#tony001

It was unfortunate, really, that Carrington was about to end this man’s life. ‘This man’ being the one that had just entered the nightclub across the street from where Carrington waited. He was perched on the second floor of a boarded up clothing shop, boots resting on the windowsill as he had waited on his mark to show up. His optics had picked the man out of the crowd with little to no trouble. 

Carrington waited a few minutes, making sure the man didn’t come back out, before dropping his feet to the floor. He stood, stretching all six foot and three inches of himself out after sitting for so long. Down the stairs and out the back. Stop to smoke a cigarette on the sidewalk. Flick it away. Jog across the street. Go inside, up the stairs, find the man again. 

Act like you’re already a bit drunk, buy another drink, flirt with the bartender. All while never assuming the mark wasn’t 100% aware of who you were and why you were there. Especially this mark. Ex-Spectre operative with more of his file redacted than legible. That in itself had peaked Carrington’s curiosity. And upped his price for taking the man out. His client had agreed, and as soon as half the money was where it needed to be - the other half would be received on proof of mission completed - Carrington had set out. It had taken a bit of time, a fair bit longer than usual, but finally Carrington tracked him down.

It was unfortunate, really, as he’d thought before. Anyone who’d said ‘fuck the Corps’ and gone rogue was the kind of person Carrington wanted on his side. Not the kind of person he wanted to be killing. But oh well. It was just business. Carrington wasn’t here to make friends. Not today at least. He downed his drink and ordered another, a quick roll of his fingers assuring him that his augmentations were in working order. They always were, but Carrington was a creature of habit at times. His weapons were his lifeline. His livelihood. He had to be certain. Always. 

When it was apparent the man wasn’t getting up to leave anytime soon, Carrington eventually made his way over. He slid into the chair opposite, leaned back in his seat, and proceeded to fix the other man with a heavy, yet oddly curious, look. “You’re a hard man to find. Though I guess you know that already,” Carrington said, fingers steepling over the top of his glass where it sat on the table.