Realistic or Modern Dulce Periculum

[Daan]

Crossed legs tapped rhythmically under the guise of a shadow, a pair of expensive shoes barely in the dim lights. The right hand flicking open and closing a lighter to break the tense atmosphere that flowed out in waves in the cramped room. It went on like this for a few more minutes before the flicking stopped altogether. Opting to snap his fingers instead, a golden brass-knuckle connected to the face of the victim tied up just in the light. The body slumping to the side, groans and moans of pain filled the room. Blood was the least of his worries.

His voice was distorted, courtesy of 10’s magical tinkering, “I have all night, Mr Fowler.” His tone of disinterest apparent. “We can get this over soon if you’d just tell me where my package is.”

He held up a hand for his lackey to stop beating on the middle-aged man. His face was beyond saving with a swollen eye that was closed shut and lip with a deep cut in it.

Mr Fowler spat out the blood on the ground, “...I-I told you…” His voice trembling, his body shaking in fear. “...Medusa-”

The tapping of his foot stopped, uncrossing his legs at sudden interest with his rival’s name being spouted in front of him. “What of this group?” He had spoken it in malice, a sharp hiss, distaste of the name even reaching his ears at all.

“M-m-medusa took the shipment before I could- Oof!” His gut earned another punch, making Mr Fowler double over in pain in the fetal position.

The interrogator lets out a deep sigh. “Mr Fowler, I’ll give you a week. If you don’t have the shipment by then...well, I know you have a family—”

“No!” He groaned out, “P-please, not them!” The urgency in his voice, straining against the pain that already racked his body.

“One week. If you don’t have the money or the shipment, you can kiss your family values goodbye.” With a curt nod to his lackeys, they move from the shadows to pull the badly beaten man up by his arms. “Discard this mess outside our territory. Don’t leave a trail.” He ordered the men who dragged Mr Fowler out of the room.

“Loup.” A young male’s voice came through on the earpiece that was stuck in his ear.

Loup, as he’s currently known as, stands to his full height of 5’10” with an athletic build hidden beneath a black dress shirt with a vest over it. “10.” He returns the greeting, albeit monotone.

“I’ve found the package. Looks like we won’t need Mr Fowler after all.” 10 informs him.

Not letting his feelings on the matter be shown, Loup grunts in response, “I’ll be at the Haven in twenty.”

“10-4, awooooooo.” 10 howls into the earpiece before the line goes dead, then Loup hands the piece off to box that’s been presented in front of him.

“Ready the car. I don’t want to spend another second here and send in the cleaners, double the salary this time ‘round. It’s gonna be a pain to get that blood out of the carpet.” Loup instructs another lackey off to the side, who in turns gives him a bow and dips out of the room without making a single sound.

Loup ran a hand through his platinum blond, shoulder-length locks. Taking his time to pocket his lighter before stepping around the puddle of blood that was now drying on the white carpet. A poor decision, in his opinion—might as well buy new carpeting again. Loup made his way out of the room, flanked by two men on either side as he entered the long, grey hallway. A small chill running down his spine, reminding him he was in the basement of some remodelled warehouse that he owned, anyway.

After climbing some flights of stairs, the right-hand lackey opened the door to the outside world. It was dark out; the sun had set hours ago. The city of angels was covered in a midnight-blue blanket, rarely seeing the jewels that broke through the angeleno’s light pollution.

Loup entered the black SUV waiting for him, finding the seats plush and comfortable, “To the Haven.” He spoke. A firm nod coming from the driver before they set off from the dimly lit streets.

 

[JayMessi]

“No, No, Zia,” Jasper said, with a-what looked to be- a blackberry dated from 2009 pressed against his ear as he let out a disgruntled sigh. He took a few relaxed paces around the small room he resided in, as half heartedly listened to his anxious aunt on the other end of the line. The list of concerned that she spewed out was overwhelming, and Jasper had to suck in his teeth to prevent himself from verbally feeding into her concerns out of misguided spite. He took his opportunity to exit the conversation once she paused to take a breath. “I am fine, I promise. I don’t need anymore money. I am getting by fine. Now I have to go. Ti voglio bene.”



There wasn’t much discernible emotion lingering behind his words, a flat tone as if he only used his words as a vessel to get out critical information. As if reading from a script. He wasn’t always like this, before his incarceration he was almost too expressive in his tone. He was chattier too; his words he carried a certain amount of unintentional energy and passion that his tone alone would blatantly express his mood.



He had been a free man now for somewhere between two and six months. It was hard for him, at the moment, to take notice to the passage of time. It was a coping mechanism he hadn’t quite shaking from his time behind bars, as intentionally ignoring the passage of time helped wade away the insanity that would look over compulsively focusing on the amount of time left. In the time since he was released on parole he had managed to get an apartment with money he earned from odd jobs he took around the city. The ankle bracelet that had been anchored on to him as a condition of his parole lasted maybe a week, before he opted to make some adjustments to it. Allowing him to put it on and take it off at will allowed him free movement around the city, and allowed the jobs he had taken to offer larger payouts as they weren’t necessarily legal. Now, besides the lingering threat of his parole officer’s visit during a time where he was breaking his terms, he was free to pursue a certain itch he had been wanting to scratch for about half a decade at this point.

He took a few more steps around the claustrophobic space. Most of the limited space was occupied by a twin sized mattress, which was almost too small for him to lie on completely outstretched without his feet going off the edge, and a wooden nightstand. He allowed himself to fall onto the bed, vacant eyes straying absentmindedly at a water stain on the ceiling. He lost grip of his phone letting it fall to the wooden finishing beside the bed. The fan above his head creaked as the blades turned, it cried under the weight of the dust that had collected on top of them. The intrusion of the sound was the only thing truly keeping him clinging to consciousness. Eventually he was struck back into reality due to the familiar chime of his dated phone. He outstretched an arm to grasp the handheld device, bringing it towards him to view a message he received.
It was from an unknown number, the message most likely sent from somebody’s burner. Jasper was uncertain who, as he had made a lot of new contacts in pursuit of knowledge about his old, supposedly deceased, best friend.

The message simply read, Haven.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Jasper muttered under his breath. He wasn’t sure if the person who contacted him was the member of the gang who had some grievances with his former friend (Jasper had forgotten the name of the group, something serpent themed but it started with an M), or if it was one of his friend’s allies who had been eager to sell him out for some cash. Jasper wasn’t even positive that this Loup person he was pursuing even was his friend, as at this point the man had gone by at least two different names from Jasper’s knowledge. As far as he was concerned, he could be going after three entirely different men.

The situation was frustrating. Jasper always hated engaging in gang politics, but after faking his death and burning all other paper trails, Nino had left Jasper no choice. He only hoped that he wouldn’t have to ask for anymore information from Medusa’s members, because although they complied due to mutual interest in taking care of Loup, Jasper was pretty certain he was only a few steps away from having ‘favors’ being asked of him in exchange for information.

Jasper opened his laptop and searched the term sent to him. It didn’t take long for him to figure out the text was alluding to a club on the eastern side of the city. He didn’t hesitate much longer to make his way to his feet. He opened the door to his closet to grab his jacket which he layered over the plain white shirt he was wearing. He then reached into the back of his closet, pulling out a deposit box where he kept his .22 caliber pistol which he tucked into the holster on his waist. He used the combination of his shirt and jacket in order to properly conceal it.

He lifted his keys from his bed side table, allowing them to jingle obnoxiously as he half hazardously tucked them into his pocket and dialed the number for a cab.

Jasper wasn’t quite positive what he might find tonight at this night club, purely hoping to stumble across a bit more information on his former friend’s evident connection to it. He just wasn’t quite sure what name he should use for him. Overall, he intended to keep a low profile.

 

[Daan]

Shortened to Haven or The Haven, Hydra Haven is considered an upscale nightclub, restaurant, and bar in East LA. Depending on time and day of the week, Haven is rarely seen not running. It is considered a sleepless sanctuary for those who never truly sleep well. Situated between Belvedere Gardens and South Montebello, the Haven is considered a staple of East LA. Despite its newly renovated building, the Haven has been established for less than a decade and has only expanded since its founding. It regularly gives back to the community it found itself a part of from giveaways to food drives and even paying off rent/bills for those less fortunate—sometimes even providing shelter to the homeless, but its philanthropy could only go so far before their homeless shelter was shut down.

Loup definitely knew what he was doing when buying out the previous owner that used to own a store. The owner was glad to be out of debt when he bought it over the market’s price. For legality reasons, Loup used a false name—a new identity he came to terms after his falsified death—June Park. As June, he was owner of the 3-in-1 business, and general manager of the Haven when it operated as a restaurant in the daytime instead of as a club or bar in the nighttime. The other person who co-owned the bar was Hayleigh, who could be seen there almost at all hours of the day—she was the manager of the club and bar, happy to say that she was the owner when Karen’s waltzed in her trap. The employees call her, Hel or Hela, sometimes hazing new employees to call Hel by her fullname, Hayleigh - which she hates to be called.

Now that the club was in full swing, Hel was watching like a hawk from the upper floor. The bass booming through the opulent building. When she spoke, no one could quite place her accent. It was a mixture of Northern Ireland and American—many mistaking it to Australian. Hel never let it irritate her, but when Americans said she had a British accent, she couldn’t help but correct them by saying there was no general “British” accent. She leaned on the glass railing, lights flickering into different colours spilled slightly over her.

“Heads up, Hela. Boss in 20.” 10’s youthful, carefree, thin voice came through on the other end of her earpiece. Pressing a slender, manicured finger to her ear, she retorted, “Do your magic, 10.”

The moment those words came through, 10 cut out the power to the club; the screams and shouting of confusion came through before the lights all came back on. Revealing some top ten artist appear on a stage in front of the DJ’s booth. Almost instantly, the atmosphere changed from scared to straight-up roaring of cheers.

“Looks like your man showed up, after all.” Hel said to 10.

“Hey, hey… don’t hate the playa, hate the game.” His voice was full of amusement.

Hela visibly shuddered at the cringy quote. Her emerald opals grew dark before looking over the crowd again, directing bouncers to what looked like a shouting match in the VIP area via radio that was clutched in her left hand.

“Do you know why the boss is coming here tonight?” A husky-feminine voice spoke up on the earpiece, her accent distinctive of a French one.

“10?” Hel questioned.

“Don’t ask me, I dunno either. Man-boss was doing some business at the other end of the city. Not my bees-wax what he does behind closed doors, but I found some BDSM sites on his laptop. Maybe he finally met a lady.” 10 joked, being vague about what June was doing. It was something that mostly stayed between the two.

“Ugh, you’re so depraving, 10.” Jas interjected.

Another voice clipped in, a deep-low voice that spoke in fast Mandarin. The Serpents understood X spoke a dialect of Mandarin, but it wasn’t the one spoken on Chinese news. And the only other person who understood him well enough was June. 10 was making some progress on learning his language. The others tried with basic phrases, but unsuccessful.

“Y’know what X, we’ll get back to you on that. I doubt Hel would mind anyway.” 10 snickered. X spoke another phrase that translated into, ‘Thank you.’ before opting to not talk altogether.

The line went fully silent, with everyone doing their respective roles at the haven. Technically, 10 wasn’t anywhere near the club as he was underage, yet that didn’t stop him from being the backbone of the technology department. Despite being known online as the anonymous hacker, 0Z0, 10 has yet to be unveiled as one of top ten hackers that even the UN could not track down. There were things in his past that he’d rather not talk about, but in online forums, he was hailed as a hero.

For the moment, he was content to act as the security of The Haven—which hasn’t been cracked yet. Chugging energy drinks as his hands went to work on his laptop, unlike in the movies how they portrayed hackers to be using proficient-clear, simplistic code, 10 was actually just playing a game. His eyes occasionally went over the 4K HD security cameras displayed on the monitors that sat on the L-shaped desk. 10 had a complex system in place, code alerted him when someone was attempting to hack into his security framework. Or even when someone was attempting to sneak into the building, the haven was possibly the most difficult to break into.

As the minutes ticked down on his timer, he finished another round on Counter-Strike before logging off. A black nondescript SUV pulled into the back. His voice came back into the earpiece of the others.

“Look alive, NPCs. Boss is here.” 10 spoke, downing the rest of his third energy drink.

At the back of the building, June made his way out of the vehicle. Making a habit of looking around to find no one around before being led through the back entrance. His men made sure the door locked firmly in place behind them before moving through a small series of halls, stairs, and finally up into the security room. He went through a small hall through there to make it into his personal office. Without trouble spurring in the place since his arrival, June was looking over some files that sat on his desk. Mostly the budget of the place, it was making more than what he planned for.

June poured himself some wine, swirling the expensive vice around in his glass before taking a sip. He was waiting for something to happen. What? He didn’t know yet. For now, he was waiting for the others to gather here.

 

[JayMessi]

The taxi ride to the upscale restaurant, bar, and nightclub triple threat took around forty five minutes. It was a rather pleasant forty five minute, this apparent by the fact that as Jasper made his way out of the cab the ends of his lips were curled into a bit of a reminiscent grin. He actually didn’t remember much of the conversation he held with the older man. The slicked back grey curls on the man’s head and the creases on his face had indicated he was, at the very least, in his late forties. Jasper did remember they were both from New Jersey, and that had been the central focus of the conversation. The man’s accent was thick in a familiar way that reminded Jasper of the nostalgic instances of his childhood. In turn, Jasper’s own accent was laid on a bit thicker as they discussed what areas of the state they were from, who they had known from the area, and reminisced of public places that held some significance to them.
The conversation was pleasant enough to earn the driver a generous tip. Perhaps too generous, as Jasper’s cash supply was all but depleted at this point and he still needed to find a way home. There would be a cover charge to get in, most likely, and he would probably be required to purchase a drink.

He let out a breath as he took in the cool night air, a gentle breeze acted as a minor disruption to a rather still night. The base from the club could be heard clearly from outside its walls, the building seemed to tremble from the sheer force of the audio. The line to enter the club seemed long, and Jasper had already tired of standing in it before even joining.

Why was he even here?

He felt uncomfortable. Out of place, even. He never used to feel this sudden surge of social anxiety when out at places like these, not that he was ever particularly fond of them. He was out of practice. And even though at the moment he wasn’t required to perform or engage in anyway, he could feel his chest tighten.

He didn’t let his discomfort show, if anything, if his face showed any emotion, it would be anger. His earlier grin had subsided and his expression had taken on a subtle scowl that he had taken on as his natural resting face over his years behind bars (as a more pleasant expression was seen as an invitation to be messed with). It was in stark contrast to the rather cheerful demeanor of the soon-to-be patrons surrounding him.

The three young women in front of him were gossiping loudly, clearly already a little inebriated before even entering the club. He was a little too engrossed in their conversation, using the story the three were telling as a form of entertainment to pass the time. From what he had gathered, someone separate yet close to the main group had been sleeping with someone they hadn’t quite approved of for a variety of conflicting reasons.

It didn’t seem as if much time had passed before he had made his way to the front of the line. He felt his heart begin to race as he reached the front, straying from the conversation he had overheard to the rather large bouncer standing at the door of the club to check IDs.

He felt his defenses rise, it was too late to turn back. He was going to be frisked. They would feel the gun strapped around his waist and then—

“Your ID?” The bouncer, who was only a couple of inches shorter than Jasper and far more toned, repeated.

“Yeah,” Jasper nodded as he reached into his wallet to grab his ID and handed it to the bouncer who scanned it over with a light. Jasper’s hand clenched into a fist, ready to throw the first punch when necessary.

The bouncer simply nodded at Jasper and held his ID out for him to collect, allowing him access into the club.

Jasper felt as if the bouncer’s stare might have lingered a little too long as he entered the club.

It was most likely out of paranoia.
The combination of the overwhelmingly loud music, neon lights, and the bitter sweet smell of fruity syrup with rum was almost nauseating. Jasper held still as he focused on his mission. He wasn’t quite sure what that was. He wasn’t sure why he had been summoned here, or if he had been summoned at all. What exactly was he supposed to get out of that cryptic text message?

It was clear that Nino had some relationship with this place. Or-maybe not that obvious- maybe other members of the gang had a connection? Or maybe this was a sort of safe space for the opposing gang? Not likely, based on the name alone. There had to be something significant about this place, someone Jasper could talk to. He had seen all the spy movies Nino had been obsessed with throughout their childhood, there was always some sort of shady business going on in places like these.

His eyes scanned the bar bouncing past each unfamiliar face, as if he expected to find something. As if, somewhere in the club, there would be a sign instructing him on how to proceed
He finally made the move that seemed most obvious to him, and made his way to the bar and had a seat. He watched the two bartenders on shift practically dance around each other as they mixed drinks and sent them out at a rhythmic pace.

The curly haired bartender, a blonde whose most attractive feature had to be her curls that extended just past her shoulders, hesitated a moment in front of Jasper.

“What can I get for ya today, darlin’,” she asked. Her voice along with her southern drawl carried just above the sound of the music. It must’ve taken time for her to perfect speaking over the sound of the music without outright yelling.

“Just a water,” She must have been able to read lips too, because Jasper made no effort to compete with the music as he spoke. But nevertheless, she gave him a nod and used a nozzle nearby to fill a pure plastic cup with water and slide it in front of him.

Jasper didn’t drink. Well, he had in the past, but he didn’t like to make a habit of it. Under the influence he had the tendency to indulge to an extent where he would lose part of his memory. Plus, drinking was in direct violation of his parole. And although everything he was doing tonight was in direct violation of his parole, none of his actions would show up on a drug test.

A few moments after he had gotten his water, the other bartender, a short tattooed man with long brown hair tied up into a bun, dropped off a shot glass filled with thick caramel toned liquid. His eyes met the other bartender in protest, but the man gestured towards a woman-around 5’11 in heels, who was already making her way towards Jasper.

“I don’t drink.” He stated simply once she was close enough to have the chance to hear him. “Not tonight. I’m the DD.”

“Bull.” She said, placing one hand against the bar facing him. She was close. Too close. A few stray strands of amber hair brushed against his shoulder as she turned her head. Was she looking for something? “I didn’t see you come in with anyone.”

Jasper hesitated a moment. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he took in the woman who again, was far too close. Was she just being flirtatious? No, the hair that brushed against him felt rough and bristly. The hair was synthetic, she was wearing a wig. A convincing one at that, with the dim light of the club disguising it’s slightly unnatural shine.

“Am I supposed to know ya, or somethin’?”

 

[Daan]

A blinking red light filled the room, prompting 10 to look away from his laptop. Making him sit-upright in his gaming chair, putting the laptop off to the side. 10 pulled himself up closer to the desktop—gaming monitors littered the top of it, some even stacked up on top of one another with a custom-built mechanical keyboard, and mouse. The silent sensors that were set up above The Haven’s entrance detected a firearm on a male. With a full scan of the male’s body, it could pull up a .22-Calibre handgun. The older male shuffled his way into the back of the line.

Through the earpiece, 10 alerted Hela, describing the behemoth that was easy to spot given his size. Hel was making her way from the railing, ready to join her boss, who she could see was with a double entourage flanking him in the hall that led to his office, technically, their office.

“What do you think? Another rook?” Hel questioned. The description of the man seemed so.

“I say… let him go through.” Jas comments. From above, Hel can see Jas making her way over from the VIP lounge. By fashion standards, she could excel in the modelling department, given her height and lithe build. The plate of golden accessories only accentuated her beauty, stark against her bronze dark-brown skin. Grey eyes searching for a path out of the dance floor.

“10, monitor him. I know you won’t be able to make it to the meeting tonight.” Hel retorts.

“Yes, ma’am.” He spoke in a sing-song voice. The subtle disgust showing on her face through the monitor only made the hacker smile wider.

“Where’s X, anyway. I don’t see that tiger anywhere.” Jas remarks in the earpiece, breaking through the throng of dancers.

X spoke up, unable to tell them directly that he was making his way from the ‘nest.’ Understanding tidbits of it, 10 murmured something in Mandarin back to him.

“He’ll be there soon, Jas. I know you’re anxious without your tiger~ mrrrrow~~”

“You’re ridiculous, 10. I don’t understand why Loup hired you—”

“Best in the business, Jayjay the jetplane. That’s why.”

“I’ll iron those noodles out of that head of yours once I get back.” Jas threatened him. Mostly playful banter. 10 was the thorn in everyone’s side.

“Hey, don’t bite the hand that feeds ya.” He quipped, chuckling as the line went fully dead. Hel gave the go-ahead sign to let him on through. Sometimes it was better to keep your enemies closer. Hel finally left the top floor, choosing a second-hidden door to enter the shared office. As for Jas, she was already making her way up the stairs that were blocked off from anyone that was authorised to cross over—mostly employees and members of their crew. Once she reached the top floor, she snuck a flute of champagne off one of the trays sitting on a table nearby, following the same path that Hela took earlier.

When she entered, Hel made herself comfortable in the plush, white leather couch in front of the window. You could see the interstate ahead, the tops of cars zipping by, with buildings below them. The Haven didn’t have a favouring view, but it provided some cover from prying eyes. A large, metal-sleek black desk sat on the other end of the room, where a large map of the world was decorated on the brick wall behind it. Filing cabinets filled out the rest, a bookshelf filled with reading material relevant to the business, replica paintings filled out whatever wall space was available, and the rest of it being of plants—some were plastic.

Her eyes searched the room for X, who was already there, leaning against the left-side wall. Drawing in a long puff from the cancer stick stuck between his lips. The red of it briefly lighting up a hardened face, his nose-length black bangs framed his oval face. Dark brown eyes bordering on black looking right back at her. X was a mysterious man, mostly because his English wasn’t as good as his Mandarin. X ashed his cigarette in the black ashtray that sat on a shelf just above the fireplace he stood next to. If Jas were to stand side-by-side next to him, she’d be towering over him by two inches.

Apart from 10 not being there, the entire team was all there. Jas gave X a warm smile before finding herself sitting on the other side of the couch that Hela sat on. Once the door shut, the blinds drew shut on all the windows in the office and a hologram lit up in the middle of the room—it was 10.

“Oh good, you’re all here. Boss?” 10 spoke.

June downed the rest of the wine, placing the papers back into his desk before standing to join the others. Before coming here, he had switched into a more casual look; a grey button shirt with a white t-shirt beneath it, leaving several of the buttons undone at the top to form a small v, black slacks, and leather loafers. Once he stood next to 10, June slipped on some half-palm black gloves.

Since 10 was there via hologram, he could easily manipulate the room to showcase what he wanted—from videos, sound, to even recreating scenarios of potential heists. Meeting at The Haven wasn’t ideal, but something had shifted in June. It was unlike him to want a meeting at the same place he actively avoided. But here they were all now, questions of their own about why their family meeting was there instead of back at the estate. Before anyone else could say what they were all thinking at that moment, June gestured for 10 to bring up the virtual board.

It was a corkboard that displayed various pictures of the crew, information blackened out in droves on their individual profiles, and it all drew to the centrepiece of a single bank. It wasn’t any bank, no it was a federal reserve bank; the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco, near Fashion District. Almost comical, with a giant black circle drawn around it for emphasis.

“So you put together a slideshow?” Jas comments.

“I was getting there, J. If you waited.” June retorts, before continuing, He pointed a finger at the bank. “Here is our way out. I know I’ve been talking about this for ‘while, but I’ve been putting it together- observation is key in this situation and when we succeed, we’ll each have at least twenty-million.” June translated it for X, whose calm demeanour had shifted in interest. All four were looking his way, intrigue shown on all faces.

 

[JayMessi]

A foreign force strayed the artificial redhead’s attention once more, as she suddenly snapped her head to the side to catch a fleeting glimpse of something out of Jasper’s view. Jasper sucked in his teeth, the tightening grip on his cup was almost forceful enough to threaten the integrity of the plastic. He shifted his weight on the barstool once more causing it to creek under his pressure. He wasn’t sure if he could endure this strange interaction much longer, and it wasn’t until he finally made up his mind in favor of leaving the club that she finally snapped her attention back towards him.

“Hm, sorry,” She hummed, her head twisting back towards him. Her golden eyes now needed to flicker upward to catch his eyes. He shifted his glance instantly once she attempted eye contact. “I really like this song.”

Jasper was unable to distinguish any discernible music through the pounding of the base. “Great,” his statement was laced with disinterest. “Look I-, uh-do ya need somethin’ from me?”

She smiled, the action accentuated her rose red lipstick she was wearing as she leaned past him to grip the shot he had left on the bar, her own light pink cocktail occupying the other. “You’re a friend of Elijah’s, right?”

Jasper’s bright eyes widened in realization as they set intently on her. The implication of the statement made her association apparent. She brought the shot glass to her lips, letting it hover there momentarily. “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you sure you don’t want this?”

Jasper shook his head, and with that she threw back her head as she pressed the rim of the shot glass to her lips. She crinkled her face in response to the bitter taste as she placed the glass back on the bar. “Come on, let’s go have a seat somewhere a little more private so we can chat.”

She didn’t wait for him to make a move to the other side of the club, having already gained quite a distance from him by the time he realized he was supposed to be following her. Moving across the building proved to be tedious, as although he tried to make his movements swift in order to keep pace there were numerous barriers in the form of warm bodies, moving independently blissfully unaware of their own surroundings. Jasper had made unintentional physical contact with at least half a dozen people before finally arriving at a booth. The seats were leather, and the dark material gleamed under a soft blue light that hung overhead. That light was contained in the confines of the private booth. As he took his seat, he ran his hands gently off the material of the booth. The leather was soft and flexible under his touch, it had a slight grainy feel which only indicated that the leather was genuine. He noted that it was well maintained, with no stains or tears, even the thread that held each seem together had yet to fray. The booth was rounded with no separation and the back of the seats raised high giving the area a false sense of privacy. Although there was still an unrelenting infestation of noise flooding in from other parts of the club, the sound was a lot less overwhelming than it had been at the bar in the center of the commotion. The woman situated herself directly across from Jasper, setting her drink down between them. The salmon pink concoction had been already half depleted, and the citrus garnish was a bit lopsided leaning heavily to the left dangerously close to tipping over. Condensation on the glass was already leaking onto the table.

“Elijah told me you are looking for someone?” The woman said, cutting the silence between them.

“You and Elijah talk about me often?” He asked resting his elbows on a metal table separating the two . “Who are you?”

“You can call me Jenn.”

“Is that your real name?”

“No.” She offered him a coy smile as she raised her glass to take a sip and in return Jasper let out a sigh. This is why he didn’t like getting involved with these types of people, and caused him to momentarily entertain the idea of leaving once more. “So you’re looking for someone.”

“Yeah, but I don’t really know if I’m comfortable-” He pressed the palm of his hands on the table ready to support himself back to his feet. She pressed a hand on his arm gently in order to halt his action.

“I already know about it, Jasper, Elijah already told me. I’m a friend here, and I just want to see if I can help you.” She stated intentionally making her words come out soothingly in order to feign some sort of earnestness and capture this stranger's trust. Jasper let out an audible breath and reached into his pocket for his wallet. He opened the wallet, the faux leather on it was peeling, worn out over years of abuse. He took out a photo that was creased with the fold of the wallet, and tossed it on the table. ‘Jenn’ picked the photo up holding it between two fingers, her french tips pressing down against the image.

“The picture’s pretty old.” He stated.

“You’re going after a fifteen year old?” She asked, raising her brows at him.

“No, I told’ya, the photo’s old.” He crossed his arms, straying his eyes as if he didn’t want to risk catching his own glimpse of the photo. “He’s older now.”

“Is that you in the photo next to him? With your arm around him?” She asked.

“Yeah, what’ove it?” He asked, his shoulders tense as he muttered his words defensively.

“Cute. Should’ve killed him back then. Before you lost him.”

The latter of the statement lingered. It struck a certain cord, some sort of emotion inside Jasper that he couldn’t quite place. He wanted any feelings associated with Nino to be ones of hostility and resentment, but there was still an ever present sense of remorse and longing associated with thoughts of his former friend. The feeling was more familiar to grief than anything else, but Jasper didn’t like to consider the implications of the complexity of his emotions so he often deferred to the more hostile side of things when the subject arises.

“Do you recognize him?”

The condensation of Jenn’s glass on the table had pool now, leaving a pooled ring of water wrapping around the edge of the glass.

“Do you carry around pictures of everyone you want to kill?”

“What’s with the third degree? Do ya know him or not?” Jasper snapped. Jenn pursed her lips as she took her time examining the photo closer, taking her sweet time going over every discernable feature that might’ve translated into adulthood. “He might’ve changed his hair style or grew a couple of inches since then-I don’t know.” Jasper huffed, leaning back against the booth and crossing his arms to his chest.

“He kind of looks like someone I went to college with back in ‘08.” She stated as she lowered the photo. “...But not really...Sorry, kid. It’s hard to tell for sure, though. Since this picture must be at least a decade old. Do you have anything more recent?”

He shook his head, and she handed the photo back to him. He gave her a shrug as he tucked the photo back in his wallet and placed it in his pocket. “It was a long shot, anyway.” The conversation seemed to be at a halt. “So is that it, then?

“Actually,” Jenn interjected, her eyes setting on his own again. In this lighting, which although contained to their area, was more direct it was easier to make out more of the finer features of her face. Although her wrinkles masked a bit with make-up, the on her face aged her in ways her rather energetic personality was able to mask. She had deeply imprinted lines that extended from the edge of her nose to the ends of her lips, forming over years of wearing every fleeting emotion transparently on her face. There were faint traces of creases set at the outer edges of her eyes, and more would be visible if it wasn’t for the foundation she used. The fact she was wearing a wig was less obvious than Jasper would have expected in the light, as he probably wouldn’t have even realized if a few of the hairs hadn’t brushed against him prior. Her makeup was applied neatly, not overbearing, and suited for her look to draw attention to her more attractive features. She held the word in the air for a moment before continuing the thought as if intentionally trying to let the anticipation build. “There is something else I wanted to discuss.”

 

[Daan]

About an hour later, 10’s holograph disappeared, along with the plan. It would be stored off-site, somewhere only June and he knew of. The others had questions of their own swirling in their minds, ones that’d have to be put back on the shelf. But there was a question they were all thinking of, without a doubt, who this mysterious sixth person was. What did they have that the four of them didn’t already have for this heist?

“I don’t doubt you have questions, but they’ll have to wait until we get back to the estate. I’ll be heading back there shortly after I finish this paperwork.” June informs the others, translating it for X.

Empty flutes gathered on the side table where Jasmin sat. She had switched to sweet drinks long ago. Among the others, she was the first to get up; she smoothened out the wrinkles in her designer dress. “Well, it was a nice family meeting. You better be ready for the BBQ, boss.” She gave him a forewarning. Throwing a smile his way before the clicking of her heels grew faint, the sounding of a closing door shut in the distance.

Whilst the others sat in silence, letting the information soak in, X was already gone. That old fool moved in the night like a field mouse. It was only Hela and June left, which was a perfect situation for her since she needed to discuss other matters concerning the club.

“I’m assuming you know of Medusa’s rooks staking the place out, yes?” She broke the silence with her question.

June was already sitting down in his chair, going over the paperwork for legal reasons. Dark brown eyes shifted to the auburn-headed co-owner sitting on the white sofa, “Yes.” He retorts, his gaze back on the paper with his left hand, going to work on writing the record. Despite being right-handed his entire life, June had paid someone to shift his dominant writing hand to his left—he was that keen to distance himself from his past life.

“Aren’t you worried?”

“Not really, Hel. They’ve been in the place since its expansion. I don’t doubt you’ve known this for months since they’ve sent their first rook before The Haven’s opening or did Jas not inform you?” He inquired without looking up from his papers.

“No. She told me. I just thought-”

“Then you should know to make connections with their lower tiers. The rooks are easier to manipulate. It’s your job, or was I mistaken?”

June could be grating sometimes, and this was one of those times. Did he do it on purpose? Hela didn’t know. He could be caring, but even that was rare. June was quite reserved and callous to any clients he’d meet—Hel saw for herself during their first meeting.

“Right.” Hela hissed out, making a point to get up and stomp her way out of the room, slamming the door tight behind her.

“Oof- what’d the boss do this—”

“10.” Her voice was outright venomous. “Shut the-”

“Yikes! My bad, Hela. I’ll keep an eye out. Imagine we’ll just see each other when we see each other.” 10 retorts, quickly growing silent on the other end of her earpiece.

Huffing out in disappointment, Hel quickly exited the office area before resuming her place back up on the second floor. Her gaze went over the crowd. She could feel the heat from where she sat. The music had grown louder since she returned. The invited artist finished his set before resuming his business in the VIP lounge. Among the sea of faces, Hel could see some other celebrities, politicians that would get grilled by the public for even being there, and more well-known so-called influencers.

“Hela~~” Jas sung into the earpiece, “Time to work your magic. I spot some of the rooks on the dance floor. See what you can get me about these shipment drops.”

“Great. I’ll get you it.” Hela retorts. She took a shot of vodka that burned down her throat before making her way out of the second floor. On the radio, she reminded the bouncers to keep an eye out whilst she dipped into a bit of partying herself. Although some of her employees saw her as a fun boss, some held their opinions of how reckless she was for partying on the job. As the socialite, Hela was a master at getting what she wanted just by talking alone—on the rare end of the spectrum of needing to go further than that.