The atmosphere was warm. In one of the private rooms of a popular nightclub the chandelier above cast soft light across rows of expensive glass bottles lining the walls. Liquor, wine and rare beers glimmered behind polished shelves. The stage for tonight's business was set between two parties seated at a long mahogany table.
On one end sat a shadowed figure in a grey suit. His eyes were hidden beneath the fall of his hair, the soft ember of his cigar glowing each time he drew in a breath. Plumes of smoke curled upward and were quietly filtered away. He remained silent, unreadable, the smoke framing him like a curtain.
On the opposite side a group of men crowded around a short, stocky figure. He was a bald, bearded man with gold trimmed glasses and fingers heavy with rings. His voice carried a sharp edge of irritation as he glared at the smoking man. Beside him sat a seductive woman with ample curves and an impeccable red dress. She crossed her legs, leaned forward and activated the small projector on the table.
A holographic image flickered into existence. It showed the Knight Nathaniel holding the unconscious form of the arsonist. The media had already named it the Angel Incident. The footage zoomed in, centering on the mangled state of the arsonist. Their injuries were severe. Their arms were gone, reduced to charred stumps. The room tightened as the image froze on that detail.
The short man at the table cleared his throat and introduced himself as Theodore Herod. He looked furious. The kind of fury that simmered beneath the skin. Yet he was powerless. Money was his only advantage and even that had limits. Finding the right people was difficult, but not impossible. Some lived for blood. Some lived for debts. Some simply wanted a reason to fight. Going against the Association would never be easy, he thought, as the footage shifted behind him.
The display now showed a detailed damage report on the arsonist's body. Extreme heat trauma. Nerve destruction in both arms. Multiple broken bones from an impact force that should have shattered a normal man. Mild hemorrhaging in the skull as if his head had been curb stomped from the inside. Theodore's expression soured further. His brother Thomas had gone out on one of his usual reckless excursions. The idiot got caught. He was still locked up in an Association cell and he was hurt badly. Theodore did not like that.
That mucker burned his brother's arms to ash and the bastard was flame resistant to a degree. Theodore wanted the debt collected. No one hurt his image. No one maimed his bloodline. His voice carried a bitter snarl as he addressed the man across the table.
Ivo smirked. He tapped the ash from his cigar and let the spent thing drop into a tray. He held out his hand. Payment first. A briefcase of cash slid across the polished surface and stopped in front of him. Ivo cracked it open, glanced at the neatly stacked bills, then looked past Theodore into the shadows.
Two individuals stood there. One was a tall blonde male with a thick beard, built like a siege wall, wearing heavy dark armor similar to Ivo's casual gear. The other was a smaller female wrapped in a black cloak that hung around her like a living shadow. Their presence filled the room with an unspoken pressure.
Ivo looked back at Theodore.
At your price range you only qualify for these two and the squads under them. Understand.
The blonde man unscrewed a stainless steel flask and took a slow drink. The polished metal reflected the warm room lights as Theodore lowered his gaze to inspect their emblems. A steel spade. The mark of the Black Order. Hired assassins and mercenaries who took contracts no one else wanted.
Ivo spoke again, his voice cool and level.
The deposit covers the attempt. The footage will be sent to you when the attack happens, so do not fret.
He closed the briefcase with a soft click and slid it aside.
The rest of the payment comes after the deed is done. The sum you have given us is twenty five percent of what is owed. Keep the rest until we finish.
He rose from his seat. The tall blonde mercenary followed with heavy steps, the smaller cloaked woman drifting silently behind him. Neither spared Theodore a glance as the trio left the private room. The door shut behind them with a quiet thud.
The chandelier light continued its slow glitter over the empty chairs and untouched glasses. Theodore remained seated, his breathing steady but his eyes burning with spite as he stared at the frozen hologram. Nathaniel's figure remained locked on the display, holding the unconscious, mutilated man.
Theodore leaned back, hands clasping together.
He had set the wheels in motion. Now all he could do was wait.