I BITE.

an unfortunate downside back in the day, when he had first been lugged on bizz with damien through dino — it hadn’t been a coincidence that he’d been lugged to work alongside the reckless mess that was the man before him, but that in dino’s words, no other merc was willing to frolic with kenneth, a merc without chrome. despite it, dino’s lottery ticket had cashed in when damien’s compatibility with him had turned out preem, a smooth blend of skills and capacity — maybe a little too preem. because it’s not long before there are fingers on his jaw, dragging his attention, and a mouth hovering just above his cheek.

❛❛  neither. you’re going to sit at the bar and play house. ❜❜  his frown was stern, a demanding thing, but the glimmer of mischief in damien’s eyes meant he wasn’t persuaded by the scowling. he let his own face crinkle in disapproval at the distracting nearness, but it was the words spoken to him that made the warmth in his throat only a little too noticeable. pushing the merc back with a hand against his chest, he glared profusely. ❛❛  you’re also bad at focusing. and you’ll behave because i told you to. ❜❜  predictably, before damien could close the gap again, he shoved the brief into his chest and stared him down, pulse hammering pettishly before he muttered :

“ don't keep me bored for too long. i don't do well being alone. might start . . . hacking & slashing, or worse. ” his voice was flat, but light enough to imply that his mischief remained bright as ever, followed suit by the hands slid beneath keneth's shirt. “ then it'll be your fault. dino would love that. i'll tell him you took too long. ” a few years ago, he would have despised this obscene display of affection, but his heart was a broken compass now, stubborn & guiding him back towards the same thing fervently, over & over, breath grown tight through the tautness of his own throat. a merc designed by chrome, & a merc without chrome. it was laughable, really, there was talks of why he wasted time in the first place, & damien had swallowed every comment with leveled apathy. a job was a job, & all money was blood money in the end. & now here they were, damien's hands possessive with intention, a grin like the devil-wolf pressed against ken's face as he kissed the line of his jaw. he could sense the full flush of blood beneath kenneth's neck, a pulse erratic like life itself & he felt another push, ken's irritation grating like concrete against skin.

“ . . . no alarms, no notice, no fucking hack & slash. got it. ” his attention tears back to the brief finally, fingers sliding through them in flickers, halfheartedly in a somewhat slapdash performance of feigned focus. “ & play fucking house by the bar on my own, how can i forget. ” there was a bite to the edge of the statement, the files struck shut, his own irritation carried out in an unsettled bile at the back of his throat. dinovich, that son of a bitch. sure, he'd been caught one too many times for his hell-raising temper, & each time, dino's voice was razor-cut with displeasure. one too many times, collie. his voice was always a fly buzzing too close & persistently, & just for that, he would crush in another few hard-knuckled punches through the soft, dismantled gore of something that must have had been a skull or a face of his target once. efficient enough, dinovich? he'd hiss, & eight times out of ten, there was no response.

☣︎ the scent of blood pulses at the bridge of her nose like a year old headache and she wonders if things could have gone any different. if she had heard the awfully familiar click of the gun sliding into place, if she's noticed the shadow that lingered behind her like a rotten summer breeze, thick and humid in the air, too dense to go unnoticed but her instincts have failed her miserably and damien's rough press of fingers to her temple do not help her ease the shame of it at all. the living room that has been curated with the eyes of a detail oriented perfectionist made for such a cozy home the neighbors had no trouble believing in the story they sold on the daily. the wedding pictures she didn't even question nor ever wished to think about framed neatly in the maroon accent wall, the weight of the wedding ring still a nuisiance on the finger of her left hand. if damien minded the matching one he had been obliged to wear, he had not commented on it so far. he did not comment on most things, anyway, if not for the sole purpose of antagonizing her into fantasize about choking him until he ate his words.

the low-treble buzz emitting from empathy was reverberating through his skull even from the other side of the street corner. they were perhaps a hundred yards from it, a clear view available from the slit in the powered window blinds. he hummed a low, thoughtful sound on his lips as he considered it. on the table by his hands, a screen previewed a holographic cache of data-mined and unencrypted digits — dino’s voice was dribbling out details of a malicious virus he needed them to sic on empathy’s servers before a mayoral candidate made a not-so stealthy visit to its premises.

best of luck to ya, v— oh, and keep that malwired piece of shit in check.

he blinked as the door to the showers opened up behind him, the call falling shut as he turned to face the culprit of dino’s low patience. a smoke show of shower steam, chrome, and unreasonable bad habits pulled into view. he wondered what the point of the towel was, if damien was determined to shake his head like a dog and let the water spray everywhere. with another noise of dissent, he turned back around and stared at empathy’s door with ardent seriousness.

“ YOUR WAY & NOT MINE ? ” he says, tasting the flicker of water droplets fallen past his lips, the gravity of his voice near non-existent. & keep that malwired piece of shit in check. a roll of his eyes, he tightens the knot of his towel around his waist before combing his fingers through the water-logged hair. “ whatever you say. you know i don't give a shit about what he says. ” & that was true, there was a reason why dino was calling him a malwired piece of shit, given how poorly the last mission went. a smoky parlour, smell of spilled oil & the tang of whiskey, each of his footsteps had left a viscous print of gore, a bread-crumb trail of blood for the ncpd to follow eventually. one thing for certain was that damien would be long gone, tucked away from the burning midday sun somewhere in the westbrook district, the dying scent of slaughter well-hidden amidst the tangled perfume of night city. sure, heads rolled that evening, but he'd given dino what he wanted at the end, just on his own fucking terms.

The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, Guirgis

business entreaties in every small corner around francisco meant fulminata usually had their eyes where it mattered. they had caught sight of at least two senlac patrols deployed not far from the parameters of their south-side routes. they were, without doubt, looking for their missing cargo, who sat chained in front of him now.

❛❛  let me get this right, ❜❜  he straightened then, suddenly, and the files fell off his lap as he leaned back. splayed on the open concrete to reveal faces familiar to damien’s shattered employee record and memory. he held up his fingers, counting to three. ❛❛  botched a job you had nine months for, shit hire on top of it, and an unreliable payout — any pros here? can you do taxes? ❜❜  then there was the chivalry of it all, sparing him from seeing such a corpse splatter on senlac’s morgue, as if he would fare better only knowing of its likelihood without seeing it. he felt his jaw go taut with an emotion he couldn’t name, but knew was a sister to fury.

YOU DON'T GET IT; NO, HE DIDN'T. that was it, wasn't it? he rarely understood what people meant. a man pausing on his porch, absently gazing over the green hills, wondering about the thousand shades of green reflected by the sunlight. one hand over a cold glass of something, condensation drops sweating past his fingers. a child runs, someone mutters, the sunset arrives quietly, the sky trembling with shades of fading pink and burning orange. it's beautiful, the man says— and he'd pulled his trigger, shattered the man's head open into a hundred pieces, an explosion of glaring red fireworks against the white-wooden porch. someone screams, shrieks with something like jagged grief, the glass shatters, the drink spills.

you really don't fucking get it, do you? diondra had said, green-apple scented gum smacking at the side of her teeth. it made him annoyed, his lips curled to a frown before he turned his head away from her. all you care about is the contract being closed. i'd be so devastated, dee. if someone put a bullet right here. her finger pressed to his left temple, he could still smell the artificial apple intertwined with the softened lavender of her hand cream. i'd be so devastated. if your brilliant blue eyes turned into just red mush and gush from a bullet. do you get it now?

“ you're right, i don't get it. ” he says after a length, rescinding that brutal softness that threatened to tremble past even now. a tilt of his jaw, he catches ken's eyes for a brief moment before tightening his right fist, teeth pressed sharply down his lower lip. “ senlac would love to find you with me. a package deal, kane will throw a fucking feast. ” he despised this tenderness, one that continued to threatened to crawl up his throat, he wanted to cut it into strips, into irreparable pieces with a knife, burn it into fucking blackened cinders right down to its core. teeth sink down harder, and he drags his wrist forward, the creaking sounds of chains snapping, unlinking from one another.

when he did speak, it was in fulminata’s chosen latin: ❛❛  a roman doesn’t forget. ❜❜  damien’s body swayed, and the only thing reaching across the expanse of this betrayal to steady his fall was kenneth’s fingers wrapping around his throat. ❛❛  and i’m short on forgiving. ❜❜

two days later: 2:45 AM. a rainy night. the scrap-metal screech of the chair’s hind legs pulled to a stop. sonja’s maw was sat up right, maw panting with anticipation. the chains in the dark room were not for her but rather, for their ungrateful guest. ❛❛  wake up. ❜❜  kazheir’s shadow passed, a bucket of cold water over damien’s drowsy head. with a dismissive wave, the shadow left.

“ IT WAS NEVER BRILLIANT FROM THE START, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANTED TO KNOW. ” so unlike of him, the plan was never foolproof from the beginning. matter of fact, it had been shredded, filled with holes, it would have been only a matter of time before he'd fallen through the ragged cracks. it was the move of desperation, of unrouted agony of a fate that one couldn't hope to escape from. “ i bit vincent kane's hands, he said there wouldn't be another chance. ” indeed, here he was now, staring at the lovely (yet sharply tinted with cold rage) face of the very thing that kane wanted dead. 9 months, kane had given him to turn that face into a wreckage of shattered violence and gore . a strained tug, the framed metal around his wrists creak, but he relented soon, head falling backwards as eyes locked to the ceiling.

“ had 9 months to put a bullet right in between those pretty eyes .” and i fucking failed. he doesn't need to say it out loud, his presence here was a testimony to it alone. diondra had left him with the scar to the side of his mouth, a perpetual homage of kane's disappointment, carved in by the doctor himself. with ken, kane had promised a slow cut through to the jugular.