I can get a meeting with my lead, alright?”

“Got it.” I nodded to him, as he slowly walks off. It’s an agonizingly long wait until the vehicle arrives. The disciple gets the body into a bodybag, putting it awkwardly on top of those sitting in the backseat together. I pull my katana out of my belt and set it in front of me, tip resting on the floor of the car. “Take us to the dormitory.”