An uppercut flew into his mouth. He dropped down to the cold ground like the dog he is, not a care in the world for Kris.
„Just business, friend.“ – he muttered, after having broken the guys‘ god damn jaw.
„To Kristijan, it was never personal, just business, guess that‘s what they call a workaholic. He saw things in his own way, never anyones else. He was the kind of person to ask „How high?“ after being told to jump. Didn‘t take shit from no god damn asshole, well, that‘s what they said about him, for me? I don‘t know, he seemed kind of like the guy you‘d like on your side, running down businesses and sacking people for the shit they‘ve done. Nobody gets out of it alive, not you, not me, not him.“ – he finished, pulling his hands over to the table, shackled.
„How do you know him so well? And why did he abandon you? If you want protection, this isn‘t going to cut it, boy.“ – the Agent said, still hovering in his shadows, he fluck the cigarette into the tray, slapping another one in a quick motion. It was just like a movie, except it wasn‘t. Truly it was a nightmare for everyone involved in the ordeal. The Agents didn‘t care though, they wanted to get to the bottom of it.
„Knew him from ... eh, you know, the ol‘ times, used to wander around Victorian Britain, hitting a place there – place there and another over there. It was our job, you know, sheriff the entire place. It didn‘t pay that well, but you had everything you needed already if you were at that level.“ – the guy finishes, shaking the cuffs, staring down at them and up again, further rambling: „But you probably want to know even deeper, he‘s uh, - actually, I don‘t fucking know what he is or where he came from, he has a name that of any cyrillic, I guess? He don’t sound like no Russian or anything. Kind of sounds like he’s Slovenian or maybe Ukrainian. I’m the last person to…” – he’d halt, being interrupted by the shadowy figure.
“We don’t want that sort of information. It is irrelevant, give us something we can work on, dates, places, locations, landmarks, anywhere he’d go.” – exclaimed in a rather demanding tone, the Agent.
The prisoner just smiled at him, he knew that both him and the Agent are likely to die in the upcoming hours. He didn’t think they’d survive to see the light that the morning would bring.
The Agent, annoyed, decides to walk over and pull him up, roughly leading him out of the room into the open. The type of stuff you’d see around you, you have never seen in your life. This was pure bliss, full of super weapons and technology ready to strike down any nation or faction at a moments notice.
That was them. You could tell they wanted you to know who they are. Chances are, if you had seen this already, like the prisoner, you’re already on death row, they don’t flaunt this type of stuff to inmates.
The prisoner was being dragged over as he looked up with a broken eye, staring away at the weirdly shaped insignia. Having focused a bit further, he could decipher exactly what was written, he didn’t understand it, but it was enough to strike him.
“Task Force 201”
“German Facility, 1952”
“Tapferkeit, Tod, Beweglichkeit.”
Having been born in America, the prisoner had no idea what any of that meant, he was also wondering why half of the scribblings on the facility were written in German and half in English, I guess it was an origin thing – seeing as Task Force isn‘t German.
The prisoner, being dragged off the ground and witnessing just about any amount of american superiority, had reached his destination – to his surprise, it wasn‘t the death row, it was an econoline van. They threw him inside and got into the seats, they didn‘t cover him, no potato bag on the head or restraint. They just... went on to drive like that.
„Where are you taking me?“ – he muttered, in a lower tone, it acting as a test of ones supernatural hearing – perhaps the agents were supernatural.
„The farm, boy.“ – the shadowy driver said, taking a glance back at the prisoner.
No sooner than that sentence being finished, a huge boulder slams into the side of the van, taking it off its tracks and spinning it off into one of the many rocks in the deserted area.
The Operators were quick, each disappearing out of their seats before the van even managed to hit the rock. The prisoner, rather bloody from all the damage, lay in shock as he witnesses the two men disappear into thin air.
Footsteps could be heard, whether it was Kris or not, fate could tell. The prisoner shook in fear as he stared down at the back of the van, ready to cast a spell at moments notice. A fist slammed into the back of the vans doors, it gripped the door and threw it out, the assailant staring inside.
„You the snitch?“ – the guy with the mask muttered. „We‘ve been looking for you, me and me‘ boy here. You remember us, don‘t you?“ – exclaimed, finishing his introduction.
„What? You do not sound familiar at all, how-, lik-ke, how the fuck could I know you, really?“
The man reached in, but moments before, he could hear a thump, his partner had been knocked out by what appeared to be a dark-armor wearing operative, night vision included.
Up from above, the other Operative had stalked him down from the side of the van, it being on its side by now, he grips the assailant by the head. In an attempt to stop them both, the assailant immediately clutches onto the operatives hands, dragging him forward and dropping him infront.
The other Operative lunged, throwing three stabs away at the assailant, each of them being parried away, until the last one manages to slice him up, by the shoulder.
The operatives gave the assailant no freedom to breathe, as the Second Operative finished his lunge, the other ran up, directing three, of what appeared to be magically-induced punches.
The assailant got caught off guard entirely, seeing as he had no idea what exactly these two were capable of. Three air-like punches being dealt from afar, he suffers a serious amount of aggravated injuries, dropping onto one of his knees. The other operative gave him no room and ran forward, kneeing him in the jaw, striking his head upwards, followed up by the other operative, who had seemingly blinked into the air and is coming straight down to the assailant. He simply slams away at the assailants head, tearing it off with his hand.
Night continues to strike as the body turns to ashes, withering away, slowly. The Operatives cough up the second assailant, cuffing him up and putting a bag onto his head, slapping him into the back of the van, too.
He was still unconscious, they managed to find out he‘s much weaker than his partner. Having lifted the van back on its feet, the two got inside the car, started up the barely running engine and moved on.
Shook up, the prisoner asked: „What in tarnation are you two? Since when did the government hire such people?“
Silence continued to erupt, as they drove down the valley, taking up almost all of the fortnight of their time, nevertheless, they arrived to the base.
One of the Operators shook his wrist, staring at his watch:
„8:01. We‘re late by one.“
The Operative sighed, grabbing onto the half damaged door handle, setting a foot outside the van. He walked up to the gate, popping his goggles up and letting the computer scan his left eye. The gates had opened, lights coming all around.
„Identify yourself, numberplate, signature, code, state, age, objective and mission in small detail.“ – the loud, obnoxious sound coming down from the megaphone.
„Numberplate two hundred thousand, three hundred and fifty. Signature Alas, Code Veronica, State of New York, Age thirty three. Objective – arrive at Fort Schnitzelfuss, delivery for legionnaire. Mission – escort VIP, get credits.“
„Alright, get in and move in, we already know your partner.“ – responded, the man behind the speaker.
The van drove in, being observed by a host of soldiers, still aiming their weapons.
It drove into one of the barracks, stopping there. The operatives both got out, walking to the back of the van, opening it and staring away at the duo. Yet still, they were both restrained, one of them was still sleeping – quite heavily too. The other, well, he was just shaking in horror as the events unfolded, even for a man of his caliber – this shit was just too much for him to take, can‘t blame him, right?
The both moved in, taking a prisoner each, dragging one while pushing the other. They went through and reached the room for where the magic happens. They hooked up the one with the potato sack onto a computer while the other got chained up, left hanging around, you know how it is in these black sites.
The Operatives got together, staring away at the potato suspect.
„SUBJECT TWO, WAKE UP, IT IS YOUR TIME TO SPEAK.“ – yelled one of the Operatives, trying to get the attention of said potato. To their surprise, the guy moved his head up, still not able to see anything, he muttered:
„Hey, Kris, get rid of him and let‘s go.“
The Operative grabbed onto his partners hand, moving it up and stabbing him into the abdomen with a knife, then lifting it up and stabbing him once more in the neck, finishing him off by spinning backwards and back-stabbing him in the spine.
„Took you long enough, now get this fucking sack off my head.“
The Operative walks up to the prisoner, pulling the sack off his head, speaking out:
„Just like the old days, huh?“
„Just like the old days, you haven‘t changed much, still into playing dress-up and doing this shady work.“
The alarm rings. Both Kristijan and the unknown prisoner look at the red alert siren weeping.
„I know a guy, name‘s Williams, a stand-up guy, bit rough around the edges, frenzies a lot, but you can do good with him, here are his coordinates, go there, if you manage to get out of here in the first place.“ – muttered Kristian.
Both of them went their ways, never to be seen again.
The prisoner withers the shackles, dropping down to the ground, shaking his wrists.
„They‘re coming to see me, huh.“
The story doesn‘t end here though, how could Kristian end up among all these people? Times were rough, especially for Camarilla enforcers, barons and lords. Down from 1700 and up to 2000, everything was a shithole, even as a high ranking person, there wasn‘t always that much you could possibly do around. Make deals, betray some folks. It‘s all business.
Kristijan was one of a kind businessman – he was the type of businessman that wasn‘t a pushover, he‘d stab, lie, grunt and fight his way – all for Camarilla, he was no pawn but he was no leader either – he was a soul looking to further his career by any means necessary, especially when it came to enforcing the Masquerade.
He was a stand up person – he always fought for Camarilla, but he also had his hand in other businesses, such as Williams‘ ones.
He and Robert met in Persia some time ago, Robert still in his prime youth back then – no frenzy, nothing, still a handsome stud looking to get some action by any means necessary – all that changed, though, seeing as he had a family to take care of later. They both fought in endless wars, battled, too. They took care of eachother – like partners or brothers, Lancaster was there too, sometimes.
The trio, Kristijan, Robert and Flynn, really a group of people you‘d have difficulty stopping, seeing as they‘re all elders, Robert usually being the logistics – even if he wasn‘t so smart. Kristijan being the muscle and Flynn, of course, being the brains of the operation.
Time had settled its dust, it had also settled this friendship of theirs, they had to split – obviously, no country for old men.
This didn‘t stop Kristijan from emerging success, he had the brawlers beat stick for this line of work, Camarilla always wanted men like him. Who didn‘t? The guy had a chin for chaos. Maybe too much chaos.