𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩

Right to business, she can appreciate that.

Seeing the gashes on her patients forearm she let out a small ‘hum’ and the state of it. It looked shitty, most wounds to, but her suspicion that he had tried to do it himself was basically confirmed.

“Doing stitches with one hand is hard, i understand.” 

She’s well practiced, and she makes quick work of the gash, her stitches pretty and well spaced.

“Any other wounds i should stitch up?” she asks, looking over the assassin to try and find any other wounds.

Javier restlessly drummed his fingers against his leg as she stitched up his forearm. “There wouldn’t happen to be a way to make it easier, would there?” It was nothing against her or the way she patched him up — in fact she was far more tolerable than the last person that had to tend to his wounds and all their endless questions. It simply boiled down to Javier preferring to do things on his own and not having to rely on others.

“Yeah, the little shit got me here too.” He huffed as he lifted his shirt up slightly to reveal another angry looking wound on the right side of his back. He could feel his frustration with the events that put him in his current situation start to creep back up. “How long do you think it’s going to take for these to heal up?” Some said revenge was a dish best served cold, but with the exception of one special case, Javier disagreed — the sooner he got rid of that second-rate hero, the better.

Simon turned to look at Javier, and when he was given an answer, he nodded. He specialized in getting information and, seeing as he’d done nothing to make himself very popular within the Continental ( quite the opposite really - if he could take more steps to get people to dislike him, he surely would ). There were, of course, other ways for people to get almost the same, or very similar, information that Simon could. Most of the time, anyway. But he still found, in his own professional experience, that getting information from the source worked best.

“I’ll see what I can do,” He nodded. “But I don’t do this for free - this isn’t, like, some side hobby of mine,” He considered it quite the opposite of a hobby, if there was such a thing. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of their personal affects, would you? A shirt or…a picture that was important to them?” He asked. “Something they physically touched. It’s a little easier to, you know, reach out to someone if you have something they recognize.”

A simple ‘thanks’ and ‘you’ll be compensated’ would’ve worked just fine, but the specialist’s people skills were lacking to say the least. “Yeah, no shit.” Javier highly doubted anyone in their line of work would do anything for free — which was valid, it wasn’t as if he was going around doing things out of the kindness of his heart either. As long as he wasn’t indebted to anyone, he couldn’t care less. “You’re obviously going to get a cut of the reward if you can get the information I need.”

Javier would’ve preferred doing the job without any assistance, but he swallowed his pride after spending hours rooting around in the deceased’s apartment and coming up with nothing to point him in the right direction. At this point he just wanted to be done with this whole mess so he could move onto the next job. “Here,” He pulled out a ring from his pocket and handed it to Simon. “I found it tucked away in his apartment so I’m assuming it meant something to him.” His original plan was to pawn it so rummaging through the man’s apartment wasn’t a complete waste of time, but this worked too.

Selda had learned to keep levelheaded out of necessity. Her enhanced vision couldn’t spot snipers from six-hundred meters out if her focus was on staring daggers into the new talent’s skull.  She hoped the newbie realized how lucky he was – that neither Herlock or Phantom had abandoned him to the wolves. “More of them than I’ve got bullets,” she noted. “The meat shield isn’t such a bad idea.”

She gauged her chances of survival if she risked running into the open, pilfering weaponry off fallen opponents. “Thought I was plenty prepared, but clearly not enough for this shit show.” The woman swiveled, steady arms shooting out like lightning as she shot a round through the barrel of a gunman’s weapon to jam it. Her precision was legendary, but her legacy could easily end with one lucky shot from the enemy’s end.    

“Captain Dipshit come armed? There is no real reason our future meat shield needs a gun,” she said. Selda fired a quick shot with one hand, then impatiently held out the other for weaponry. “Hand it over, small fry,” she said. “You take orders from Phantom now, while I keep the rest of you from looking like a fucking Connect Four.” 

“You and me both.” It figured that the amateur team either didn’t take the time to thoroughly gather intel on what they’d be up against or they did and then failed to communicate it to the rest of the team, leaving everyone underprepared. Neither would surprise him — problems like that were expected with newer teams. It didn’t make it any less frustrating though. 

The newer recruit looked at Javier as if waiting for his permission to hand over the weapon. “Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s not like you’re going to use it anyway. And if you did, I think you’d somehow only manage to shoot one of us.” It was getting increasingly harder to keep his temper in check during this mess. 

For perhaps only the second time during the job, the rookie did as he was told, sparing him from more snarky comments from Javier — at least for the time being. “We’ll slip out the back and I’ll try to round up the rest of the crew, assuming they haven’t gotten themselves killed yet. Meet us there when you can and we’ll see how salvageable this job is and go from there.” He started to drag off their incompetent associate once more. “Fingers crossed we catch a lucky break and have a driver that will get us the hell out of here in one piece.”

The Zambia Emerald of Bastet was fabled to contain the soul of Bastet, the goddess’ essence distilled into the jewels blueish hue. It was a gorgeous relic, its beauty multiplied in Dottie’s eyes by having once belonged to Cleopatra. Selling relics that were associated with her – let alone, belonged to her – was like printing money.  If there were fortunes to be found, then Dottie was never far behind.

However, her ‘simple heist’ had snowballed out of control. Apparently, the emerald was the sacred object of a matriarchal death cult, who was at odds with an organized crime group. MI6 had gotten involved. Like usual, they made an embarrassment of themselves by fumbling their whole operation. Dottie hadn’t anticipated living through a b-list spoof of an Indiana Jones movie, but she wouldn’t be surprised if a solar powered doomsday weapon were unveiled next.

Metal handcuffs clipped her wrists to an overhead pipe. Her elegant bouffant updo, glossy as the mulberry silk of her red dress, helped to obscure her wrists. An acidic, metal-eating fungus was slowly weakening the chain of her restraints. Hopefully, it finished the job before she were either assassinated or ritually sacrificed. “Is this any way to treat a lady?” she huffed. The heavily armed guard assigned to her smirked. Dottie threw a feeble struggle, squirming and swearing to keep the attention of the guard from focusing on the cuffs.

The door opened with a clang. A second guard ushered in another hostage, and Dottie craned to get a good look at their face. Was that Javier? What was he doing mixed up in such a mess? Even in the worst of circumstances, she wasn’t going to reveal her hand and mention the emerald to her competition. “So, what were you after?” she asked, winking. “The death cult, the mobsters, or MI6?”

Okay, this looked bad. But he had a plan...well, sort of. With all the unexpected chaos the person who hired him failed to mention, his original plan was quickly get tossed out the window and he had to quickly adjust to making shit up as he went along. It wasn’t ideal, but he learned to work with what he had and at this moment what he had was some meathead dragging him along ‘in custody.’ The way he saw it, this was just a free escort inside that gave all parties the impression he was now out of the equation. Minus the few initial hiccups, things looked like they might run smoothly from here on out.

Or at least that’s what he thought before locking eyes on a familiar face. He didn’t even know why he was surprised — with all the cartoonish turns this evening was taking, this just made sense. “Right.” He peered around the guard that was busy putting the uncharacteristically cooperative specialist in the same position as Dottie. “Because telling you why I’m here, especially in front of Tweedledee and Tweedledum, sounds like a great idea that definitely won’t somehow backfire on me.” 

Javier twisted his body, the best he could in his uncomfortably tight restraints, as if to childishly signify he was done humoring any kind of conversation with his fellow hostage. In reality, he was simply trying to get a better view of his surroundings and survey the room for anything that could be used to quietly deal with their glorified babysitters. While there were a few useful things laying around, the fact that both guards were armed well was going to be an issue. The chances that one wouldn’t starting firing while he was dealing with the other were low. This evening just kept getting better and better.

“So is MI6 kill on sight or do you plan on sticking them in here too? Because if that’s the case, I think you’re going to run out of pipe. I mean, you did see the group of them crawling out of that clown car while bringing me here, right? No?” He let out a low whistle, “I can’t picture your boss being thrilled about them pouring in here like rats.” While the two turned to talk amongst themselves about what to do, Javier glanced back at Dottie. As much as he’d rather not enlist her help, even temporarily, it might be the smarter choice given their predicament — the enemy of my enemy or whatever. He made a few subtle gestures as if to ask her if she had her restraint problem under control or if she was going to need a hand.

“I do remember, the rumor mill buzzing… over the Phantom.” His eyebrow twitched in amusement, “It was inexplainable as if you weren’t even in the vicinity. A ghost… and entirely impressive, now that it comes to mind. I dare say it was one of the cleanest jobs we’ve had.” He was already indicating to that bartender, with a sly wink, to place the other’s drink upon the complimentary list of beverages for that night. “Business must be booming for you.”

“I imagine it’s become a signature of yours.” Removing the squared spectacles from the bridge of his nose, he twirled them in interest and intrigue. The cracked hands which held the delicate frames moved in a slight impatience for the full story, but a reluctance since he knew of the capabilities. “Loyalty, they must have learned, can be an intangible thing when it comes to the public. Such a horrid lesson.”

“There was no point in making things messier than necessary just for a spectacle.” Javier wasn’t one to sacrifice efficiency for his own entertainment when it came to business. Personal matters, on the other hand, were different — he’d absolutely put on a showy display just to make his revenge all the more satisfying. “If that’s my signature, I’m not going to complain. Rather that than something that can more easily get linked back to me and get Interpol up my ass.”

The specialist took a drink as he thought over the concept of loyalty. “I think he might’ve already known that.” Past experiences taught him that loyalty could change in a blink of an eye for anyone without rhyme or reason. It was hard to imagine someone in the public eye unaware of how fickle loyalty was. “His problem, in my opinion, was his overconfidence in his security team and protocols.”

open to anyone!

on the grounds of the continental

—

Being on medic duty wasn’t the best thing Mercy could do with her time. Though the administration records office was completely reorganized by her…. [it was a 5 day process she is insanely proud of the results.] Needless to say she was a little restless in her new home. Sitting casually at the table with other medics, she sipped her tea as a receptionist walks into the dimly lit break room.

“Room 602, specifically asked for Mercy.”

“Are you sure they weren’t begging for Mercy?” a doctor piped up as Malaika stood.

“Hilarious.” She groaned. 

Quietly leaving, she grabbed her doctors bag and made her way up to the room. Looking through the ajar door she lock eyes with the person inside.

“You called?”

That do-gooder was living on borrowed time. It was bad enough the wannabe hero interrupted him in the middle of a job, but nullifying his power and inflicting a few injuries? Unforgivable. Javier was going to kill the pest the next time he had the misfortune of running into him. Unfortunately revenge was going to have to wait until his wounds were closed at the very least.

As if on cue, the medic he called for arrived. “Right, I have a few gashes I can’t stitch up on my own.” He purposefully left out that he had tried to mere moments ago and only ended up making the wounds look worse than they originally did. “Nothing that serious, hence why I didn’t bother fussing with the recovery room.”

“I might be able to do something for you next week - emphasis on maybe. I’m still trying to gather information for a much bigger client. I am sorry to hear that you…choked on a billiard ball but -” And despite the fact that Simon, to most, appeared to be speaking to no one, his words paused as if to let another speak. “Yes, I understand you’ve been waiting since 1893, but if you have nothing to offer then I -” He’d felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and when Simon turned he noticed he’d caught the attention of others ( something he’d unfortunately become used to ) “Sorry, I’m in the middle of a business meeting, am I bothering you?” He pointed to himself and the air just next to him. “If you’re here because you need me to make a call for you,” ( which is what Simon liked to refer to his little side business as. Calling sounded a bit better than summoning your dead relative or speaking to some gang member who died for more intel ) “…Or if you’re trying to get other information, then –” He paused again, looked from the person, then towards the air, then back towards the person once more. “…Actually, I believe my time might be better spent with you. Was it information you were looking for? Or did you need to speak with someone?”

Javier didn’t mean to stare, it was just that he had a special interest in Simon’s abilities. A face and a plethora of memories always shoved their way to the front of his mind at the thought of speaking to someone who was nothing more than a memory now. But as tempting as it was to ask to hold a conversation with the deceased, the request never managed to make its way pass his throat. It was better that way though, right? It kept his personal life private and it meant he didn’t have to face the fact that he wasn’t much closer to getting his vengeance than he was several years back.

“Information.” He snapped himself out of his thoughts and quickly shifted his focus on business. “Apparently my mark offed one of his assistants recently and I can’t imagine they’re too happy about it so I’m hoping they can offer the location of a safehouse." He figured it went without saying that Simon would be get a cut of the reward if he was able to get the information needed. 

“Who has good recommendations for a dentist?” she asked. “I think my tooth filling is lifting, and it’s messing with my shot.” Selda wasn’t usually so talkative, preferring to slip on a pair of industrial-looking headphones and blow out her eardrums. What she listened to didn’t matter, so long as it was loud enough to drown out the absurdity of whatever underdog crew had roped her into trouble. However, her headphones had been destroyed in a scuffle she still hadn’t forgiven her comrades for.

Selda sucked on her tooth, then drew her Smith & Wesson revolver to fire two shots. The first shot incapacitated the enemy. The second shot sailed through the bullet hole she’d made to hit a second target, who collapsed before they even had time to shout. Chin tilted upwards, her sight narrowed in on the new foes infiltrating the area. They poured in, an endless stream of opponents that would gladly take her alive or dead.

“Like motherfucking baby spiders,” she whistled. “All hatching from the same egg or some shit. What’s the new game plan?”

Javier loathed working with people who didn’t know what the hell they were doing, but it was unfortunately part of being a specialist. “Well that’s just great. Once again you’ve proven how useless you are.” He snapped at the lower-level crewmember before dragging him through a few walls to meet back up with the others only to be met with the appearance of multiple opponents. Of course things were going to shit out here too. Fantastic.

The crewmember Javier was still holding by the back of the shirt (simply to extend his intangibility to keep the fool from getting shot) opened his mouth to say something in response to Selda’s question. “We could-” The specialist was in no mood to hear whatever dumbass solution the other thought of and was quick to cut him off, “You’ve lost your right to have any input on this job. If I have to hear another word from you, I’m using you as a meat shield.” 

Javier turned his attention to the only other competent person on the job, “Captain Dipshit here let our mark escape so there’s no point in hanging around. It’d be smarter to fall back and attempt to catch up with the mark, if that’s even possible now.”