"What's wrong with that girl?" Michael asked, shaking his head.
He'd worked with unusual characters before, and he could tell Missy was slowly becoming one of them.
He watched her put on too much white foundation, like it was her fountain of youth, then walked away. "Whatever," he muttered.
Puffing on his cigar, taking a long drag, smoke filled his mouth before he blew it out.
He tossed his work rag onto a work tray; his eyes never stopped searching for someone.
He combed over the workers until he found who he was looking for.
A man rolled out from under a car covered in oil, a pair of iPod wires in his ears.
He worked, oblivious to the instructions from the comms, moving through his toolbox, bopping his head to music only he could hear as he took a wrench and opened a beer bottle with it.
Michael scratched his head.
"Hey, Swift!" He walked over to the man, about to tell him that all three head mechanics had been called upstairs—and to remind him that, if he forgot, he was one of them.
"Hey, Swift—Swift! Quit your drinking! We got a message from the boss!"
In the corner, a camera kept watch.
On the second floor, Qiren was at his wits' end, wondering what to do now. Of course, he'd been seen on one of the cameras in the woods—but it was too late to do anything about that.
There was no telling how many hidden cameras were around.
So he bowed, giving whoever was watching a show.
This wasn't him giving up—it was him playing along. If he returned to the base and saw people rushing out, he'd know his infiltration had failed.
He'd get out with whatever firearm he could and try to delete all footage of that morning.
—Of course, he would still do the same if they hadn't noticed.—
He then quickened his steps, running back to see the results of his performance—but nothing came of it.
Everything went on as usual. No panic. No mechanics arming themselves to replace the guards he killed.
Just scrap metal, hammering, and wrenches.
If anything was off, it was one guard who looked distracted, searching for his friends. He bumped into another guard and asked if he'd seen Danny. They talked, then stood together on the south side of the building.
Qiren waited for them to split—then killed them. He continued the same way with the rest of the enforcers, then the remaining ground grunts.
Eventually, he asked the last enforcer he kept alive at gunpoint why they hadn't checked the camera feed.
The man told him a storm had knocked them offline, and the person who installed them was still working on the systems.
He asked if she had control over the ones inside, and the man answered that she only had access to the forest feed.
The boss held control over a limited set of fixed indoor cameras—but they were installed in key places in the warehouse that couldn't be monitored, like the drug room, weapons vault, and the paths leading to the boss's corridor.
Qiren understood then. He might have narrowly gone unseen.
He threatened the guard and ordered him to lead him to the boss's office, using the railing to point out a rough idea of where it was located.
The rest was history.
The two ignored all the cameras by simply teleporting into the boss's room.
He threatened C.C., opened the safe, killed him and the enforcer, fed on his soul—
Qiren leaned back in his seat.
"Missy Stormhill. Part-time electrician, computer coder, thrill-chaser. Making her money helping the Red Flags through talent and a love of engineering." He laughed softly. "Aren't you a fun one~"
He spun once more in the chair, then stood and looked out the window.
"Let's see if I can pull off my next act with such a variable. Did I get lucky… or did you let me continue my killing spree?"
From your last comment, I'm sure it's the latter.
His gaze settled on the off-road truck Missy had climbed into, its back welded with bike-parking stripes holding a black Razor-Wheel motorcycle.
Qiren turned back toward the door as a knock sounded.
"Boss, Michael said you called?" a young brown-skinned man asked, knocking, one side of his headset still in his ear.
Michael stood beside him. "What's with the skepticism?" he asked Swift. "You think I'd make this up for shits and giggles?"
"Wouldn't be the first time," Swift replied. "Remember that female guard? You started saying she was racist just to make your own moves on her. I almost missed some ass because of you."
"Turned out she wasn't racist—just ignorant. I was making progress teaching her, then the next thing I knew she stopped coming to the warehouse." He popped his collar, shedding an invisible tear.
"The hell, boy? I was looking out for you. Rumors said she was buddying up with colored folks, and the next thing they knew, they were beaten black and blue by the docks."
"What—!? She'd never! Take that back. She was an angel!"
"A whore is what she was. Pay her a dollar and she'd suck you off by the garbage can," Michael replied, his thumb pointing behind him.
"You take that back, old man. It was five!" Swift snapped.
"Ha, not for me," he snapped back. "You pay five times the price and you say she weren't a racist whore."
"Also, what type of angel do you know with a throat that dry? Nearly gave me carpet burn. I almost passed on bringing her home; I was contemplating if she was even worth four bucks more for the whole package."
"Damn, did she actually trick me?" Swift contemplated his choices. "Why didn't you tell me she was that cheap? I spent twelve dollars getting her to third base. Man, fuck you, old man."
"She was the one to get fucked."
They were about to bicker when a familiar voice stopped them in their tracks.
"Michael, Swift. Come on in. There's someone I want you to meet."
Michael glared at Swift but opened the boss's door.
They froze.
A man stood by the window, meeting them with a toothy grin.
"Greetings. How are you two this fine morning?"
A jester bowed, then rose again. "I hope you'll excuse the mess. I'm a very slow cleaner~"
The mechanics froze at the sight of the dead bodies.
Michael covered his mouth. Swift went pale.
The scent of blood—something Qiren had grown accustomed to—was far too much for men who'd never seen this level of violence.
"G-God… Boss…" Michael's eyes darted between the bodies, the open safe, the jester—and back again. His vision swam as his stomach churned.
"Uh-uh," Qiren said, aiming his revolver at Swift. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't stain my carpet."
He fired at Swift's feet.
Swift jumped back, shakily pulling out his own gun.
"The consequences might not fall on your head," Qiren warned.
Swift fired.
Bang. Bang.
Qiren lifted his machete, blocking the shots, then rushed Michael. The blade came down—
"AHHH!"
Blood sprayed as Michael's arm was cut.
Swift fired again. Missed.
"Shit! Shit!"
Qiren shot back, hitting Swift's arm.
"You know what I said applies to you too," Qiren said calmly, aiming at the groaning Michael.
Bang.
Michael screamed as the bullet struck his back.
Swift hesitated as Qiren's gun angled toward Michael's head.
"Let's play a game," Qiren said.
"What kind of game?" Swift asked nervously, reaching for his second revolver.
"You move, I move."
Swift froze.
"If you hurt me, I hurt you—or him," Qiren continued. "Fun, right~"
Michael roared and lunged for the machete, swinging wildly.
The blade nearly struck Qiren—but a mouth opened in his clothes and bit the steel.
"My turn~"
Qiren tossed his revolver and reached for the knife on his thigh—
"No!" Swift yelled, shooting it from his hand.
"Shot over here!" Swift shouted. "You said you'd return shots, right?!"
Qiren caught his revolver and fired inches from Swift's head. "Bad aim, bad aim~"
A mouth formed under Qiren's shoe.
Graa. Graa.
It bit the machete's handle as he kicked it into Michael's elbow.
"AHHH!"
"You bastard! You'll die in hell, monster!"
Michael kicked at Qiren's leg.
Tricky.
Qiren leapt two meters into the air.
The machete came down.
Michael's skull split cleanly in two.
Swift's mind went blank.
A clown. Rifles. Revolvers. A machete.
"How…?"
"I didn't get to repay him properly," Qiren mused.
Swift fired the rest of his bullets.
Qiren weaved through them.
"Oh well. Game over."
He kicked the machete, sending it spinning straight into Swift's abdomen.
Swift staggered, blood soaking his clothes.
Bang.
The room fell silent.
Qiren hummed, collecting the souls.
"I might get addicted to fear-tainted souls," he murmured. "Especially ones this sweet."
He sat in the boss's chair, admiring the bodies.
Shock.
Surprise.
Fear.
Knock. Knock.
He shifted his voice to the boss's.
"Come on in."