"Man has schemed since the beginning, yet it all inevitably ends... in their ruin." — The White Regent.
———
Rainer suddenly sucked in a deep, ragged breath, as if he'd been drowning.
He blinked away the lingering tears as his vision cleared to reveal Rommel's face gazing down at him. The brilliant night sky behind him was a soulful backdrop.
Not far away, the rhythmic crash of waves mingled with the distant, muffled roar of a celebration.
Rainer looked around, they were nestled in a narrow canyon between towering cargo containers, their exact location obscured, but the smell of salt, rust, and stagnant seawater confirmed they were deep within the docks.
Rommel's brow was furrowed with concern. "You good?"
Rainer wiped his face with a sleeve, clearing his throat. "Ye-yeah. Help me up."
Rommel gripped his forearm and hauled him to his feet. He then scanned their surroundings, his frown deepening.
There was no door, no shimmering portal—just the cold, industrial reality of the waterfront.
"Witchery?" he scoffed, a note of genuine disbelief in his voice. "That Englishman wasn't kidding."
Rainer took a moment to center himself, his eyes widening with a dawning, unsettling feeling. "Mm. Strange. Really strange, but not impossible in a normal world, I suppose."
His gaze was then drawn toward the sound of the festivities, blocked by a wall of steel.
"Hey, give me a lift. We need a higher vantage point."
Rommel nodded, linking his palms together.
With a coordinated push and a grunt of effort, Rainer scrambled up the side of the container, his fingers finding purchase on the cold, corrugated steel.
Turning, he balanced himself and reached down, hauling up their duffel bags before offering a hand to pull Rommel up.
A moment later, they lay flat on their stomachs, the cold steel leaching warmth through their clothes as they surveyed the chessboard of shadows and sodium lights about the dock.
The vast dock stretched out before them, meeting an endless, dark sea that crashed in lazy waves against the pylons.
Sparse overhead lamps cast long, fractured beams across the salt-worn concrete. And to one side, mountains of containers stood near terminals and warehouses, the skeletal silhouettes of cranes cutting into the moonlit sky.
But their focus was on the wide concrete clearing before them that led up to a building perched beside the water.
It glowed with colorful, festive lights; a stark anomaly in the industrial gloom.
From within bloomed cheers, raucous laughter, and the rhythmic thumps of loud music.
Rainer squinted, counting the silhouettes moving past the tall windows. "Hm. Eighty... ninety-ish men?"
Rommel pulled out the folder, unfolding a map of the docks annotated with cryptic scribbles.
"That's a lot of gangsters. I guess we need a plan then," he muttered, disappointed that they couldn't just run wild.
"Birthdaaay paaaarty," Rainer enunciated, reading the banner strung across the bar's front.
"No wonder we were called up so suddenly. This is quite an opportunity. That Messmer's really something, not gonna lie."
Rommel grunted in agreement. "Yeah. She's one scary bitch. I heard her whole team specializes in covert operations and infiltrations."
Rainer tugged the map over.
"I'm liking her even more now. I mean, look at that." He gestured toward the vibrant bar. "They're like fish in a barrel."
Rommel groaned. "Too many fishes. How do you think we'll fare head-on?"
"Yeah, we'd be mincemeat," Rainer surmised, his eyes not leaving the map as he asked. "Did you get some grenades, by the way?"
Rommel glanced at his bag. "Only picked up two. You?"
"I brought a boombox, two handguns, and a mask."
Rommel let out a disgruntled groan, looking away.
"Right. I almost forgot you were brain-damaged."
"Ease up, Rommel," Rainer smirked. "I have enough rounds for twice their numbers."
His finger traced a line on the map.
"Amongst all the useless data: dock layouts and shipment data, the folder contained some actual info of value... Like the location of a large box of dynamites, keys to certain heavy machinery, and which door locks have been tampered with for easy passage."
Rommel's gaze tracked deeper into the dock's labyrinth to the side. "Do you suggest we get some dynamite?"
"Some?" Rainer scoffed, a dangerous light kindling in his eyes. "No, Rommel. The whole damn box!"
A sharp, predatory smile slowly tugged at his lips as he explained.
"Our big shots want us to make a scene. There's no need to hold back, so why don't we rock the city?"
"The whole box? It'll be heavy." Rommel mused on it, the tactical part of his mind engaging. "We can raise it with a forklift, then rig a grenade next to the box, set to trigger upon impact with something..."
As he spoke, Rainer nodded, his grin widening. A small smile also began to form on Rommel's face as the plan took shape.
"Then the forklift can be sent driverless, carting the rigged box of explosives straight into the bar, then—"
"Boom!" Rainer's hands spread out dramatically, illustrating the cataclysm.
"After that, we pack up and leave before their reinforcements can arrive," Rommel concluded.
Rainer nodded with a fierce gleam in his eyes. "Then it'll be mission accomplished!"
That said, he reached out a fist toward his partner.
"Gotta admit, we make a great team. Don't we?"
Rommel glanced at the fist, then looked away, rolling his eyes.
"Save that optimism for after we've actually done it, punk."
Even as he said that, his own clenched fist came up to knock against Rainer's.
Rainer's triumphant grin was short-lived, however, as an anomaly entered the field.
"Huh? Who's that?"
They watched as a group of men escorted a young woman toward the bar. She was dressed in an absurdly frilly maid outfit—a sexy ensemble, but a costume of humiliation to some.
Rommel's expression pinched with distaste.
"A whore, perhaps?"
Suddenly, the woman broke from her escorts, making a desperate dash for freedom. But she was hounded down in seconds and dragged back toward the bright bar with brutal efficiency.
"Doesn't seem like a willing one," Rainer remarked, his voice losing its earlier levity.
That said, he turned to Rommel, his expression uncertain. "...Should we adjust the plan?"
Rommel's face hardened into a mask of grim pragmatism.
"This is the best plan we've got, Rainer. I'm not risking myself just for some random whore!"
There was a finality in his voice that was hard to bend.
"..." Rainer turned back to the bar.
He saw the woman's struggles grow weaker, her fate eventually sealed as she was carried into the building.
Rainer squinted, then let out a long sigh, his eyes softening with a resolve that seemed to come from somewhere deep but lost.
"It might not be that simple, Rommel." He stated.
Rommel became furious, and his head snapped toward Rainer.
"Oh, for fuck's sake! This is war, Rainer! You've got to accept that there'll be innocents in the crossfire!" He whispered heatedly.
However, even as the words left his mouth, he already knew they were futile.
Rommel saw it—a certain light in Rainer's eyes, an excitement that fizzed at the prospect of a glorious, idiotic deviation.
"I'm not being heroic, Rommel," Rainer informed, his voice earnest as his gaze fully locked onto the bar.
"I just feel it. A shift in metaphysical forces. I... know that I can save her."
Without another word, he knelt up and grabbed his duffel bag.
"Continue the plan without me. And don't worry," he half-assured, pulling the white, smiling mask over his face, his voice now muffled and eerie.
"I won't die—Probably."
With that, Rainer pushed himself to his feet and stepped off the edge of the container, his coat billowing like a dark wing; one hand clutching his duffel bag, the other holding his hat firmly in place.
"Rainer!"
Rommel's call was swallowed by the night, left hanging in the air as the scene froze:
Rainer in mid-descent, a falling angel of chaos, and Rommel reaching out into the empty space behind him, his face a portrait of sheer, horrified alarm.