#rinaldo

The handsome bartender had been eyeing you off all night. The only excitement of the evening, really. You were at a wedding with your boyfriend - his ex’s wedding. You hadn’t wanted to come, didn’t even really want to be with your boyfriend anymore, but you hadn’t felt right about breaking up with him and leaving him dateless for this.

You were considering this wedding date as an act of mercy. Your last outing together before you dumped him next week. You needed someone you could see yourself with long term, and there was no future with someone who was still this hung up on their high school girlfriend. Honestly, it was more than he deserved, you coming here with him. 

It became evident to you as the night wore on that he was more than just hung up on his ex. Shared smiles and fleeting touches had been sparking between them all night, and you would have been devastated if you weren’t already one-foot out of the relationship. As it was, though, you couldn’t let this shit slide. Another look passed between them, and you decided enough was enough. 

Were you gonna cause a scene at this stranger’s wedding? 

No. 

What you were gonna do though, was fuck the bartender. Hopefully, anyway.

You slunk away before your ex - because that’s what he was now, whether he knew it or not - realised you were gone, crossing the ballroom to the bar. The dance floor was lit up, full of people dancing to a song you recognised as a popular 80s hit, leaving the bar mostly abandoned. 

You slipped onto the barstool closest to where the sexy bartender was working, watching as he shook a martini. You admired the strength in his hands as he prepared and poured the drink, imagining those hands on your thighs, pinning you down as he ate you out.

He was older, probably in his mid forties, with wavy hair. He was wearing a plain gold chain around his neck, but no wedding ring. 

The last guest waiting for a drink finally left with a beer, and then the sexy bartender turned towards you.

“What can I get you?” His voice was smooth and slightly flirty as he came to stand in front of you, resting his hands on the counter to lean closer to you to hear you better.

“I was wondering if you could help me find the coat closet?” You asked him. Your tone was just suggestive enough to make it clear that directions weren't what you were asking for at all.

“The coat closet, huh?” The stranger smirked, his eyes flickering to your chest and then your mouth. You licked your lips, and his jaw clenched, his left eyebrow ticking up minutely. “Do you want directions, or do you want me to show you the way?” 

“If you could show me the way, that would be amazing.” You truly look at him now, taking in the grey flecked stubble on his jaw, the strong, corded lines of his neck, and the collarbone that peeked out at you from underneath the black polo shirt he wore, the top buttons left undone. The chain, glimmering against his skin under the party lights overhead.

His eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Yeah, I reckon I can do that. Santiago, watch the bar for me. I’m going on my break.” He told the younger man working with him, rounding the bar to join you. 

You introduced yourself as he rested his hand on your lower back, guiding you out of the ballroom and into the hallway of the hotel’s conference floor, backing you into a little alcove just past the open door.

“I’m Renaldo.” He said, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “So where are we going, bonita?” 

“To the coat room?” You said, confused. You thought he knew what you'd been getting at.

“This hotel doesn’t have a coat room, bonita.” He smirked, still holding onto your hand. He pressed a kiss higher, almost to your wrist, stepping close to you. 

“It doesn’t?” Your breath caught as his lips brushed against you again.

“Nope.” 

“Is there anywhere private we can go?”

“Now you’re talking.” Reynaldo leered up at you. “You wanna hook up?”

“I thought we both knew that's what this was?”

“I like to be clear, sweetheart. Would you like to get a room?” He kissed higher up your arm, whiskery stubble tickling your inner elbow. 

“I really would, but I left my purse in my boy-well, my ex-boyfriend’s room. I don’t have a key.”

He didn’t even pause. “You in a relationship, nena?” He kissed up your shoulder now.

“Not anymore. You see the bride flirting with a guy who isn’t the groom tonight?”

He grimaced. “I did.”

“Yeah, that’s the guy. I was gonna break up with him anyway.”

He shrugged. “Okay. Let’s go find a room.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t need it. I’ll grab us a key.” He winked. “But first…” 

He cupped your face, leaning in to kiss you. It was a teasing hint of things to come, lips and just the barest hint of tongue. 

It was enough to feel a spark between you. And enough to know that if this guy fucked half as good as he kissed, you were in for a good time tonight. 

A few minutes later found you and Renaldo in the elevator, a pilfered room key in his tattooed hand. Perks of working at the hotel, he'd explained. He’d also stolen a bottle of champagne for you both to share, from the “make the guests happy” stash in the storage room behind the front desk.

You were acutely aware of how close he was standing to you as the elevator made its way up to the 5th floor. Could feel the heat radiating off him as he took your hand, leading you out of the elevator and down the hallway. 

He unlocked the room, holding the door open and letting you go inside first. Then, he hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the lever, giving you a wink. “Just in case.” He said, locking the door and dropping the key on the floor and following you further into the room.

“Drink?” He asked, lifting the champagne bottle. 

“Sure.” You said, sitting on the counter of the small kitchenette. “I don’t need a glass, if you don’t.”

“Is that so, nena?” He said, opening the bottle, thumbing the cork out with a ‘pop’. “I thought you didn’t like to share?” 

You laughed at the jab about your ex boyfriend. “I was about to dump him anyway.” 

“Let’s drink to that then.” He said, taking a swig of champagne before passing you the bottle. 

You sipped at the pricy bottle of champagne, wondering what made it so different from the cheap ones you liked. 

Renaldo's dark eyes watched you, taking in the image of you sitting on the counter. You passed the champagne back and forth a few times, draining half of the bottle as you made small talk and discussed contraception. He admitted he didn't have a condom, but said he could go and track one down, but that he was tested regularly and was clean. 

You were too, and had always used condoms with your ex. You had an IUD, too. 

Fuck it. 

“Don't worry about the condom.” You decided.

“Hell yeah.” He said, taking another mouthful of champagne, passing the bottle to you.  

You took a large sip, then set the bottle down on the counter, gesturing for him to step in between your legs. He followed your lead, coming to stand between your thighs, your legs bracketing his hips. Terms of engagement now agreed upon, you were ready to feel this man against you. 

His hands settled on your waist, large and warm your back as he pulled you towards him, pressing his lips to yours. His lips were soft against yours, his shoulders broad and strong as you gripped them for balance, deepening the kiss. He hummed into your mouth, tilting his head, his strong nose brushing against yours as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. 

The kiss was slow and sensual, and surprisingly intimate considering this man was a stranger to you. He was a phenomenal kisser, knowing just the right amount of tongue, the right amount to give and tease before backing off and making you work for more. 

Your ex’s kisses were overwhelming and inept. Fumbling and hesitant. Renaldo was the complete opposite. Confident, practiced, competent. You were already incredibly turned on, and all he’d done so far was kiss you. 

“That ex of yours didn’t take care of you, did he?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well no wonder you were getting rid of him. Did he even eat pussy?”

“He…tried?” 

“Jesus.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Young men these days. When’s the last time you had someone who knows what they’re doing, bonita?” 

“It’s been a while.” You frowned. Actually, it had been a really fucking long time.

He brought his hands to your face, cupping your jaw. Both of his thumbs rubbed at your frown, coaxing your lips upwards into a smile as you giggled at the gesture. 

“There, that’s more like it. Pretty girl like you should be getting all the pleasure she wants. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.” He kissed you deeply again, pressing his bulge into you and groaning at the friction as you rolled your hips in retaliation.

“Fix it, huh? What’re you planning?” 

“Well,” he said, offering you a hand to help you down from the counter. “I was thinking about stripping you naked, pressing those thighs open against the mattress and eating that pretty little cunt until you forget that boy’s name. Then…” he reached down to grab at his bulge through his work pants and jerked it once, twice. “Then I’ll give you this dick til you forget your name.” 

“That’s a good fucking plan.” You said, knees weakening as his words sunk in. 

He guided you to the bed, helping you out of your dress before stripping quickly as you shuffled onto the bed. You watched him strip, eyes drawn to his impressive arms. His broad shoulders and narrow waist was driving you wild, but what really ruined you was his cock. It hung thick, long and proud between his legs, and he wasn’t even fully hard yet. 

You bit your lip in admiration.

He crawled onto the mattress, bringing the length of his body to hover over you, chain dangling from his neck, swinging gently above you, caressing your chest as he settled in, chest resting against yours. He kissed you again, coaxing your mouth open with lips and tongue, kissing you passionately. His cock brushed against your slit as he did, and you both groaned, hips seeking each other out again automatically.

“It’s diabolical how gorgeous you are beneath me, bonita.” He kissed down your neck, nose dragging a line down to your collarbone. He inhaled deeply at your pulse point. “You smell so fucking good, nena. Like expensive perfume and cunt.” He inhaled again, a small, pleased sound falling from his mouth.

“I smell like cunt?” You weren’t sure that was a compliment.

“Believe me, bonita, that’s a good thing. Your sweet cunt smells amazing. I need a taste.” His low voice rumbled in your ear, giving you goosebumps. He chuckled softly at your reaction, still on his path down your body. His stubble scraped deliciously over your tits as he kissed and nuzzled them, before his strong tongue sucked your nipple into his mouth, the pressure of his sucks almost bruising and making you gasp and moan, threading a hand in his hair. 

“Renaldo! Fuck, that feels...” You gasped, gripping at his curly hair. 

He grinned against your skin, kissing his way down to your pubic bone. 

“Do you want my mouth, baby?” He asked, hands coming to rest on your thighs. You nodded, and he made a pleased sound,  pushing your legs to either side, making room for his wide shoulders to fit between them. The weight of his hands turned into a firm grip, holding you to the mattress as he pressed his nose to your seam, using the tip to part your folds, inhaling deeply.

“Mmm, like I said. Smells amazing.” His tongue came out to dart in the gap made by his nose, licking the same trail his nose had just followed. “Tastes amazing too.” 

He spent the next few minutes kissing, licking and sucking everywhere but where you really wanted him to, and eventually you cracked and begged for more. 

“Please, Renaldo!” You felt desperate, needed him to stop teasing you. 

“You give up quick, bonita, begging for it already.” His lips quirked up, the expression bringing out the dimple in his cheek. “I suppose it has been a while, hasn’t it?” He said sympathetically. “I’ll stop teasing.” 

Before you could respond, he was eating your pussy with fervor, tongue rolling and flicking against your clit. A desperate, keening noise burned up your throat, your fists gripping at the sheets so you didn’t pull his hair. 

He pulled back, tutting and reaching for your hands. “No, nena. If you need to hold onto something while I eat this pretty cunt, you hold onto me.” He ordered lowly, bringing your hands to his hair. 

“What if I pull your hair?”

“Then I’m doing it right.” 

He brought his mouth to you again, working you until your breath caught. One of his hands released your leg, skimming down your leg to touch your cunt. He traced your lips, feather light touch making you squirm and beg him to stop teasing you again. 

“Please, Renaldo! I need something inside me.”

He clicked his tongue. “Poor girl, needs something to come around, huh?” He slipped two fingers inside you, curling and pressing with purpose and making you whine. “Don’t worry pobrecita, I’ll make you come around my fingers and then you can do it on my cock.” 

His tongue launched a focused assault on your clit as his fingers pressed that spot inside of you, making your legs shake as your orgasm fast approached. Your hands tightened in his hair, making him growl in approval.

“Fuuuuckkkk, Renaldo, right there, ohmygod, please-” Your voice gave out on you as the sensations crescendoed, your orgasm hitting you with a gut-punching intensity. 

His mouth worked you through the waves of your orgasm, slowing but not stopping until you gently nudged his head away.

“You sound pretty screaming my name, nena.” He said, wiping his face on the sheet before kissing his way back up to your mouth. “Can I kiss you?” 

You’d never had a guy ask that after eating you out before. It was nice to be asked, even though it didn’t bother you. 

His breath tickled your face, and in lieu of a verbal answer, you used the hand still fisted in his hair to pull him to your mouth. 

Even though you’d just come, the feeling of him settling on top of you, the pleasing weight of him pressing you into the mattress, made you desperate to feel him inside you. 

“Need you to fuck me.” You begged, dragging your teeth down his earlobe, tugging on it gently.

“Ok, nena, roll over for me.” He moved, letting you roll onto your stomach. He shifted onto his knees, planting his legs on either side of yours. His hands came to rest on your ass, giving it a squeeze and a slap. “Look at the bounce of that ass.” He let out a pleased growl, slapping it again, a little harder, then squeezed it. “Fuckin perfect.” 

His fingers dug into your ass cheeks, parting them to get a peek at your pussy. You heard him make a pleased hum, then the wet sensation of his spit hit your puckered hole and dripped down to your cunt. 

“Can I play with your asshole a little, bonita?” His thumbs drew circles on your ass as he waited for a response, teasing close to your puckered hole.

You considered it for a second.

“I’ve never-”

“That’s okay, bonita. Forget I asked.” He said, fingers dipping down to stroke your clit, drawing slippery circles on your cunt. 

“Maybe next time?” You offered - now that he’s put the thought in your head, it was starting to sound kind of intriguing. 

“Hmm, I like the sound of a next time.” He said, taking himself in-hand. “Are you ready for my cock, nena?” 

“So ready,” you pressed back against him. “C’mon.” You urged.

“Shhh, it’s coming, pobrecita.” He soothed, pressing the tip to your spit-covered cunt. “Relax for me. He’s a big boy.” 

That line would have felt sleazy to you if this man wasn’t otherworldly levels of hot. Instead, your cunt was weeping, aching to pull him in.

He notched himself properly inside you, just far enough that he could let go of his cock and lower himself onto his forearms, resting on top of your prone form. His voice was low and close to your ear, his whole body blanketing yours as he pushed inside of you.

“Feel so fucking good around my cock, baby. Letting me in so well. Letting me fuck you raw.” 

“A dick like that is too pretty to cover up.” 

“Hmm, you think my dick is pretty?”

“Yeah, pretty fucking huge.”

He huffed a breathy, amused noise next to your ear. “Yeah, he's a big boy. Gonna show you how I use him now.”

You would have cringed at that line too, but then he started moving and all higher thought ceased. The slow drag of his thrusts stoked a low fire in your belly as he nudged your g spot and cervix alternately. Prone as you were underneath him, you could barely move. You tried to gain some leverage with your toes, pushing yourself forward a little bit so you could push back against him as he rocked back into you.

“You need it harder, nena?” He pressed a hot, sucking kiss to your neck.

You nodded.

“Words, baby. Say it for me.”

“Fuck me harder, please baby.” 

“Atta girl.” He pushed up on his hands, leaning back and gaining more leverage to put a little force behind his thrusts. He pulled you up by your hips, and you settled onto all fours in front of him. 

He pushed back inside you, the sound of clapping flesh ringing out into the room, his balls slapping against the backs of your thighs as he pounded into you. 

“Like this, bonita?” 

You could hear the smugness dripping from his voice, but you had to concede that he was right; he did know how to use his dick.

“Just like that.” You moaned, rocking back into him. “Can you…”

“What do you want, baby? What can I give you? Don’t get all shy on me now.” He coaxed, spanking your ass again. The startle of the slap made you clench around him involuntarily, and he growled, doing it again. “Fuck, you’re so responsive.”

“Can you…maybe play with my ass a little?”

“Oh? I can do that, baby. Did ole’ Renaldo get you to thinking about it, huh?” 

“Yeah, you did.” You admitted, and he made a pleased noise. 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, pausing his thrusts to part your cheeks and spit on your hole again. 

He started moving again, slower than before so he could take his time with you. His thumb circled and teased the flesh around your hole, getting whisper-close before retreating. 

When he finally brought his thumb to your hole, you weren't expecting it. He traced it, circling the spit into the wrinkled skin before pressing inside. 

“How are you feeling, nena?” 

“Fuck, ‘sgood. Weird.” You moaned, feeling his thumb stretch you inside, pushing past the internal ring of muscle.

He increased the speed of his thrusts, his thumb moving in the opposite pattern to his cock so you never felt empty. 

“Such a good girl, baby. Letting me do this to you. Asking for what you want.” He praised. “Touch yourself for me. Want you to come on this cock.”

You tried to bring a hand to your clit, but kept losing your balance, a little too tipsy to balance on one hand while being railed like this. 

Renaldo saw your struggle and clicked his tongue, slapping your hand away gently.

“Not to worry, baby. Renaldo can multitask.” He said smugly, sucking on two fingers of his free hand and bringing it around your front to swirl the slick moisture around your clit.

You keened, a high desperate noise leaving your mouth.

“I know, I know.” He soothed. “It's a lot, isn't it?”

“Mmm, so fucking close, fuck.”

“Yeah, c'mon. Give it to me. Soak my fucking cock baby.”

You moaned wordlessly, whole body tightening and releasing in rolling waves of tension as you came the hardest you ever had, soaking his fingers and clenching both your holes around him.

“That’s it, nena. Atta girl, squeezing me like that. Where do you want it, baby? I’m gonna come.” He withdrew his thumb from you, grabbing your hips hard as he railed into you.

“Anywhere you want,” you said breathily. 

“A dangerous offer, bonita. You’d let me fill up this pretty little cunt?” 

“If you wanted.” You answer honestly. You knew you shouldn’t; shouldn’t even be having sex without a condom in the first place.

“Such a good little slut, huh? How many men have you let come inside you before, hmm?”

“One.” You answer honestly.

“Well, now I have to fill you up. Look at you, so desperate to be filled you’d let a stranger do it.”

“Not desperate for just anyone. Wouldn’t let anyone.” 

“Of course not, bebita.” He smirked, slapping your ass again. “Mm, feels so fucking good when you squeeze me like that.” 

You did it again, twice in quick succession, making him twitch inside you. 

“Jesus, baby. You want this cum, don’t you?” He picked up the pace, growling and smacking your ass again when you clenched around him. “Last chance to change your mind, sweetheart.” 

“Come for me.” You encouraged him, throwing it back to meet his thrusts. “Wanna feel it.” 

“Filthy fuckin girl.” He growled out, thrusting hard once, twice more, pressing hard against your cervix as he finally exploded, shooting ropes and ropes of cum deep into your cunt.

He pulled out gently, admiring the pearlescent string that connected the two of you from cock to cunt. 

You both flopped onto the mattress, laying side by side and sharing lazy kisses as you came down from your shared high. 

“Is that what you needed, bonita?” He asked sweetly, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, hands tracing the whorls of stubble on his jaw. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He winked, pulling the covers over you both.

Early the next morning, you both stumbled into the hallway, bleary-eyed and still slightly buzzed from the champagne you’d finished off together after round three at some ungodly hour.

At the opposite end of the hallway, you spotted the room you’d booked with your ex. A man was sneaking out of the room, kissing your ex goodbye. 

“What the fuck?” You said to yourself, the words carrying through the quiet hallway. You hadn’t even known your ex was into men. He’d always been so weird about you being bisexual, you'd never realised that it might be more about him than you. “Well I might as well get my stuff back now.” 

Renaldo nodded, following you down the hall.

You reached the kissing couple, clearing your throat, making them startle apart. 

“We can explain.” The man who had been kissing your ex said hastily, turning around with a guilty look.

Renaldo held his hand up. “Don’t worry, Domingo. She was gonna dump this loser anyway.” 

“Renaldo!” The younger man exclaimed. 

“You two know each other?” You asked.

“He’s my younger brother.” Renaldo explained.

“Ah.” 

Domingo looked at you apologetically and you waved his concern away. After all, you’d technically cheated too last night. 

You shrugged in agreement. “Don’t worry, it’s true, I was gonna dump him.”

Your ex was stunned speechless. 

“So, uhhh. I’m just gonna grab my stuff.” You said, looking to Renaldo to see what he was going to do.

“Take your time, nena. Then we can have breakfast? My treat?” 

“Sounds perfect.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your ex had finally found his words, apparently, following you into the room as you gathered your purse and overnight bag. 

“Are we really gonna do this?” You asked him, quirking an eyebrow.

Your ex visibly deflated as he realised the absurdity of the situation. 

“Yeah, I guess not. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

You looked from your ex, out to the hallway where Renaldo stood, hands in his pockets as he waited for you.

“You know what…I’m not. But uh, no hard feelings?”

“Uh, sure.” He said, watching you leave. 

“Bye Kelvin!’

“It's Kevin!”

“Oops, sorry Kevin. I guess I forgot.”

Renaldo laughed silently, shoulders shaking with amusement as you shared a knowing look.

“Boring,” Rulfio answered dryly. It was his go-to response for any curious layperson that came around asking. There seemed to be this romanticized version of assassins among those who had never taken a life or done wetwork, of amazing feats involving physical prowess or bloody flourishes. Nobody wanted to hear about the boring stakeouts, the architecture blueprints and floorplans, the spying and stalking, the record reading and bookkeeping, building your own tailored equipment, and so, so much silence. When done well, kills happened in seconds and left no trace. Even better if they were set up to be accidents, where someone went down too close to the pier and drowned, or a back alley where an arc pylon wasn't properly shut off. Someone too high on a roof, or falling from a third story balcony. 

Sometimes it wasn't assassinating at all. Sometimes it was stealing, information gathering, or secondary options where a target was neutralized but not outright killed. Sometimes, it was all about the elimination “by any means necessary.” Sometimes, targets were given a fate that made death look like a kindness. 

He didn't tell Misha any of this. He just told him the shortest version possible. A dissuading tactic that typically worked. Typically. 

But still, the doctor was interested (morbidly curious, perhaps?). He made a small noise in his throat, rotating Rulfio's arm. 

“I apologize for the inquiry. I know so very little, since my only glimpses into such a lifestyle have been the comings and goings of Daud. Whenever he shows up, someone is gravely injured and he looks incredibly stricken about it.” 

“Daud is not a good litmus test for the typical assassin.”

“He certainly seems to care quite a bit more than I would expect from the typical assassin.” 

“He does,” Rulfio agreed, as if experiencing a revelation. Under all the violence, Daud was still kind, in an obtuse way. If there was anything that kept Daud Daud, it was his goddamn bleeding heart. “He is still a man, after all.” 

“I suppose I expected you assassins to be… hardened. Disconnected from your work and targets. Like a surgeon and patient.” 

That statement surprised even Rulfio. He watched Misha closely, as the physician finished unwrapping Rulfio's arm to check his sutures. They were still painful and angry, and Rulfio hated how long the line of his gash actually was. Deltoid to forearm, straight through the meat of him. He couldn't even bend at the elbow lest everything pop out of place like shirt buttons.

“I am intrigued by your work,” Misha continued, beginning to replace Rulfio's wrapping, “because it resembles my own. A sharp edge to vulnerable flesh, a necessary dissociation from the person underneath the skin and tissue. When someone is under my scalpel, their life is literally in my hands. Much different of course, to save a life versus taking one, but to know there can be a kindness too… Those are… surprising parallels.” 

Rulfio boggled at the doctor. He was not someone who looked anywhere close to being able to kill a man, and yet, he was right. What stopped a surgeon from killing the person under their blade? A code of ethics, surely. An oath taken to heal instead of harm. But without it, the difference between assassin and surgeon was little more than the intent carrying the sharp edge across skin.

“I'm not sure that likening yourself to people who kill for a living is good for your business model, Doctor.” 

Misha laughed at that, careful hands winding the bandage tight around his sutures. He checked Rulfio's hand, making sure the pressure wasn't too tight.

“No, I suppose it isn't. We'll keep that idea between the two of us. Just a little thought experiment.” He hummed as he worked, pushing Rulfio into thoughtful silence. 

It was a few more minutes of careful work around Rulfio's wounds before he dared to speak again. 

“Did you recognize me from when I visited in the fall? I asked after the man with the dog bite.” The question was soft, encouraging. Misha looked up, studying Rulfio's face. Then, the recognition settled on his features.

“Ah, so that was you. When Daud brought you in, you did look surprisingly familiar but I couldn't place from where. I believe you introduced yourself as someone from the press.” When Rulfio nodded, Misha continued, “Why was an assassin concerned about a man with a dog bite wound? Did you know him?” 

Rulfio opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His fingers flexed painfully until Misha scolded him. 

“The attack looked close to what happened to Daud,” he finally acquiesced. “I was investigating leads.” 

“And what did you find?” 

“That the man you tried to help is dead.”

Rulfio expected shock, surprise. He did not expect the sigh, the nod, the defeated understanding. 

“It was a bad attack. There was nothing I could do to help; I'd never seen anything like it. I didn't want to tell him that, so I just gave him antibiotics and sent him on his way.” A strange expression crossed his features, his brow furrowing as he finished his work and wrote notes on Rulfio's chart. “What concerned me more was that over the winter there was a report from Sokolov of something similar, a cut that never healed and became riddled with infection that would not subside. Very similar symptoms to my patient. I believe he too, was also later found dead.” 

Rulfio swallowed. “Strange symptoms, indeed. If it's similar to what Daud experienced, then he's lucky to be alive.”

Misha gave him a look over his glasses and Rulfio froze up. It was a look that was both questioning and knowing, a look that could tell Rulfio knew something more. He held Misha's gaze until the doctor sighed, going back to his hand. 

“At least five days of bed rest, Assassin Rulfio,” Misha eventually said, and his patient groaned. “I'll bring some books. Hopefully Daud will visit before then.” 

And those five days passed. And Daud was a no show. 

The good news was, Rulfio was healing at a tremendous rate. As the old bandage fell off his arm and revealed his clean sutures for the last time before discharge, Misha made a sound of approval. Quinn even looked surprised, standing behind Misha with fresh bandages in hand.

“Quite remarkable. You are healing better than any past patient I've ever had.”

“Must be those strong Morley genes,” Rulfio joked, but Misha tutted. 

“Or Daud's blood. Now sit still, I have to disinfect the sutures…” 

Rulfio’s body stiffened under Misha's touch. Misha looked up and paled; Rulfio’s face was deadly severe, gaze sharp enough to cut.

“He what?” 

“Donated blood so you wouldn't die. Why? Is there an issue?” 

“I—” his mouth went dry. “I don't know.” He might not know for a month, when he suddenly sprouted fur and fangs and went insane. “Was there an issue?”

Misha patted his patient's arm where it wasn't harmed and laughed nervously, not meeting Rulfio's dangerous eye. “Not that I could see. The only abnormality was his white blood cells were particularly aggressive, fighting off any infection. Your body didn't reject the blood, and you've been healing fast ever since.”

There was white noise buzzing in his head. Daud's blood… a healing remedy? He thought of those horrible, pus-filled marks on his friend's swollen face, his ragged breath as he hid behind the whaler mask. And then— the infection had cleared seemingly overnight and he was just left with scars, shrugging off bolts to the arm and leg, the attacks from the sewer wolf monsters… 

In hindsight, it was a miracle that his sleep dart had worked on Daud at all. 

“I see,” is all he could think to say. His thoughts were reeling, so much so he didn't even notice Misha's suspicious look. The doctor finished wrapping his arm in silence before giving strict instructions. No getting the bandage wet, no sudden movements, keep it stiff in it's splint, don't lift more than 20 pounds…

Rulfio listened from far away. Daud hadn't returned. Even if Rulfio was now discharged, he couldn't go and find Daud himself, not in this state. Sure, he was healing quickly, but there was still another week before he was in any shape to do work. He needed to get help, and fast. 

“And do come back in five days for a bandage change, sooner if they get dirty. Oh, and your medication.” The parcel was pushed into his splinted hand. “Until then, do take care, Sir Rulfio!”

------

“Outsider's ass, Rulfio, what did you do, step on your own spring razor?” 

Rulfio frowned, watching Jordan from where he sat under a nice shaded patio table, looking only mildly out of place, with his stiff arm hidden under his overcoat. Jordan pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, her eyes trailing his hidden wounds and bandaged fingers. The shock was more than noticeable on her face as she watched him placidly enjoy his cup of coffee.

“Order something first before saying something like that, Jordan. Pastries are top notch here, some of the best in town.”

Not up for climbing any rooftops just yet, Rulfio had asked Jordan to meet him at a café in the Downmarket District, not far from either of their respective apartments. He waved over a barista and Jordan ordered an espresso and croissant, her congenial air belying her sharp nature. As soon as the waitstaff was gone, she turned back to Rulfio, eyes concerned and roaming. She leaned over the table, inspecting closer, as if in doing so she'd gain vision powers like Daud and see through his coat sleeve and shirt to the sutures below. 

“Girl, sit down, would ya?” He snarled, nursing his own cup carefully. “It's just a scratch, I'll be fine.” 

“Doesn't look fine. Can you even bend it at the elbow?” 

He shook his head. “Not yet, but it's almost healed up. I'll live and so will my arm. Barely even hurts now.” 

“Like the Void it doesn't,” Jordan said, unconvinced. They brought her coffee and pastry and she spun the plate, the steam rising in the cool spring morning. 

“Was it Daud? Did you find him?”

Her question was soft, concerned. Rulfio flashed her a dangerous look. She had the audacity to look hurt at his anger; he rolled his eyes and pinched at his nose. 

“Daud didn't do this, no.” 

“So you haven't found him, yet?” 

“I did, actually.” Jordan's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her back going ramrod straight as she leaned in, full of intent. Someone else sitting out on the patio gave her a strange look; she clasped at her coffee and carefully sipped it while waiting for Rulfio to continue. 

He sighed, but told her the story. Of how he had tracked him down, finally, after months of both of them worrying. How he had put him on a boat to stop him from running (“Oh Rulf you didn't!” She exclaimed, utterly entertained). How he had come to an agreement with Daud, convinced him to allow him to come along for his current contract. 

“The issue is, we ran into Rinaldo, and that's where this happened.” He wiggled his bad arm at the shoulder for emphasis.

Jordan's eyes widened. “Rinaldo attacked you?” Unless an assassin was a target, most left each other alone; attacking each other was, surprisingly, bad for business. 

“He was after Daud and he tried to use me for information. We had a tussle. I fell out a window. Daud apparently caught me before my guts crunched on the pavement. Got me medical attention so I didn't bleed out.”

“Well, that was kind of him. I bet he wasn't so kind to Rinaldo, though.”

“That's the thing; Rinaldo ran and Daud was too preoccupied with me to chase after him.” 

“So where is he now, then?” She pulled eagerly at her croissant. “Daud, I mean.”

Rulfio looked down, away, and said nothing. Jordan picked up on the connotation. She growled, frustration leaking out as she aggressively popped the torn piece of pastry into her mouth.

“Outsider's cock and balls, he's gone and run off again.” 

(“I have something to attend to.”)

“I don't think it's that,” Rulfio confessed, thoughts far away and eyes on the rooftops where the blue sky dared to poke out from behind the city smog. “I have a bad feeling something happened.” 

“How do you figure? What could possibly happen to him?” 

Rulfio shrugged, ignoring the pain blooming from the action. “Rinaldo was after him. And I think Daud was going to go after Rinaldo.” Rulfio shook his head, unsure of even his own ideas. “If they met up in the middle somewhere, it didn't end pretty. And if Daud hasn't turned up yet, I have a suspicion things went south for him.” 

Jordan's eyebrow raised, her blue eyes narrowing. “And what do you think I can possibly do to help?”

“More than I can,” he said, gesturing to his arm. “Jordan, I'll even give you the coin for it if I must, but I need someone to go out and look for either of them. If Rinaldo was looking for Daud, then he'll probably know that he has an apartment near Slaughterhouse Row. Start there, see if you can't find anything.” 

Jordan chewed thoughtfully, eyes not meeting his, her body hunched in annoyance. Then, she downed the rest of her espresso in one go; if it seared on the way down she didn't let it show.

“200 coin. I'll go look for you. Where can I find you and when?” 

Rulfio's relief was palpable. “I'll be in Draper's Ward at the clinic in two days time. I have to get my sutures out. If you don't find anything by then, just come find me there. It's a small place, easily missed, off the main drag.”

“Draper's Ward clinic, got it. I'll see you then. And Rulfio?” 

“Hm?” 

She hesitated with her words, opening and closing her mouth before eventually looking away. 

“Just take care of yourself better. I'm not ready to think about you disappearing too.” 

“Get out of here, Jordan.” 

And she did, once her croissant and coffee were finished. With grace befitting her profession she slipped into the crowds, leaving Rulfio with the tab and too many thoughts buzzing around his mind.

------

There had never been a more prestigious hit in Rinaldo's career. The gold alone could set him for life, allow him to move anywhere in the Isles if he didn't want to stay in Dunwall. Maybe go home to the mountains of Saggunto, secluded from the rest of the Empire, a quiet place to spend his days. 

The catch was that there had never before been a more dangerous hit in his career, either. 

He could daydream about far off coasts and quiet homes as much as he wanted, but reality was less kind; with every passing moment and each new learned piece of information, killing the assassin named Daud seemed almost next to impossible. 

He wouldn't have believed the rumors either, if he hadn't seen it himself. Tucked away in the shadow of that abandoned apartment, Rinaldo had watched Rulfio pitch out the window, grab for a railing, and then plummet to his doom. Except he didn't; Daud had materialized out of nowhere like a stooped falcon and had somehow pulled Rulfio's body to him, taking the brunt of the damage when they both landed. Rulfio bled out; Daud stood up unscathed. 

And then—Outsider’s eyes—the damned man became a giant furred wolf. He picked up Rulfio like a sack of grapes and took off over the rooftops, disappearing and reappearing so quickly Rinaldo couldn't track him. 

His chest had seized at the sight of such magic, not comprehending what he'd just witnessed. Yes, Brimsley had said something about Daud being cursed, being a heretic, but bleeding ballsacks, nobody had mentioned this. Did Brimsley even know? Did Rulfio? He had needed to rethink his whole strategy in light of this, and had to truly double down on what he could even hope to accomplish. 

On the other hand, 15,000 coin was 15,000 coin. He would find a way. He had to. 

That desperation landed Rinaldo outside of Holger Square two afternoons later, staring up at those imposing stone walls and watching those Abbey banners flap benignly in the breeze. The building was mildly crowded, public practitioners coming and going as they pleased, listening to sermons within the building. Rinaldo watched everyone casually from a shaded pillar, most not paying him any mind. For anyone who did look his way, they only saw a well-dressed and well-groomed Serkonan, long coat and dark scarf covering layers hiding weapons and traps under the illusion of high class. Appearances were important no matter how he presented himself, especially if it stopped nobles from giving them a reason to look down on him due to his dark skin and place of birth. 

He checked his pocketwatch, the image of Dunwall aristocracy, finally lifting off the pillar as the Abbey's clock struck the hour. From out the front door three Overseers— in their grey embroidered robes and gold grimacing masks and long sabres at their waists— appeared, looking around for him. He waved, catching their eye, and, with a quick look around, he went over to them. 

“Gentle Overseers,” he greeted, with a small incline of his head. His voice was velvety deep, his smile easy and nonthreatening. If the Overseers reciprocated the expression, he couldn't tell. Two of them looked him over; the one on the right shifted to look at the others. 

“Are you the one who left the message for the High Overseer?” The first asked gruffly, voice giving away his Tyvian background. Rinaldo held out his arms and smiled. 

“The very same. I think the High Overseer himself would be incredibly interested in what I have discovered. Perhaps the largest piece of heretical behavior seen in the Dunwall for some time.” 

As he spoke, he pulled the contract from Brimsley out of his coat pocket; the lead overseer took it and looked it over, grunting in satisfaction before handing it back to Rinaldo. 

“Seems you are the assassin you claim to be. Come with us; High Overseer Campbell has just finished with his morning liturgy.” The trio led him inside, the expansive walls echoing each footstep even when carpeted. Rinaldo couldn't help but glance around as they walked, memorizing routes, checking the layout of adjacent rooms. Could never be too careful, even in the Abbey, and any good assassin knew their escapes. When one of the overseers saw him looking he just smiled serenely,  adopting the veneer of an avid tourist.

It wasn't long until they stood outside of the office of the High Overseer, Thaddeus Campbell. The overseers knocked before opening the door, nodding for him to proceed. 

“We will wait outside for the meeting to finish. May the Strictures guide you to the end of your dangerous journey.” 

And with that, Rinaldo was inside the prestigious office of the High Overseer, the most powerful man within the Abbey of the Everyman. Campbell sat at his desk, pouring over some notes, barely giving his new guest any immediate attention. 

As was habit, Rinaldo couldn't help but think how easy it would be to kill the High Overseer before anyone realized what had happened, in at least a dozen ways; unfortunately, there were no hits on him, and nobody in their right mind wanted to make an enemy of the Abbey.

Campbell looked up and caught his eye; Rinaldo bowed politely. 

“High Overseer Campbell. A pleasure.”

“Welcome, assassin. Rinaldo, was it?”

“The very same,” was his polite response, practiced and easy. He pulled his contract out and slid it across the table towards Campbell, hoping to get his attention with the Brimsley signature. 

“I know you're a busy man, so I'll cut straight for the whale oil; I have a large, lucrative, and very dangerous contract to fulfill. It's more coin than I need to spend the rest of my days on, and I am willing to part with 5,000 of those coins if the Abbey would be interested in lending their expertise on handling a powerful heretic.”

Campbell put on small readers, skimming the document Rinaldo had procured. Then, he reread it. 

“The assassin Daud… I have not heard that name. You say he's a heretic?”

“With mine own eyes, I watched him transform his body into something unholy and chaotic, taking off over the rooftops at night. I believe the folktales called them wolfbanners. I'm sure you're familiar with the stories.”

“A true whale-wolf in Dunwall? I had heard rumors they existed, but nobody willing to try and catch one. They're nigh unkillable, so if you want to survive, capture will be necessary.”

“The hope is to deliver him to Brimsley. They seem to have… ways to suppress the monster's power.”

“As do we.” Campbell smiled, folding the contract back to Rinaldo and pulling out a small black book, writing something down. “Tell me where and how you wish to strike, and I will lend you my men.”

Rinaldo bowed deep at the waist. 

“Thank you for your assistance in this matter, High Overseer. I'll be sure to make it worth your effort.”

The grin fixed upon Campbell's face was positively wicked for a holy man.

“I have no doubt it will be.” 

------

They were killing a whale in the slaughterhouse.

One would think this statement obvious; a slaughterhouse, by definition, is a building of death, where livestock is taken to be subsequently killed. But in reality the name of “Slaughterhouse” in this case is a misnomer; it would be more accurate to call the buildings processing houses, where whales caught at sea were also killed at sea and then brought in to be broken down into blubber, meat, bone, and oil. It was more common for the whales to be alive on the Wrenhaven, crying their songs, before being silenced by the time their huge bodies were hoisted along the pulley ramps, ready to be broken down into its more useful components. 

But tonight, the whale was dying. 

It was dying, and Daud could feel every painful and somber cry dig down into his core, his whole body shivering under the onslaught of sound. 

The song had found him in his sleep, pulled him out of his chilled dreams into feverish reality, the keening of the whale reaching him in his apartment, calling to his soul. He wasn't part of the whale's pod, the family far away at sea, but still his eyes watered and he understood, on an intimate level, that this mattered to him too. 

He fought against the pull, of course. He had other things to worry about right now; Rulfio had almost died and Rinaldo, another assassin, was waiting for him to slip up and expose himself. He didn't have time to give thought to a dying whale and yet here he was, hearing the call and feeling himself fall apart because of it. 

So just a quick glance, he surmised. Perhaps this was some test the Outsider  wanted Daud to take, some lesson in understanding what it was really like when a whale of the world became a whale of the Void. He hated it, hated the phantom taste of oil on his tongue but still, he transversed out his open window, leaving the apartment buildings behind in favor of climbing up the warehouse roof, slithering in through a cracked window to observe silently from the rafters. 

As soon as he entered the slaughterhouse proper, he was mired. Every step felt like diving into deeper and deeper into the ocean, the pressure closing on his temples like a vice. Claws grew just to cling to the metal, steadying shaking arms. Every breath felt like a ragged gasp, a desperate gulp before the waves plunged down to swallow him whole. 

The whale's death was unlike anything he'd experienced before. Air turned to water in the wake of its Void-laced cries, and the maelstrom it created beat against his soul. Somehow above all of the groaning and wailing, he could still hear the whirring of blades, the heavy voices of individuals hiding behind whaler masks. The whale shrieked and Daud's vision when spotty; his body shuddered, as if the wolf in him threatened to tear away from his body entirely. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong. This whale wasn't just dying… it was being tortured. The butchers carving it away and making it last, all while the whale screamed around them.

Daud’s teeth grew long in his mouth and slowly, agonizingly, he followed the cries further in. Calling for the Void was as easy as breathing here; the veil was so thin he could just reach out and grasp it, as if the whole warehouse had passed into the Void and nobody yet had realized. Tugging on that power caused his whole arm to transform when all he wanted was to see. And there; his vision extended into the furthest corners of the building, illuminating the massive body of the whale, a huge shining star in a sea of voidstone. Its body was massive in his sight, a thrashing, rumbling, shrieking creature, dripping blood from its cavernous stomach as butcher and whaler alike carved away at its flesh. They worked like men possessed, slashing and shouting, and laughing…

The whale's calls reverberated deep in his mind and he snarled in response. The sound was deep, rumbling, a terrifying ripple of sound slicing through the Void—but no one heard him over the roar of their butcher blades, the cries of the whale. 

Maybe if they had heard the warning, what happened next may have never passed. But they didn't know how to hear. And as he melted into the shadows with his body and eyes burning, they never saw it coming either. 

Daud hit the first butcher like a bullet. 

Body more wolf than man, more Void than flesh, he wrapped around the body, arm on throat and claws on head as the neck was twisted with a sickening crunch. The whaler exclaimed as the butcher’s body went limp, his hands still on the now uncontrolled saw. The motorized blade swung; the Whaler's arm went flying off. They screamed as blood poured from the wound, shaking the air, joining the voidsong already present. Other workers tried to avoid the puppeted body and blade, running and shouting orders, trying to flee the scene. But the living shadow of Daud wasn't done with the corpse yet; his focus pinpointed and he lined up the swing.

The butcher's body and sawblade were tossed effortlessly, landing in the stomach of another sorry individual. The blade kept rotating; the guts went flying as if in a wood mulcher, filling the air with blood and viscera and screams.

Panic spread. Workers were running, butchers brandishing their saws, looking for a fight. All of them cursed the whale, the ghosts, the Outsider. If they even saw him, nobody said anything about it.

The furious wraith of Daud wavered, lurching like a possessed puppet. 

Then, with a whisper, he blinked out of existence. 

A whaler had their mask ripped off, their body tossed so hard it landed against the side of the whale, broken. Two more bodies were eviscerated, reduced to ribbons, before the whaler’s body even hit the floor. He reappeared for a split second, claws shoved into a man's heart, lifting him bodily from the floor, only to disappear and then reappear to slice someone clean in half with a blade saw. 

He spun; blood followed. 

A single butcher remained, throwing sparks and brandishing his deadly metal weapon but Daud just danced around it, body more water than flesh, hitting his prey with the force of the rising tide. His jaws, now long and sharp and filled with teeth, grabbed the man's head and shook; like a rat in the maw of a terrier, the butcher's body went limp, limbs broken and life extinguished. 

He dropped the body unceremoniously, tossing it away in disgust. His whole body heaved, vibrating in time with the Voidsong that hung so heavy in the air. His size was no longer contained by his silhouette; his body grew with each breath, elongating in unnatural ways. 

Still, the whale sang and cried. He felt a rib crack in his chest, two, expanding with his huge lungs. Cold surrounded his heart like it was resting in the palm of the Leviathan itself, squeezing in time with his heartbeat. He turned to the whale, body covered in the filth of humanity, and for a long second, they studied each other. 

The whale keened. Pleaded. 

Please. 

It squeezed at his heart again and again and again. 

Daud gave the whale reverence. Still under the spell of the Voidsong he leveled his huge body with the whale, listening, finding its own heart, the rhythm pounding through its massive veins. There was even stronger magic there, in the lifeblood flowing out of the huge beast, its heart connected to the cold nothingness of the other side. 

Carefully, guided by a will that was not his own, his claws and teeth dug into the gaping stomach, searching, finding that most vital artery and ripping it asunder. 

The whale shrieked as blood gushed from the internal wound, pouring out like a breaking dam, nearly drowning Daud before he could pull himself back out of the chest cavity. As he broke free of the whaleblood the last of the Voidsong left the creature, a soft thankful warble before it fully, blissfully, crossed over. 

And then suddenly, all at once, the spell was lifted from his body. 

Daud fell to his knees, gasping and coughing, wolfish features fleeing into the wind as he fought for control over his own limbs. Sweat mixed with the dirt and blood and organs and he replayed everything that just happened. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, what came over him; it was as if the whale had gripped him, had grabbed his whole being and pointed him like a pistol, aimed directly at those attacking it. He could've sworn it was his own decision, but the attacks had been a blur of fury, of seeing red and moving with swift purpose. He could feel the Void filling him, mind, body and soul. 

He— 

He swallowed hard, fist clenching against the metal floor, the too-loud splash of blood splattering against the ground, filling his ears. He wanted to vomit and scream. He settled for a gasping breath and a coughing fit. 

He had lost his mind— not in the figurative sense, where someone incredulously asked if a stupid idea really was as stupid as it sounded. No, this was his mind fleeing, the Void overtaking everything else. Was it because of the whale? It had to be. He wasn't losing his grip that much, had been completely sane when at the Academy, when talking to Rulfio, when—

All thought ceased as pain lanced through his skull like a bullet.

No, daggers. 

It had to be. Someone had thrown daggers into his head, into his neck, his back, his limbs, pinning him down. 

He screamed, rolling up tight, every inch of his body suddenly on fire as if hit with an incendiary bolt. He breathed; glass filled his lungs. He moved; his joints flared and pulled bone against bone. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, could barely see, the world warping around him even worse than when the Void was here, drowning him, suffocating… 

But this wasn't suffocating. It was just pain and he could work through pain, his body would right itself, he just needed to— needed…

There were voices in his ears, somewhere far away. Growling out something evil, he struggled to his feet as a horrible, warping sound filled his senses. Movement at the edge of his sight; his head jerked, seeing two, three, four men filing in. Men in golden, grimacing masks and grey overcoats with embroidered sleeves. 

And on their bodies, some strange, brass boxes, being cranked and turned and sending out a soul-shattering sound. 

He bared his teeth, trying to will his legs to move, even as the men shouted and pushed in harder. He couldn't think, could hardly breathe, and when he called for the Void under his thick glove, it fled from him, swept away by the current of that discordant noise. 

“Incredible,” he heard a muffled voice say, “that he can resist the Ancient Music so strongly.” He memorized that voice, determined to find it and kill it when he was free. He took a threatening step; two of them backed away in fear. 

He smiled at them, vicious. Oh, he'd kill them, alright. He didn't need his gifts from the Outsider to end these bastards. His hand went for the blade at his side. 

Another blade skewered his hand in place, slicing through. 

Daud jerked, his eyes widening and his anger boiling anew as Rinaldo appeared in front of him, dominating his vision. He couldn't see Rinaldo's face where it was hidden behind its black fencing mask, but he could smell the man, knew his mind was right behind that paltry shield. He would know everything about him, how to destroy him from the inside out, if only he could reach his thoughts before —

Another stab with the rapier, on the pressure point of his shoulder and arm. And another, to his chest, to his stomach. Blood spilled; Daud noticed too late he was not healing. Panic threatened to override anger and Daud lunged, landing a punch despite everything stacked against him. Rinaldo staggered; Daud hit him again, pushing him to the floor. 

“You fucking asshole! You call Overseers to do your dirty work?” His voice held so much power despite the pain and the debilitating music that never ended. “You will die, Rinaldo Escobar! I'll make sure of it! I'll —” 

But then there was another body on his, and then another, pounding and slicing him into submission. The music closed in, dulling his senses, making his blows weak, and finally, against everything, Daud relented. They held him pressed into the cold floor, limbs twisted back against his spine.

“Shall we kill the heretic, sir?” One of the overseers asked, and even against the haze, he hated them. 

Rinaldo sounded awful when he replied. “No, no, he's wanted elsewhere. Pack him up, and keep the music on him. This rabid dog isn't going anywhere but into a cage.” 

Rough hands scooped him up and even still, he growled in defiance of all of them.