? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? (Scitote finem Vestrum fieri/in prece sola mortuorum.)

[Guest]

He had arranged for this quite some time ago, a fateful meeting with a professional. After all, if one had the money to spare, why should one do all the work? There's always a market for assassins and hit men, if you knew where to look and had enough to give up. And that coincided with another issue, he needed to hire someone who could move more freely than he could … to deal with the miserable little insect that threatened to bring a host of issues.

Killing the fool himself was an option, but highly improbable and possibly cause another international incident, which they needed to avoid for the time being. Mother Drachma was still recovering after all. So, he had put out the word in the respective pools of information, inviting those with the skills he required and also promising good and insured pay for a job well done. This wasn’t his first time dabbling in the underground, no. He was cautious, wary, on-guard. There was no telling what beings would take up his offer, and no telling what trouble they might bring with them. If he had to, he’d eliminate them as well, unless they were willing to take the money to keep quiet about this as well.

So, there was a lovely little café in West, he’d stopped by here before. Lovely table in the corner, isolated from the rest of the customers and outside of sight from the cameras. Not to mention, the backdoor was just within stone’s throw distance away from here, for a quick getaway. This was where Hei was waiting, he had most of his weapons on him, and those he didn’t were locked up inside a case that was sitting beside him. Already, three would-be hired killers had approached him, but none of them had the qualifications for the job. None of them had enough skill, and all of them had been exposed to the public at one point or another. Such entities were useless to him, he could not take many risks here.

’God, this day is going to be dull, dull, dull. Is there no one who can do what I need them to do?’

[Guest]

A meeting.

Anonymity had been maintained in contact; Ayden was available for hiring through various sources with enough credibility and resources high-up in the black market. That way, he could root out the competitors and sweep aside those perhaps not as serious about business as most of his clients were; as a true professional, sorting the idiots from those who genuinely, actually required his... services was an essential early process. His contacts, most likely those that this oddly anonymous man - having given no details whatsoever to his middlemen, communicating electronically with a disposable cellphone - had managed to get in touch with, were given a small slice of the profits in exchange for the managerial sides of things.

As obsessive as he was about his art, between militant duty and freelance work, the silver-haired assassin didn't have much time to organise things. These men weren't comrades or accomplices; simply business acquaintances, employees and consultants. Consultants of death and other underhanded businesses, a collective of over ten men - Ayden presumed, anyway - that the cerulean-eyes man had only ever met one or two individuals of. They were important, so much so that their staying below the radar was essential enough to the entire equilibrium of the operation that anyone who compromised security was killed, alongside their friends and family. It was a message, more than anything, and it rang loud and clear, no matter the current locale of this ghostly group of organisers: do not fuck with us.

Ayden, however, had apparently proved himself a lucrative business asset thus far, and as such, his consultancy and loyalty was encouraged. Special deals, considering his efficiency and tendency to work fast, clean, and effectively, meant that he could keep more of the profit so long as he took on a certain amount of contracts a month. They usually also supplied a quarterly bonus of some variety as a show of good will; this varied in just about every instance... once or twice it had been a new weapon, other times, an alchemic compendium, or a wicker basket filled with cloth-covered children's heads.

That wasn't a joke.

The assassin wasn't afraid of them; his confidence in his skills far surpassed the messages they sent. He did, however, respect this ghost collective. They were how he stayed in business, and the pair just about needed each other - Ayden presumed that he was no longer considered expendable, and even should the day come that the organisation swiftly 'severed' all of their ties, the man considered it a high possibility that, no matter the treatment of other clients, he'd be left alone. Mutual respect; and in return, Ayden got paid, feared, and his hands got bloody. T'was the life for the grandiose sociopath, it seemed.

This particular instance, for that simple reason of mutual respect, piqued the man's curiosity. Most people were stupid or afraid enough to divulge as much personal information as Ayden liked, and the collective almost always in turn passed this on to the assassin. However, this case was incredibly different - the only thing that had raised the interests of the collective was the fact that the man seemed to swift about business. He had simply notified that he needed a small piece of wet work taken care of, he would pay handsomely - in the lower end of the five-digit range - and specified a meeting place and time.

The silver-haired assassin had arrived three hours early. His curiosity was still alert, aware, and set awry; this was no front or false business, it was very simply a West City café. It was empty, for the most part; and various other people that he could easily identify as wannabe hitmen or bounty hunters - usually a falsified attitude or the wearing of a suit - had filed into the restaurant, disappeared from his vision for around half an hour - each time - and reappeared after their allotted time was up, each man - three so far - apparently rather shaken-up and pale-faced. Who was it? Who was the man who had the tenacity, the sheer audacity, to consider his services, as opposed to hiring him straight off the bat? And just who the hell was the man who caused three grown individuals to quake in their boots at the mention of a business deal?!

Ayden presumed that either these three were all deployed as a fear tactic, trying to flush him out, all conveniently fairly weak-spirited, or that this deal had an air about it... not quite right. The assassin in the disengaged black R8, drumming leather gloved fingers against the steering wheel as he stared through tinted windows, squinting and looking for openings, whistled an eerie yet uplifting children's tune as he considered the possibilities. Perhaps the target was protected? A dangerous alchemist, or alkahestrist? In a position of power which would set off a series of chain reactions eventually leading to a third world war?

However, throughout the business, the azure-eyed man had been known for his reputation to accept any job, no matter the context. People feared him for a combination of his daring bravado, his marvellous psychotic brilliance, his intricate stratagems and tactics, and the sheer fact that he seemed to 'play with his food', so to speak. Either way, he appeared the very epitome of innocence, it would seem, sitting behind a tinted window clad only in black and sporting gunbelts galore.

The third of the previous three contestants stumbled off into a nearby alleyway to vomit, disgorging the lunch this man had so pleasantly paid for. Ayden arched an eyebrow, shooting a quick look in his direction, and grasped the inner handle of the driver door, pushing the door open, and slipping out in a single fluid movement, straightening his jacket, having left his similarly-hued overcoat in the car. He shut the door behind him, ran a leather hand across his fringe to re-organise his 'most beautiful' iridescent silvery hair, and listened to the satisfying click as the hydraulic and mechanic locks engaged, all at once. He stared over towards the opening of the café, and growled quietly to himself, before falsifying the tiniest and most content of smiles. Something wasn't right about this scenario.

Either way, Ayden had renown to uphold. His grumbling all-too-quickly ceased, and into the deceptive unhinged jaws of hell he walked, confidently strolling up to the entrance, smile quickly broadening on his face. He surveyed the room in an instant, analysing the few individuals indulging in a late lunch this far into the afternoon; overcast clouds were beginning to dawn on the city's horizon, and the cerulean-eyed assassin hoped to be gone long before they took it upon themselves to release their quarry, a steady shower of pitter-pattering raindrops, usually drumming against the roof of his car, creating a slew of hideous sounds atop the black beauty he called a steed.

Ayden isolated the man quickly; Xingese. Hm... strange, no notable accent had been recorded on the message itself, or so the relaying said. A few cases sat around him, and the chair was a foot or two from the table, moved away at an odd angle, presumably courtesy of the last moron unable to stomach this shady individual's deal.

The assassin entered the room; at least six sets of eyes centred on him. Conversation immediately died; the room was filled with an deathly, unusual, and almost Cocytian chill. Juxtaposed to this was the smile upon the man's face; warm, accepting, and above all else, false. His cerulean orbs fastened onto one target and one alone, perfectly aware of the lapse in bustling conversation his presence had caused.

It is said that human beings have an innate sixth sense. This sixth sense is usually displayed in the form of a hunch, or a 'well-educated guess'; some people argue on what its function actually is, but throughout many schools of psychological and physiological profession, it is thought to be an ability to discern fear and power simply by rapid analysis of the aura a person creates. This presence of command and fright radiated is contagious; once a single person homes in on it, dozens in the immediate area will also feel its chill. The room will quieten, and uneasy glances will be exchanged. Before long, the renown and presence spreads, and there's an unspoken agreement of a certain individual in the room causing it all, apparently innocently unaware. Ayden was absolutely and completely the manifestation of this individual, appearing to be as friendly as any other stranger in the vast labyrinthine crevasses of streets that West City called home.

His footsteps were loud, slow, and clear; they resounded, reverberated, and resonated through oak walls of the restaurant. By this time, the Xingese man's attention should have been totally fastened on him, but Ayden's curiosity was still, as it had been but moments ago, set awry. He would understand if the man still now falsified a lack of care and interest until the silver-haired Derocha seated himself opposite from the strange man's visage. Two individuals, their lines of work respectively best left unspoken, save for wanting to disrupt the pre-established social boundaries of the community.

A long, tired exhalation; a sigh released unto the atmosphere, and Ayden re-adjusted the seat so he was opposite the man in the corner properly. Some illusion, some falsified precarious creation of human nature was laid over the uneasiness, and the lapse was covered up, as if no-one in the room wanted to truly acknowledge what had happened. Conversations turned to stutters as people attempted to jump-start their communication again. Everyone was disrupted, and they didn't know why; they didn't know of the secret charismatic powers of the assassin's enthralling, entrancing presence.

"So," Ayden spoke softly, a voice eased out rather than pushed, barely louder than a whisper but very much audible due to perhaps only his radiated command. "You must be the man I was called to do business with... interesting..." The assassin raised a hand to stroke shaven silvery hairs on his chin, bristles brushed up and down, as his eyes locked with the comparative tiny orbs of the Xingese man, his identity still unknown.

"However, your anonymity and preservation of it has indeed piqued both my interest and curiosity. Before we get down to the inevitable talk of business, I would like to simply exchange acts of courtesy..." He paused, before continuing; irises narrowed, pupils dilated, eyes shrunk and shortened, seemingly becoming increasingly slit-like in the pale-faced man's head. "I'd like to indulge this curiosity, niggling away at me, one of my truest vices," His fists balled up; the assassin began to tremble and vibrate. Sheer, true anger; the beast roared inside and ripped senselessly at its cages, its shackles, the manacles it desperately sought to break free from...

"Just... just who the fuck do you think you are, hiring me alongside these two-bit second rate murderers!?" No regard whatsoever for discretion. If he willed it so, none here would leave the diner alive. His confidence in his ability was enough that he could almost ensure the death of the Xingese man, too - or so he thought. Conversation quietened as the balled fists trembled, fingers and knuckles pressed inwards, oh, so far inwards, into open, less-than-welcoming palms. "Who do you think I am, other than the most elite of pioneers? The greatest of the great, the best that ever was and ever will be, when it comes to..."

A pause. The trembling, quivering, shaking, it all stopped. An illusion, it seemed... although just how dangerously close to exploding Ayden was at any given time, Hei would never know. Pursed lips allowed a snake-like tongue to slither through and lick parched lips; the man lusted after the glorious offering this client would make, allowing him to whet those dried pink lines with the crimson of his enemies. And, finally, almost a whisper, the silver-haired assassin released the last, the final phrase of phrases, that which would evoke a debate, discussion, argument, or even a crossing of arms... only time would tell.

"...when it comes to... the art... of death."

[Guest]

The first three applicants were useless. Perhaps he should've been more specific when he made the request out there to limit it to either a) well-known professional or b) professionals at least known for competency. Well, three was better than last time. Last time he only got one interested fish that tried ratting him out, and the photographs of the various stage of mutilation and torture Hei was forced to perform on him were what gave these three upset stomachs.

~Over the course of the past dozens of minutes . . .

The Xing-Drachman merely smiled at the hopefuls. Money-seeking or thrill-seeking fools. Not the kind of people he needed. Well, then again, this would be his twenty-third time hiring, and only the second time where he wanted a professional to do a stealthy job. Alas, the Xingese just chuckles as he listens to the paltry qualifications. Big whoop. They got a fucking gun, shot themselves in the foot, and apparently are qualified to go kill a rogue informant hiding out in the North that is trying to seek asylum.

"Mightily interesting, really." his Amestrian has improved. Practice has allowed it to be nearly flawless. Well, there was the occasional mispronunciation, but the traces of his Xing and Drachman accents were now removed. "Now tell me something about yourself, do you think yourself as a trustworthy person? As in ... ah, how do you say, can you keep a secret? Because this man couldn't." he would say to these cock-sucking triple-cunted insects that needed to go and die. At which point he drops a manilla folder open in front of them, with dozens of stapled images inside, of one poor fellow subjected to much horrors. Something along the lines of having a quadrupled amputation, then having hooks speared into his back and leaving him to hang off a wall. There was even a lovely image where Hei was taking a power saw to slice off one leg, and the next where he had an accomplice photograph just as he had pulled at the other leg and ripped it off.

There were other things, too. Such as gutting the poor fellow, bashing him a bit to keep him conscious, force-feeding him his intestines. Oh, and a wonderful selection of multiple images in a row where Hei could be seen clasping his hands around the head of the about-dead victim now missing most of his organs save his heart and lungs, and about out of blood to stay awake (as the glassy eyes would denote). Five images in a row, the first with his hands clutched around the traitorous fool. The second, it could be seen pressure was being applied to the head. The third, his fingers had burrowed inside the fellow's skull. The fourth, you could see that the skull had broken apart, the face's flesh was being stretched and torn apart as the jutting fragments of the skull tried their best to avoid the all-crushing pressure from Hei's hands. And of course, the fifth one, where there was no head, just a bloody mess of bone and brains and Hei's hands placed against each other.

And then he'd grin at them, with their horrified expressions.. These were men unsuited to such horrors, so the simple scare tactic would be enough for them. True killers would perhaps critique Hei on how messy his style was, not that it mattered, since he'd explain to them he loves his meals raw and chunky.

"If you fail, I will find you and kill you. In a much painless fashion, I assure you. But, if you're beginning to have second thoughts, I'll tell you right now: You can live. Just stand up, walk outside, and pretend none of this ever happened.

Keep it a secret! A dark little secret in your little heart. A secret you must alwaaaaaaaaays keep to yourself. Because if you let that secret out, I'll have to come after you. The only reason why I don't kill the target myself, is because I have orders not to. But I don't have such a thing stopping me from . . . finding you and erasing you from existence." he would say, going into a sing-song, cheery voice when mentioning the 'secret keeping' as though he were an excited child, smiling widely with his oddly misshapen and sharpened teeth. At which point, all three fellows stood up, proceeded out the door and were most likely to never be heard from again.

But alas, he needed to hire someone, and this was more of an interview and aptitude test to see if his 'killer' would be up for the job. So, what happened next was quite a surprise, to be frank.

"So, you must be the man I was called to do business with... interesting..." came these words, as he was joined by an odd looking fellow. Then again, he was pretty odd-looking himself, so he had no right to judge. Still, this fellow had come right in, with much confidence ... as well as presenting himself in an intimidating fashion. Perhaps it was his words, his looks, or just his eyes, but this wasn't a fellow you really wanted to mess around with for no good reason.

"However, your anonymity and preservation of it has indeed piqued both my interest and curiosity. Before we get down to the inevitable talk of business, I would like to simply exchange acts of courtesy ... I'd like to indulge this curiosity, niggling away at me, one of my truest vices" . . . Well, he had understood that Hei requested anonymity, but that was only to a point. He preferred a degree of anonymity, until both he (the client) and the other (the professional) could meet in person, at which point he would determine who was being hir-

"Just... just who the fuck do you think you are, hiring me alongside these two-bit second rate murderers!?" and the Xingese kept his most deadpan expression. Eyes staring back at the ones glaring at him with quite a fair amount of hate. Oh dear, quite a confusion. He hadn't 'HIRED' anyone yet, he just made it clear that he needed a job done and he'd prefer to meet his wet worker in person.

"Who do you think I am, other than the most elite of pioneers? The greatest of the great, the best that ever was and ever will be, when it comes to..." . . . Egomaniacal. That was the first thought that popped into his head besides dull surprise this person was pissed at him. Such a person was no doubt obsessive about his work. He would strive for perfection, indeed ... he would be a masterful killer. One that would do the job efficiently, with style and grace ... and plenty of shades of brutality no doubt given this aggressive outburst, and without fear of compromising himself and his employer, if but a bit wild. This was the sort of fellow Hei had been hoping to find!

AFTER ALL THESE YEARS! Where had this man been when he had been looking?

"...when it comes to... the art... of death." Indeed, he called himself that, and the way he carried himself, unlike those three washouts, was significantly better. No, astronomically greater. Once you're a killer, you can always tell who the others skilled in the same profession are. Well, not accurately, but still you could identify them rather well.

"I see . . . ." he says simply. To his left was two folders containing different sets of info, the first was the horrific compilation of photographs of a gruesome nature and the second was that about the target. To his right was a whole bunch different files from potential candidates, three of which had already been torn to shreds and left in a plastic bag (for later disposal). As Hei resumes speaking, immediately, he begins leafing through the small stack to his right, hoping to find a wee bit of info about the person before him. It was a given that hired killers's info were hard to come buy, but at least information such as their name (working or actual), their specialties and how much they usually wanted (at least).

"I believe there has been some sort of misunderstanding. I haven't hired anyone quite yet, this is more of a . . . hrm, how do you say. Last minute interview? To make sure I find the right man for the job." he replies politely, a slight smile back to the seething or ... well, he didn't know exactly what was up with this fellow.

"The last time I tried hiring in the market, without checking their credentials like I am now, I got a miserable little sneak that tried to sell me out. So blame my carelessness and forgive my caution. he adds, hastily. He's extracted a folder with what he believes has the info on the man sitting before him! Silver hair and . . . wait, no. This was an incredibly old man. Ahh, god-damn it. Looks like he couldn't find anything useful about this fellow, or hadn't so far at the very least.

[Guest]

"I believe there has been some sort of misunderstanding. I haven't hired anyone quite yet, this is more of a . . . hrm, how do you say. Last minute interview? To make sure I find the right man for the job. The last time I tried hiring in the market, without checking their credentials like I am now, I got a miserable little sneak that tried to sell me out. So blame my carelessness and forgive my caution." Ayden mulled over the thought as if it were a piece of badly-cooked meat. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks, desperately staring down at the table as if it would suddenly take up animation and begin to perform amazing tricks which everyone in the immediate vicinity would later completely deny and shake off as a 'work of alchemy'. He nodded. Slowly, ever-so-slowly. He understood. This man wanted to ensure his ability and attitude was up to par before actually accepting him on a contract; wary, pensive... that was wise. Perhaps not as respectable and swift with his movements as the assassin would have liked, but wise nonetheless... understandable, perhaps.

The man was a wordsmith. He had his way with phrases, voice, tone, style, whichever, whatever, all and any. He could see that much; the man was manipulative, and laid facade over facade on top of his real interior like coat after coat of primer paint slapped onto a wall of memories best left untouched. All-too-familiar with the experience, the man growled, but the noise was quickly passed off as a clearing of his throat and his 'truthful' smile soon returned. Flashing a grin, the cerulean-eyed assassin inclined his head. "Yes, I understand..." He agreed, the smile slowly fading once more, before grasping a pen sitting atop the mountain of files the Xingese man had prepared, a simple ballpoint biro, and raised it until it locked in the pair's field of vision, almost equidistant between them. "You don't mind if I borrow this, do you?"

He waited for no answer, and wrapped leather-clad fingers about the pen's length, snake-like tendrils coiled around it, Ayden's brain skipping through a multitude of images and poses; this pen... so simple, yet so complex. Holds, stances, grips... everyone had a unique and different appearance whilst writing with the same pen. It was the reason handwriting was so vastly different universally; of course, had everyone had the hands that he possessed, with their god-like dexterity and in conjunction with his knacks and occupation, the world would be a far neater place, it seemed.

The cerulean-eyed assassin looked for no target. Silver hair swung in a light breeze drifting in from the window; he let his eyelids flutter, and one of them even moved in a half-obvious absent-minded wink, the grin stretching across his face once more as he locked onto a victim in his periphery. A plump, bald man; he bore a dirty, grimy polo shirt, simple, worn denim jeans, and a baseball cap atop a shaven head. Mid-forties. Gruff beard, perhaps the owner of one of the heavier, larger vehicles outside or down the road. He was enjoying what seemed to be the bloodiest steak the place would do, as if the cow had simply had its buttocks wiped, its horns removed, and been sliced and thrown onto a plate.

Having drowned the poor animal in a gravy composed of tomato and peppercorn sauce, the man appeared to be tucking into the meat quickly, helping himself to liberal portions that made even Ayden lust after a decent fillet... rare, nice and bloody. So that he could prod it with his knife, and the blood would ooze out and spill onto his plate, meat pink and raw... sounded oh-so-appetising. He was torn between his appreciation for art and his apparent bloodlust... both were hungers to the man. Perhaps he'd request one half cooked.

Either way, he had something to prove. He was no second-rate twit like the three who had just piled in; he respected anonymity and discretion, as this Xingese man seemed to. With a flick of his wrist, the pen spun through the air, revolving like a miniature javelin. Ayden had spent a few split-seconds weighing it in his hand, adjusting his palm and grip so the flight and aerodynamics wouldn't hinder his path too much, and then had simply put his movement into action. It was a simple outstretching of his arm that forced the pike-like shape forwards, spinning lengthways through the air, carving an almost-visible line through the oxygen and hydrogen, almost splitting the atoms with its speed and sheer precision. It was that fine an aim; whistling through the air, it made contact before the plump man, chomping vigorously away on his last piece of steak, could finish his mouthful.

It struck and pierced his throat, oozing inwards and allowing warm crimson to dribble down his throat. He gargled and gasped for air, but it was too late; his jugular was struck. His meat sat, a passive, minced lump in his mouth, half-chewed and waiting for the swallowing process to be complete - blood spurted from the side of his neck, trickling and firing out in irregular jets at the same time, as the man tried his best to dislodge the pen, a small, deep, ink-edged marking sitting barely millimetres from the entrance wound.

In an instant, the man was dead. His face collapsed in the shape of his bowl, splattering a bloody mixture of his crimson and sauces in an odd splash-like pattern around him. Giggling giddily as he watched people scream and cry in response, running to the doors, chefs ducked behind their counters and waiters headed into the backrooms, leaving doors still-swinging. In an instant, the diner was empty save for the crackling fire pit in the background, the rapidly-cooling corpse of the fat man, and the two conversing in the corner.

Ayden's vision centred on Hei once more, and he grinned, his pale lips arching almost up to his ears in giddy bloodlust. He had half-considered walking over there and tasting the sauce for himself; it looked oh-so-deliciously appetising. But, for now...

"Proof enough?"

[Guest]

There was a moment of silence, as the Xingese had just given up searching for the file on this person. It may be that he was indeed amongst the highest tiers of killers, in which case there wouldn't be any trace of a record of him besides whatever civilian identity he chose to adopt. So, Hei opted to place his elbows atop the table and lock his fingers together, clasping hands to deceive as he usually did.

That was about when his potential killer growled. Or, well, it was a guttural noise, no denying that, but there was something about it that seemed to suggest displeasure, clearing of the throat or not. That was unfortunate, he seemed to be the best candidate he'd meet all day and now he was annoyed at him and would refuse the contract?

"Yes, I understand..." a surprising answer, considering that it was accompanied by a smile of some kind. The Xing-Drachman was a bit surprised by this sudden shift, but opted to shift his impassive features into a pleasant smile in return.

"Thank you for being understanding." he mentions, just before noting that this man was now reaching for his pen. Some useless thing he had picked up, but still . . . what did he want his pen for?

"You don't mind if I borrow this, do you?"

The Xingese-Drachman made a slight gesture, instead of speaking, a sort of open hand waving towards him. A sign representing the phrase "Of course" or "Go ahead." To be perfectly honest, he had no idea what on earth this fellow wanted a pen for, but he was definitely intrigued.

What followed was the most macabre demonstration Hei had ever seen, which caused his smile to twist upward even more. The polite expression was twisting, curling into a dark representation of his approval of such a beautiful act. Much simple. Inconspicuous. A testament to the Amestrian's (it seemed to be he lived in Amestris, at least) skill and power, which pleased him all too much.

Now, this place was deserted, leaving the two psychotics in the corner, and one dead man with a pen jammed in his neck and face stuck inside the remains of what his last meal was. The client merely smiled back with the same wicked glee as the professional.

"Proof enough?" he states simply. Quite a display. Most others would be horrified that such an act would occur now, they would chastise the professional for doing such a thing in public. But that wasn't what wen through Hei's mind. No. This man was perfect, capable of using mundane objects as lethal weapons and also willing AND perfectly able of killing an unsuspecting victim inconspicuously in public. The target would try to stay in public eye, or at least in a position where authorities could intervene. A person who could kill quickly and swiftly, without drawing attention, was perfect.

"Impressive. No. No, no, no. Superb! The best display I've seen in months!!" the Xingman responds jovially, his smile was not fake . . . the joy he was expressing was genuine (to an extent). He resumes speaking again, reaching for the second folder on his left.

"You're hired! The pay is yours once you kill this man." he makes it clear that the job is now this man's, and sets the folder in front of him, opening it up to show the info. A veteran, Drachman immigrant from about twenty years ago. Now in his mid-forties and somewhat respectable person. There were a number of photographs of him, as well as a listing of his place of residency in the North.

"As is customary for me, part of your pay will be sent in advance to your accounts through the middleman, and he will be compensated from our side so he won't be taking any bits of your share." Hei resumes speaking, just going through the formalities of this business, while leaving his hired killer to peruse the file . . . and of course, take it. It was his to keep, that was implied.

"The initial pay is the equivalent of ten million Cenz. The remaining twenty will be transferred to you once news of the target's death reaches my ears." he makes the terms clear. Thirty million Cenz for one man's death. Considering he had a sizable amount of funds to use to get rid of this nuisance, and if that nuisance talked it would send lots of branches tumbling as well as compromise other plans. That, and it was implicitly implied that the large numbers were also to buy silence and discretion.

"Are these values acceptable for you?" he inquires, again with a smile. The problem with pay-for-comission killers is that they liked to charge lots, as his prior experience told him, and sometimes presenting values before them tend to make them raise their prices. At least, he would be checking to see if they'd have to haggle over prices now. Hopefully not but still.

[Guest]

"Impressive. No. No, no, no. Superb! The best display I've seen in months!!" Ayden rose to his feet, and gave a short, sweet, faux bow, grinning as he seated himself once more, grasping a half-drunk measure of scotch - despite the fact that the sun was blazing up there in the sky, it being barely lunchtime - from a nearby table, swinging around, and sipping it, before setting the glass upon the table.

"I'm glad you appreciate my skill, in that case. Always a pleasure working with those who appreciate art..." Ayden let slip a little giggle, but the silver-haired assassin remained somewhat reserved, keeping his calm, and letting the man talk... he was... interesting. Well, that was one way to put it. Dangerously psychotic? Appreciative of bloody murder? Either worked. All worked! The guy seemed fairly aligned to his sort of business. And only further surprises laid in wait down the road, it seemed...

"You're hired! The pay is yours once you kill this man." Ayden grasped the file, and scanned over it quickly, taking a few snapshots; committing to memory the various ridges and furrows of his face, wrinkles and expression also taken into account, he nodded. He was thinking the same as his Xingese... well, comrade, it seemed, now. More... client, but, still... the man seemed pleasant enough! There was no name; a few details on possible security or otherwise, as well as his locale and a few enclosed photographs of his last presumed location. This wouldn't be difficult... "As is customary for me, part of your pay will be sent in advance to your accounts through the middleman, and he will be compensated from our side so he won't be taking any bits of your share."

"Generous," Ayden muttered, arching an eyebrow. Usually, these arrangements were far quicker. The cerulean-eyed assassin wondered if he could work with this odd Xingese man more... he seemed to enjoy finery and sadism as much as... if not more than... General Stuka himself. "Any trophies? Anything I'm to retrieve? Keepsakes, perhaps an ear, or a finger...?" Ayden asked as if it were everyday business; he'd been told before, by some particularly masochistic clients, to retrieve some sort of proof, perhaps for a third party. This always went down well - hacking off appendages and limbs was a pastime of the assassin's, really... and he usually got paid extra, as a bonus.

The assassin raised the scotch to his mouth, and took another sip; far more liberal. Fifteen years old, cask-matured... in the bottle for a few more years before it had been opened. This particular sample had probably been circulated somewhat, having a rather odd taste... it might have been from one of the escapees' backwash, but, Ayden didn't particularly mind. "The initial pay is the equivalent of ten million Cenz. The remaining twenty will be transferred to you once news of the target's death reaches my ears." Holy...

Ayden kept the scotch in his mouth from sheer surprise. He was too far gone into the boundaries of surprise to spit the scotch out, as well as risking spattering his new comrade with it; he began to giggle, convinced, absolutely and totally so, that Hei was joking, trying to make a fool of him. And there he was, almost having done it! The azure orbs crossed paths with those of the Xingese, and the silver-haired man noticed something... something he hadn't expected. Dead seriousness. He was... oh... oh god.

"I... I'm taken aback. Most have no appreciation for my art, and those who do simply use me for my services and convenience... and here you are... paying me the grandest sum of money simply to kill one man?!" Ayden kicked the chair backwards, letting it fall to the floor and clatter; he began to move, making grandiose hand gestures, eyes locked on Hei the entire time. "I can do much more for thirty million. I can sever tendons, hack bones, oh, I could give him an oh-so-slow and painful death..." He sprung forwards like a jackrabbit. "Hell, I would even take care of all of his family and friends for you! Take some pictures of the corpse! I'd massacre villages for that much! I'd topple buildings, I'd raze towns!" He began to dance, humming to himself; his insanity began to truly shine through. This man... this man was either setting him up, or... or he was very good news. Very good news. "I'd even dance the nutcracker~!"

His expression straightened and flattened; Ayden sat himself once more upon a different stool at the table, and moved in close, whispering... desperately quietly. "My naivete is non-existent, although, my... my good man..." Murmurings, mutterings, trembling breaths. "Crossing me would not do you or your health good... and neither would not living up to these promises." The silver-haired maniac was being... careful. Treading lightly. Distrust would mean losing his most lucrative job to date. But... appearing to easy to sway, without asserting a few regulations and rules of the service, first. "I don't like people who don't deliver." The last, a very whisper, as if the breeze had spoken it in the man's place. He jumped backwards, cackling and active once more, speaking again, in a ludicrously happy mood, thrusting his hand forwards to seal the deal. He'd get on this immediately.

"As a sign of good will, I'm going to disclose to you something not many in this underworld business know. I'd appreciate your keeping it quiet, but, truly, it's up to you. Fear, after all, is a great man's greatest weapon..." A slight cackle. "My name. Derocha. Ayden Derocha. You'll find my contact details are fairly easy to get a hold of if you know this much. I appreciate this business gesture..." He spoke his own name with a touch of grandeur laden over the top, sticky and viscous like a sweet, honeyed syrup; he continued to analytically scanned Hei up and down... the man was... serious. "Other than this... you appear to be proving yourself to be a most lucrative client indeed! So long as you understand our rules, then I hope we can do business once more... mister...?" He left the end of the question open, as if he were asking for details in response. A courtesy he'd extended... although, with thirty million lining his pockets, this guy could act like a monkey for six weeks and he'd ask no questions.

Oh... oh, oh, oh. How... how fun! How fun it was to kill! Ayden was ecstatic; glee rocketed, surged through him, a shockwave, an explosive chain reaction of twinkling, dancing feelings across every neurone in his body. He felt absolutely peak; nothing could stop him now. His professional integrity... fuck it. This guy knew he meant business. His integrity could wait. Consistency in appearance and demeanour, could, too... He'd just been hired to do the simplest job possible, been given free reign on everything, and promised the payout of a lifetime.

Work was on the horizon. Tomorrow morning, he'd wake up, and he'd have to deliver on this contract. And... afterwards...? He'd feel rejuvenated, invigorated, empowered... and not for the money. He loved his job. He adored it. Killing was a drug; bleeding was a luxury. He had to indulge himself, and he'd been waiting for a break like this... this was an assassin's dream.

The only question that remained unanswered was... the man's identity. Who was he, truly, to be throwing this much money around? How much power did he possess? As reserved and happy as he seemed... Ayden wondered what it would be like to fight him. He had that crazed, maniacal, murderous glint in his eyes... that same glint Ayden had been told that he'd possessed time and time again.

It was irrelevant. He'd been hired. He had work to do. And he'd gotten a little surprise on top of it all. This would be... this would be fun.

[Guest]

The look of surprise was noticeable on the now-hired killer. True, thirty million was no small number to scoff at, but considering Amestris' current financial state, that sort of money didn't have the sort of power it did, say ... two months ago. Still, it was amusing to see the reaction (for some reason) and even more amusing that the killer had spat up the scotch. Either way, regardless of the amount, this was amusing.

"I... I'm taken aback. Most have no appreciation for my art, and those who do simply use me for my services and convenience... and here you are... paying me the grandest sum of money simply to kill one man?!" . . . well, this fellow was going to be a supreme nuisance if he was left to live. And then again, this wasn't his money (exactly) that he was spending, so may as well pay it up to make the killer happy . . . happy enough to do his job right and well.

"Hell, I would even take care of all of his family and friends for you! Take some pictures of the corpse! I'd massacre villages for that much! I'd topple buildings, I'd raze towns!" these words were accompanied by the clearly estatic killer toppling his chair backwards to stand up in a grand fashion. Pacing, gestures. This fellow was clearly quite the character, which would perturb others, but merely amused Hei.

"I'd even dance the nutcracker~!" the Xingese could not help but chuckle at this line. His words, though, reminded that there was something else he would have to ask for from this person.

"My naivete is non-existent, although, my... my good man... Crossing me would not do you or your health good... and neither would not living up to these promises." these words were given soon after all that jubilation, with himself being stared down by the killer. Such a sudden mood whiplash was a bit peculiar to the Xing-Drachman, considering it had just come out of nowhere and on the heels of his earlier goofy statements. Just what on earth was he getting at?

"I don't like people who don't deliver." . . . Ahhh. He doubted he could pay.

"Completely understandable, my good sir. You have my assurances that my . . . 'business' partners and I can certainly pay the sum in question. That is, of course, if you kill the target in question before he, ah, how do you say . . . puts us out of business?" he responds genially, smiling in the face of the killer who wanted to make sure his large pay was legit. He also took the hand of the killer, giving it a polite but firm shake.

"As a sign of good will, I'm going to disclose to you something not many in this underworld business know. I'd appreciate your keeping it quiet, but, truly, it's up to you. Fear, after all, is a great man's greatest weapon..." Oh? This was unusual, now that they had shaken hands and pretty much sealed the deal, he was going to let him know his name? Well, that'd help considering his files were in alphabetical order.

"My name. Derocha. Ayden Derocha. You'll find my contact details are fairly easy to get a hold of if you know this much. I appreciate this business gesture..."

Derocha, Ayden. Ayden. Ayden. Ah. There was the file. How did he miss it earlier? Oh, wait, he knew why. Because it was the first file he threw aside since it didn't have a picture OR a description.

"Other than this... you appear to be proving yourself to be a most lucrative client indeed! So long as you understand our rules, then I hope we can do business once more... mister...?"

"Jin." he responds simply, after skimming the file. This man was a Major in the Amestrian military, on the verge of promotion. Perfect. He would be perfect.

"And I must thank you, Mr. Derocha, for the show of confidence and also for jogging my memory. I forgot to mention there are a few conditions, not too strict ones, about this job. The first is that we'd like it to be a quiet one. Make him disappear, and never return to the public eye again. The second is that we'd like you to also interrogate him a bit before you end his life. Check to see what he's told authorities, and just let us know. Nothing he says now will cause horrific damage, but still. Never hurts to check what he's blathered about."

The Xingese smiles, he forgot those two things earlier, but brought them back. Considering they WERE paying him all that money, he'd have to make sure this job would be thorough.

"That's all. Find him, interrogate him, and make him disappear permanently. And all that money is yours. We'll even throw in some public explanation for it to keep the government from trying to hit you with tax evasion or something other silly thing of the sort. Do we have a deal . . . ? Or does being an Amestrian militant complicate things?" he inquires. It was no big deal, just a summary of the transaction and a last minute question or two. Hei wanted to check how much freedom Ayden had, considering the militant saw that he had something resembling a file on him.

[Guest]

"Completely understandable, my good sir. You have my assurances that my . . . 'business' partners and I can certainly pay the sum in question. That is, of course, if you kill the target in question before he, ah, how do you say . . . puts us out of business?" Ayden smirked, nodding. The pun was necessary; the puns were always necessary. Made his day a little more interesting, in honesty. And amusing; his depraved sense of humour always required a trigger or two before it could be fully and completely set into motion.

"Jin." Simple. No first name; he'd not offered one in response. The accent was far from noticeable; it was plain and quiet, but the language was spoke with near-native fluency - a few disruptions here and there, but nothing untoward. However, Ayden was... Ayden was far more analytical than simply settling for 'he's Xingese, it makes sense'. He'd been digging deeper this entire conversation; recording and saving distinct and unusual sound clips, committing them to memory, and playing the audio back in his head strictly called up from the confines of his brain, practically a library for all things sonic... an underlying accent that sounded far too odd to be solely Xingese, he'd concluded. There was... there was something else the man wasn't letting slip just yet. Perhaps it tied in with his forename, and Mr. Jin's gesture of not offering it.

"Good to meet you." The assassin re-iterated bluntly, letting his new business partner continue, letting a snake-like tongue gently lay a layer of saliva over his pursed pink lips, watching those small, Xingese eyes ever-so-carefully, analysing even the faintest of twinkles dancing across them...

"And I must thank you, Mr. Derocha, for the show of confidence and also for jogging my memory. I forgot to mention there are a few conditions, not too strict ones, about this job. The first is that we'd like it to be a quiet one. Make him disappear, and never return to the public eye again. The second is that we'd like you to also interrogate him a bit before you end his life. Check to see what he's told authorities, and just let us know. Nothing he says now will cause horrific damage, but still. Never hurts to check what he's blathered about." A second request, previously forgotten? Ayden arched an eyebrow initially, but moved quickly into a vigorous nod. Nothing he couldn't do - especially for thirty million cenz. He was effectively being paid for a silent torture and assassination mission. This was routine. Spade and Stuka had organised hits more dangerous and exciting than this... but money was money, and money fuelled research. Research enabled this self-perpetuating cycle of blood and murder to continue, and, oh, how Ayden loved his one true vice.

"That's all. Find him, interrogate him, and make him disappear permanently. And all that money is yours. We'll even throw in some public explanation for it to keep the government from trying to hit you with tax evasion or something other silly thing of the sort. Do we have a deal . . . ? Or does being an Amestrian militant complicate things?" The silver-haired man forcibly, obviously stifled a chuckle for but a second, before exploding into giddy, manic laughter. A professional such as he, either trying to question or pressure him? It was laughable. This was Ayden Derocha, no second-rate hitman relying on military hardware and intelligence to move around and work with immunity... oh, no... he had friends in the right places, anyway - a council grant was just another addendum to the income, and the closer he was to having political pull... and, power... the better.

The man wiped an invisible tear from his eye. "Oh, Mr. Jin. Please let me set your fears at bay, alleviate them, if you will," There; that deadly, dark grin again. No hostility behind those curved, pursed, wicked lips - just... untold and unseen yet well-known motives and intentions. "My allegiance lies first to blood, then to my country," Ayden spoke in Cretan - a well-known assassin's proverb he'd picked up on whilst he still relied on senses other than his comparatively fresh eyesight. He'd taken a gamble in knowing whether the man understood him or not... but either way, continued on to explain. "A personal proverb, an explanation, a justification - believe me, Mr. Jin, you're not the first one to question my web of alliances alongside my most mysterious underworld reputation and occupation,"

[Guest]

Laughter. A good sign. This was no questioning or his loyalty, nor any sense of pressuring. No, this was check on Hei's part. He had no information on this man, but . . . given these displays, he surely had to have been acquaintance to him. The following answers would determine if Hei would make his own request of Ayden.

"Oh, Mr. Jin. Please let me set your fears at bay, alleviate them, if you will."

'Indeed. Pacify my fears. Tell me how detached you are from this nation. Tell me where you stand, so I now how much I can ask of you . . .' the Xing-Drachman settled back a bit, his expression was still pleasant, but there hadn't been any shifts since when Ayden had stifled his laughter, and then let it all out.

"My allegiance lies first to blood, then to my country,"

And for a moment, his eyes blink. His expression softened a bit, allowing a quizzical expression to take its place. To Hei, the phrase sounds like this: "My (Insert something about money here) first lay to (Insert something about progeny here), then to mine country." Thankfully, though, considering what the conversation had been about, Hei decided to try to piece together what he knew. First to something, besides country . . . his allowance? Money? No, wait. Payment by money . . . uhm so his loyalty first to money! Wait. No, no, no. His loyalty first to his kids and then his country? But he didn't have kids, according the file? So why to his 'brood'? Unless it was 'blood'? 'Blood'?

Then Mr. Derocha decided to thoughtfully explain his meaning in the Cretan words.

"A personal proverb, an explanation, a justification - believe me, Mr. Jin, you're not the first one to question my web of alliances alongside my most mysterious underworld reputation and occupation."

Ah, so it was his loyalty to the job first, over that of his country. Or something like that. But, he wasn't questioning his allegiance to employer and country.. No, if this man was such a qualified professional, and his demonstration most certainly proved that, such a thing wasn't a concern. No, he wanted to check that he WAS an Amestrian militant, not whether or not the position (which he confirmed) would hinder his work or dampen his loyalty.

This made things so much easier, then.

"Ahhhh, what a prosperous day it must be, now. That wasn't much a question of your allegiance. That was more a question of the validity of information that my . . . superiors . . . gave to me about you.

So, you are an Amestrian Militant.

Perfect.

I have a question for you: Are you acquainted with the General by the name of 'Nikolaus Stuka'?" One could see visible pain in Hei's expression as he tried to get out Niko's name. The name itself was spat as though it were acid, or rotten, and a slight twitch went through his body. No doubt, one could tell he didn't care much for the general . . .

[Guest]

"Ahhhh, what a prosperous day it must be, now. That wasn't much a question of your allegiance. That was more a question of the validity of information that my . . . superiors . . . gave to me about you. So, you are an Amestrian Militant." A simple nod; thick, flexing neck, muscles bulging, clearly straining against leather, creating a shuffling sound, before allowing the man to continue.

"Perfect. I have a question for you: Are you acquainted with the General by the name of 'Nikolaus Stuka'?" Ayden froze; body, mind, limbs, eyes, face, expression, and all. Whereas he had previously borne a giddy, bouncing, swaying smile, he now was stopped in place, a simple single vein twitching on his forehead. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He'd have to... shit.

His face flushed no colour save for that deathly white pallor that was the norm for his skin; he let his hands fall down and his form become rigid, controlled, regimental... the change was obvious. This much, Ayden knew; however, his affiliation with General Stuka meant that this man, given his expression, and the look of distaste given whilst speaking of him, obviously didn't like his employer and contractor. However, just how much he'd let on from here on out was relative - he'd have to be sly. Nikolaus was just as much of an asset as Jin.

Giving up the money would be stupid - but letting slip that he knew Nikolaus would most likely result in something else being given up. Stuka wasn't known for his capacity for forgiveness... and even then, he was a far steadier source of contracts, if far less lucrative for a one-time job, than Mr. Jin was presumed to be. It was a toss-up... he'd have to find equilibrium, it seemed - the perfect balance. He couldn't allow another fantastic opportunity to escape the hungry, ravenous jaw-like grasp of his snare.

Wait... was that who he had been asked to- no, it couldn't be. Jin looked well-educated; and even those with a modicum of intelligence knew Nikolaus was renowned for his incredible endurance, especially against pain and those issues related to a mortal body. Almost as macabre as himself; together, the pair were near-unstoppable, given their attitudes towards killing as a pastime, and respective personalities... the two sides of the coin when it came to insanity. Dark, brooding, and damaged; and manic happiness in tandem with appreciation of almost any art forms. He was creative; Nikolaus was... practical. No, the pair of them were safe; so long as the assassin played his cards right and was careful not to initially show his hand.

"Most know of General Stuka," Treading carefully, Ayden, treading carefully. "I am indeed acquainted with him, alongside scores of others considered just as important as me by rank - I would no sooner call him a friend than any of the other Generals of the country," A little white lie went a long way towards easing himself further into the business deal. He simply had to alleviate Jin's fears. "A better description of our relationship would be to say that I know of him and his reputation, aye?"

Slyly, the man continued to speak. "Alas, money aside, I would most likely be unable to provide you little other than common knowledge on the General, his whereabouts, his motives..." And so on, and so forth; Ayden tilted his head to the side, confident he'd managed to dodge a bullet and avoid fully answering the question, maintaining ambiguity at the same time. He'd only bent the truth, rather than pinning it down and brutally beating it to a pulp... right? "Does this answer your question, Mr. Jin?"

He had claimed that alongside other scores of people, Ayden was considered just as important, and his position only sustained by rank - this much was true. However, off the books? The pair were... more than acquainted, although the term still applied. The silver-haired, cerulean-eyed man had lied not once - he had simply omitted the truth and weaved a convoluted path around a straightforward answer. Hopefully that would be enough for Mr. Jin - and the situation wouldn't escalate further. Fidgeting now, anxious to leave for a number of reasons - mainly to get preparing straight away for working on this brand new contract - he cocked his head and awaited an answer, the pair both standing above the table of files.

[Guest]

The hesitation was blatantly obvious. Apparently mentioning Stuka's name brought about a sudden realization, especially coupled with Hei's current scowling face. It wasn't until near the end of the awkward silence, that the Xingman realized that he may have been misunderstood on what he wanted from Ayden about Stuka. So, naturally, Hei was about to begin speaking, but before he could open his mouth or make any gesture to begin, the hired professional gave his calculated response.

"Most know of General Stuka, I am indeed acquainted with him, alongside scores of others considered just as important as me by rank - I would no sooner call him a friend than any of the other Generals of the country."

. . . Oh, really?

"A better description of our relationship would be to say that I know of him and his reputation, aye?"

. . . So he WAS trying to dance a fine line, here. This answer was too smooth, considering his blatant silence earlier. Was he trying to cover up the fact that he knew Stuka? Because Stuka would employ him? It'd be just like that blasted Amestrian to pay someone else to do a job or two.

"Alas, money aside, I would most likely be unable to provide you little other than common knowledge on the General, his whereabouts, his motives..."

. . . He actually thought that he was going to hire him to do job against Stuka? That would be massively counterproductive. That, or he didn't want to expose Stuka to him, since he seemed to be displaying hateful tendencies. Eh, it was just a normal reaction of his to hate Stuka with every fibre of his being, but not much else beyond that.

"Does this answer your question, Mr. Jin?"

That was about the point Hei had start piling up his files. Well, the only ones he kept to his left was the original file on the target, the one containing his photographs, and the one on Ayden. The rest of them were stacked up in a nice big pile on his right.

"It'd more truthful of me to say that your silence at the beginning told me more than your words." he says finally, after shuffling all the files together. If one looks carefully, one can notice his right hand was now slightly misshapen underneath that glove. As though there were claws.

"The fact that you know him should be enough. Probably more than you say, but. There's no need for me to pry. ... The General and I go way back, and it's been a while since I last spoke with him. He knows how to contact me, but I'm having difficulty getting to him . . .

Could you give him a message for me? It would be "In Drachmam Terra . . . Omnia Vanitas" that it's from the 'Sixth.' I think he'll understand . . ."

[Guest]

"It'd more truthful of me to say that your silence at the beginning told me more than your words." Ayden nodded, saying no more. The man was analytical; he was a fool to think that he could even begin to slink around that sharp, harsh gaze of his, those small Xingese eyes. He had penetrated the shady defenses the silver-haired assassin had put up, and now he was standing here, feeling like a damned child. Only some could patronise him like this... a vein bulged momentarily on his head, but then Ayden remembered his creed and the money on the table here.

"The fact that you know him should be enough. Probably more than you say, but. There's no need for me to pry... The General and I go way back, and it's been a while since I last spoke with him. He knows how to contact me, but I'm having difficulty getting to him..." Ayden arched his eyebrow and scanned the Xingese's face. Wrinkles and general indicators of stress related to falsifications in speech seemed to be at ease... for as far as the cerulean-eyed man could see, Mr. Jin was not lying. He knew the General... but this man was far shadier than he'd previously presumed. He could be a master of deception - and probably was, for all the freelance knew. He kept his vision strained and his eyes fastened on that light-brown complexion of his, nodding and letting the man finish.

"Could you give him a message for me? It would be "In Drachmam Terra... Omnia Vanitas" that it's from the 'Sixth.' I think he'll understand..." 'In the land of Drachma, vanity is all'. For the second time in the meeting, Ayden froze solid. What did that mean? Snapshots of the desert; the being speaking to him, the one he fought with moments later. The ruins of Xerxes... and their momentary clash. His speaking of artificial humans... homunculi. Amongst the rumour mill, he'd heard - the leader of Drachma was indeed a homunculus. Was this... this statement.. possibly true? The woman he'd met in East City... Alena... she had called herself Vanity during the complications that had arisen with this particular job.. did she... was she... how did this all tie together?

Confused, questions darting back and forth within his head, Ayden quickly concluded that without further pieces of the puzzle coming towards him, he had nowhere near enough substance to do more than greatly extrapolate; and any situation was theoretical, conspiracy or otherwise. For now, he would simply had to deduce simply statements and facts based on what he knew - 'Vanity' was no human, perhaps similar to the one he'd met in the Xerxian ruins, perhaps a sibling? Some sort of bastardised scientific experiment? But at the same time... even in being no human... perhaps... perhaps...

Now was not the time for deductions. He would think on this... later. For now, he was to live in the moment; do as he was asked, and those thirty million cenz, those crisp bills, that single transaction to an offshore account... they would all be his. Then he could think about all this. Ayden quickly and sharply nodded his head, up and down, up and down. Only twice. He thrust his hand forwards like a trident of the ancient sea-god Poseidon himself, hoping that Jin would grasp it once more.

"'In Drachmam Terra, Omnia Vanitas'," He committed it quickly to memory, once more mulling over the statement like a fine, tested wine. "Considering the circumstances, I would be more than happy to get in touch with the good General. I'll ask no further questions; you're paying me for my services, not for my inquisition..." He paused, and cocked his head. "Of you, anyway."

He flicked his eyes towards Hei's hand briefly, cerulean orbs taking a quick mental image and committing it; he'd seen the grotesque imitation, the oddly-disfigured limb, but only barely, when the man had been shuffling the files, but couldn't really get a good enough picture of it now... ah well, it didn't matter. If all went to plan, he would be meeting Mr. Jin again... soon. Oh so very soon.

"'Til we meet again, and hopefully on the grounds of success, Mr. Jin,"

The resonance of wailing police sirens in the distance; Ayden's ears pricked, and he saw the malicious grin slip onto Hei's face. He twitched; a vein bulged on his pale forehead. As much as he so wished he could, he knew he was thus far unable to compromise his status so close to the execution of the contract... the mark always came first. His first rule.

He knew Hei would take care of them. He'd just have to pray for the man... and hope that his blood of his enemies flowed like a river.

All-too-quickly, Ayden slipped behind the now-vacant shadows of the counter, a sizzling, over-cooked steak still lying in a pan on the counter, stove still on - everything was just as the staff had left it, a kitchen in motion just... frozen, stopped, absolutely and completely. It was as if time itself had come to a standstill and people had just evaporated save for himself and the Xingese.

Quickly, Ayden skirted around the columns and into the darkness, disappearing into the West City daylight in but an instant, blending in as best he could. Tonight... tonight. The mark would die.

[EXIT THREAD]

[Guest]

Thrice in one meeting, he'd made this man freeze up a little. Did everything he had to say end up being a shock or a revelation to the killer? But, that was a good thing, considering why he seemed to stiffen these last two times: Ayden Derocha was a very ... very knowledgeable man. How far his understanding reach, Hei could not tell and chances are it wouldn't matter even if he knew how much Ayden understood.

After all, no matter the game, the fun can only increase with the additions or recognition of more players! Mr. Derocha was a fascinating man, ammoral judging by his behavior and choice of action, while decisive and punctual. And brutally efficient and lethal. Such a player in the mass web, who no doubt had his own resources and tools, of underground politics and business would be a fascinating individual. He'd be either one to hire, one to target, or one to fraternize with, but alas. Whatever shock or realization he caused with these words were not as long-lasting as the last time, seeing as Ayden soon recovered and offered his hand to shake. Now, this was his right hand, and thusly Hei offered his gloved right in return. One last shake to seal the deal, it seems.

"'In Drachmam Terra, Omnia Vanitas'" the assassin repeats, as if making sure he had it memorized correctly, to which Hei politely nods in confirmation as they finish their gesture of finalizing this contract. Now there were no worries left, payment would be sent and a certain person would die.

"Considering the circumstances, I would be more than happy to get in touch with the good General. I'll ask no further questions; you're paying me for my services, not for my inquisition..."

Happy words those were, pelasing Hei most.

"Of you, anyway."

His smile faded a little, returning him back to his neutral expression. Really, he didn't have much to say in response to that. But, then again, considering the personality and behavior of this man, Hei didn't think too much about it. Eccentricities from 'Stuka' had already immunized him from random suggestions of threats or perceptions of alternate meanings to words. Really, he'd think nothing of it, until the day came where they would have to lunge at each other's throats and tear each other to shreds.

"'Til we meet again, and hopefully on the grounds of success, Mr. Jin"

"No doubt we will see each other again, in the name of good business." Hei responds, implied smile behind his now impassive face. And with that, the hired assassin Ayden Derocha parted from this meeting with a new contract and designated target with ludicrous pay. Well, considering the target was heavily guarded and rarely found outside of his home which had state-of-the-art security, the pay was a tad bit justified (if still twice too much than what would be considerably equal to the effort needed to eliminate him). But, alas.

Sirens were coming. Not THOSE sirens, of course, but nosy law enforcement fellows who had no idea what it was they were dealing with. Now, Hei was most willing to butcher them, but alas. He probably needed to just split. Really, no need to cause any trouble here, since he might need to come back. SO! Only one sensible thing to do, burn down the establishment!

Well, I mean, he wasn't REALLY going to burn the place down. No, he just burned up all the unnecessary files, lighting them ablaze and dumping them on the floor to burn away. Honestly, considering what his whole cache of weapons was, he only needed two cases. So, what was in the third case you might inquire? A little present, as he connects some wires here and there inside it.

'Ahhh, spent a pretty penny on this thing, and now it's going to get used up in the middle of nowhere. How ... funny ...'

----Five minutes later----

So, there he was. Standing pretty far away from the establishment, thoroughly deserted. Yeah, polizei were barging in, responding to lots of calls concerning the sudden death of a customer inside said establishment. Hei? He had gone out the backdoor, slipped away into the shadows, and managed to bypass the onslaught of police cars to get far ... FAR away. With another detonator in his hands.

Needless to say, the whole establishment crumbled to the ground soon afterwards. Fortunately, no casualties . . . a most displeasing fact for him, but alas. So long as the place was rubble, that's all that mattered.

And so the Xing-Drachman stole away in the darkness, the evening was settling in pretty well, and his ride should be here soon to take him back. Back the way that he had came into Amestris. Although there was going to be something mildly irritated about this trip back home . . . he couldn't stop smiling. Wickedly grinning, teeth slightly gnashing as he quivers from the light bouts of giddy laughter.

'God ... I need to get out more . . .'

[EXIT THREAD]

[/END THREAD]

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