Daan
amor vincit omnia ༊*·˚
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.
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.
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