Red Circle
The Red Circle began as an upscale restaurant during the Vandorian occupation—polished floors, expensive plates, quiet conversations conducted over imported wine.
Then Murican influence arrived.
Now it is larger. Louder.
The first floor remains a fine dining hall, all polished silverware and soft lighting. The second floor is a Murican-style nightclub—bright, excessive, and permanently vibrating—drawing Ravendawns and Muricans alike in enthusiastic waves.
After weeks of surveillance, BICH confirmed what the branding carefully hid.
By day, Alan Ridgewood is a refined restaurateur.
By night, he commands a powerful assassin guild.
Most of his staff are killers disguised as servers, bartenders, hosts. Tonight the disguise is set aside. Inside the staff room, Wrist crossbows are strapped tight. Rented Murican shotguns are loaded with clinical efficiency. Positions are taken without wasted motion.
Inside his private office, Alan works quickly. He opens a concealed safe and removes documents in tight bundles, feeding them into the fireplace one stack at a time. Paper curls. Ink blackens. Names disappear into smoke.
Whatever happens tonight, his clients will not be exposed. That is the final professional courtesy he intends to uphold.
Knock. Knock.
Megan stands in the open doorway.
"Planning a trip?" she asks.
Alan pauses, but does not turn around. He already knows who it is.
"…You're fast."
"Not as fast as you. Looks like you're already wrapping up."
"Well, I'm a professional."
He brushes soot from his hands, crosses to his desk, and pours vodka into two glasses.
"It's Murican. Want some?"
"No. I'm still on the clock."
He downs the drink in one motion.
"So. What now? You won't get anything from me. No evidence. Nothing that leads to my clients."
"But I still have you."
"Only if you can take me—alive."
He bends. Not for another drink.
For an M97 shotgun hidden beneath the desk.
BANG—
Megan dives aside as the first blast detonates through the office wall, splinters and plaster erupting where she had been a fraction earlier. Alan fires again, anticipating her repositioning behind the wall.
BANG BANG BANG
Each shot tears jagged holes through the wall—high, slightly off. Megan stays low, crouched tight to the floor.
"Nice gun you've got," she calls out.
Clack Clack Clack—
Alan reloads with steady hands. "Yes. It's a good thing you Muricans are so lenient with gun control."
"I know. Our amendment believes every person should be born with a gun."
Megan leans out, weapon raised, ready to return fire—
—but Alan is no longer there.
He has already slipped through the second exit.
---
Red Circle, Second Floor Club
Murican electro music hammers through the speakers with industrial enthusiasm. Lasers rake across the ceiling in violent neon arcs. Dancers writhe atop pedestals under artificial starlight while drinks slosh freely from overfilled glasses. The crowd sways, blissfully committed to rhythm over awareness.
Alan forces his way through the packed floor, slipping between bodies while flashing quick hand signals to positioned guards. Instructions move without words. Contingencies activate.
Megan steps into the club with both weapons drawn, eyes cutting through the chaos, scanning for threats hidden inside the mass of glitter, sweat, and strobe light.
A blade flashes from her right—
She shifts half a step. The strike slices empty air.
BANG BANG—
Two shots punch into the attacker's gut.
BANG—
A final round snaps into the head. The body drops instantly, disappearing beneath flashing lights.
"KYAAAAAA!"
The music continues, but the human soundtrack changes. Screams replace laughter. Panic detonates faster than the bass. Clubbers scatter in every direction, colliding, slipping, abandoning drinks midair.
A bolt whistles through the haze—
—and buries itself into a civilian.
Megan pivots toward the origin and fires.
BANG BANG.
The crossbow guard drops.
Another guard charges straight at her with a short sword, disciplined and direct. Megan catches his wrist, rotates through his momentum, and flips him cleanly over her hip. He slams onto the floor.
BANG.
Execution shot to the head.
She moves forward without pause. Through the shifting crowd, she catches sight of Alan in the distance, pointing her out to two guards armed with shotguns before slipping behind a side corridor.
The two guards step forward and fire.
BANG—ch-ch—BANG—ch-ch—BANG—
Megan returns fire while diving behind the bar counter.
BANG BANG BANG BANG.
The guards advance methodically, spacing tight, movements controlled. They are not amateurs.
Shotgun shells blast through glass shelves behind the bar, exploding bottles into glittering fragments. Alcohol rains down in sharp, burning mist.
"Graah! Janet, why are we letting our guns leave Murica again?" Megan shouts into her comm, ducking as another blast obliterates a row of premium imports.
"Because it's good money. Renting outdated guns at high prices. What, having trouble with some museum pieces?" Janet teases.
"Oh, shut up."
Megan rises just high enough over the shattered bar counter and fires again.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG—click.
Her magazine runs dry. One guard drops, center mass and final. The other ducks cleanly behind cover to reload.
Megan shifts cover immediately. She slides out from behind the ruined bar and moves toward a thick pillar nearby.
"KYAA!"
A shriek erupts directly above her.
She looks up. A Lamia pole dancer is wrapped tightly around the pillar, clutching it with both arms and coils, eyes tearing up.
"Oh! You're a demon. Sorry, you startled me," the Lamia whispers.
"What the—get out of here!" Megan said, keeping low.
"I want to! But it's too scary!" the Lamia whimpers, tightening her grip.
Before Megan can respond—
BANG—ch-ch—BANG—ch-ch—
More shotgun blasts tear into the pillar. Wood splinters violently. Chips and dust rain down.
The surviving guard decides to press the advantage. He advances aggressively, firing without pause, denying Megan any opening to return fire.
He closes the distance.
The shotgun barrel swings upward.
It stops inches from Megan's head.
She reacts instantly, knocking the barrel aside.
BANG—
The blast detonates harmlessly past her ear.
She reaches to fire back—
—but the guard seizes her wrist before she can align her aim. He slams her arm against the pillar.
THUD THUD THUD—
"AARGH!"
Her pistol slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor.
The guard drives a fist into her face. She recoils. Then he jams the shotgun horizontally across her throat and shoves forward with both hands, pinning her against the splintering pillar.
Megan strains. Muscles tense. Her breath shortens.
Her boots begin lifting off the floor as the pressure increases.
The guard grins as he realizes he is winning.
Then something tightens around his neck.
GRAB—
A thick serpentine tail coils and locks into place.
It is the Lamia from above.
The guard is yanked upward, lifted off his feet by raw tail strength.
"KUH!"
He claws at the tightening coil, choking as his own body weight works against him.
SNAP.
His neck breaks with a sharp, decisive crack. His body goes limp instantly.
The Lamia releases him. He drops to the floor in a lifeless heap.
"Oh my, I killed him," she whispers, sounding more startled than triumphant.
"Thanks, girl," Megan pants, rubbing her throat.
"M-Miss, is it legal that I killed him? I just wanted to help!" the Lamia asks, genuinely anxious.
"You won't get fined." Megan waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh thank god. I ran out of money while holidaying, so I took this job," the Lamia sighs in relief. "I can't imagine if I got fined also—oh! Um, could you please take a picture?"
She hands Megan her phone.
"My girlfriends will be sooo jealous when I show them I really killed a human in Dawn!" the Lamia says, visibly excited now.
"…Sure. I owe you anyway," Megan said.
The Lamia poses immediately—V-sign raised, tail coiled dramatically around the dead guard's neck for framing.
Click.
Megan hands the phone back without comment and immediately sprints deeper into the club after Alan.
"THANK YOUUU! I'LL ADD YOU IF I CAN FIND YOUR PAINSTA!" the Lamia shouted.
---
Outside Red Circle
Alan bursts through the entrance at full speed. A guard is already waiting outside, holding a horse steady for a rapid escape. The exit is prepared. The route is clear.
Then—
CRAAAAASH—
Glass detonates from above.
Megan drops from the second floor in a direct plunge, slamming into both men and sending them skidding hard across the street.
The guard rolls, reaching for his revolver—
BANG BANG—
Megan fires first. The guard collapses instantly.
She pivots, sights locking onto Alan.
Alan reacts just as quickly. He kicks her gun aside and whips his shotgun up toward her face.
She strikes the barrel off-line.
BANG—
The blast veers wide and hits the horse. The animal collapses immediately, lifeless.
Megan drives her elbow into Alan's wrist. The shotgun slips from his grip. She follows with a sharp backfist to his jaw.
Another guard charges out from the doorway and tackles Megan to the ground, using his weight to pin her.
Alan does not hesitate. He runs.
Pinned beneath the guard, Megan snaps her legs upward and locks them around his neck. She twists sharply, constricting his airway while stretching one arm toward her fallen pistol.
Her fingers close around it.
BANG—
The guard goes limp.
She shoves the body aside and scrambles to her feet, sprinting after Alan.
The distance between them has grown. Alan takes a hard turn at the corner—
—and something enormous collides with him.
THUD—
"GAAH—!"
Alan is thrown backward violently onto the pavement.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Heavy armored footsteps advance from the darkness.
A towering figure steps into view, longsword resting at the ready.
It is King Luxius of Ravendawn.
Alan forces himself up, draws a knife from his waist, and activates his assassin techniques before lunging forward in a final gamble.
SLAAAAASH—
Luxius answers with one clean, decisive cut. Alan's attacking hand separates instantly.
Without pause, Luxius drives the pommel of his sword into Alan's skull.
The master assassin collapses unconscious.
In Talvaris, everyone understands one simple truth:
An assassin does not defeat a swordsman in open combat.
Megan arrives seconds later, breathing hard.
"Oh, thank goodness." She bows slightly, exhausted.
Behind Luxius, dozens of Ravendawn soldiers march into position, locking down the entire street with disciplined efficiency.
"You guys came at the perfect time," Megan says with relief. "I thought I'd lose him again."
Luxius does not respond.
He stands rigid.
His face slowly turns bright red as he continues staring directly at Megan.
"M-M-M-Mother—?!" he stammers.
"Eh?" Megan blinks.