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CHAPTER TWO - A TALE OF GREED
🕑 Added 2024-12-09 10:30:59 +0000 UTC"…Impossible."
Nick Fury scowled from behind his desk, arm folded and placed on the wooden structure. An intimidating sight, yet Shirou neither took note of it nor displayed any outward sign of being cowed.
"Not really." He shrugged at the questioning glare. "The main point of a secret identity is one so far removed from the person's actual identity. And really who would expect the outgoing web-slinger to be an awkward wallflower without the mask."
"From what you're inferring, you think Spiderman is this…" The Director glanced down at the file in front of him, a picture with detailed information regarding the teen in question displayed. "Peter Parker."
"I may be wrong. But you have to admit, Mr. Stark's interest in him is quite suspicious—"
"That could be because of the kid's genius level IQ."
"Maybe…" Shirou shook his head. "To be fair, I am basing my assumption on the belief that a superhero's alter-ego, in this case, Spider-man's, would have to be one that none can suspect. Or at least second-guess even if proven."
Nick Fury sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
"Regardless of the outcome of this investigation, Peter Parker is to remain a person of interest. If need be, his connection to Stark can be exploited."
Shirou's hands came down to pick up the folder sent his way, quickly scanning through it. He directed a questioning glance at the Director.
"Despite your recent failure, you have another mission."
Shirou nodded. Turning on his heels, he made his way out of the office, Nick Fury's last words reverberating within the room.
"And, word of advice, Emiya: Don't fuck it up."
He won't.
. . . . .
Shirou spent the next few days pouring over building blueprints alongside the previous few months' time-sheets for everyone who worked there.
Patterns formed pretty quickly. Every Thursday and Friday his target worked from midday to midnight. The majority of the staff left between five and six, with a few stragglers going up to nine or ten. But for the last few hours the entire population of the building consisted of half a dozen cleaners and Dr. Richard M. Welk.
The big problem would be acquiring the laptop without the Doctor knowing or trying to stop him. With too many things that could change during the operation, he decided it would be best to come up with a plan on the fly for getting the computer.
Ingenuity was never his forte.
All he knew was that he wasn't going to take it by force. While he could use it if needed, he always thought it sloppy and unprofessional to hurt people just to make one's life easier. Especially when the target was just a civilian.
The day before the mission was due to take place, he had caught a train to 5 Avenue Station, Manhattan. He'd called on the way to book a hotel room near SquidCo, where the scientist worked.
Moving out of the subway at Fifth Avenue, Shirou walked to a road bench and sat down, gently unwrapping his meal pack. Fresh bread and strong cheese, grilled. The bread was just as he liked it, slightly over baked, the crust dark and crisp, the center soft and full of flavor. Tearing off a chunk, he chewed slowly, trying to ignore the sounds of the hustle and bustle of the city. The cheese was disappointing. There was no tang to the flavor. Good cheese would cause the tongue to cleave to the roof of the mouth and the eyes to water.
Despite that, he finished his meal. Standing up he dusted the crumbs off his sweats. A cold wind blew through the area and Shirou was glad he'd worn a thick hooded top, as well as a black jacket that covered down to his thighs. It wasn't exactly executive dress. But even amongst the throngs of people all wearing expensive suits and coats, he didn't stand out too badly, mostly, thanks to the nearby shopping center which was always busy with families and people off work for the day.
In front of him loomed The Langham, a high mass of glass and metal, intricately designed. It may not be the tallest building in New York, but it never ceased to amaze, especially at night, when the lights from the buildings illuminated everything around them.
He walked into the lobby of the hotel. After getting his room's card key, and making a point of stating he would carry his own bag, he made his way up in the lift.
His room was everything he'd paid for and more. It was massive, with an enormous king-size bed, large bathroom and lounge area with a flat screen TV. A balcony overlooked the nearby park, and the huge windows spread down one side of the room turned a nice view into an unforgettable one.
A pity he wasn't here to relax.
His backpack contained his outfit for the mission, so he hid it under the bed. He would rather not have some random cleaner finding it and discovering dark clothes and a balaclava. When ready, Shirou left the hotel, making his way toward the forty-two-story monstrosity containing his target.
Richard Welk was middle-aged, and while not a renowned Geneticist and scientist, was still brilliant enough to create a clone as a special genetic engineering program for SquidCo to enable the registered trademark into a living, breathing entity. His creation, for some reason christened Mister Fizzi, caught the interest of S.H.I.E.L.D.
After taking a seat on a bench outside the massive structure, he removed a book from his backpack and feigned reading as he watched through the windows surrounding the entire first floor. He made mental notes of the number of watchmen inside. He was going to bring a note pad and pen, but that would have been far too obvious. The watchmen moved in twos. Four pairs in all, each carrying a submachine gun and a holstered pistol. Employees and visitors moved around them with little fuss or concern, apparently accustomed to their armed protectors.
Two women sat behind a large reception desk opposite the three massive turnstile doors, and across an expansive lobby. They were probably mild-mannered receptionists, but they appeared more akin to someone one would meet in the dead of night with a large knife.
Pieces of artwork—ranging from abstract paintings to exotic decors, adorned the cream-coloured wall. And the company's logo, a purple squid enclosed in a circle with written words in it, had been painted onto the white tiled floor directly in front of the reception area.
After a few minutes of covertly scanning the building and its inhabitants, it became apparent that the bruiser-like receptionists had taken to watching him a little more intently than he would have liked.
Shirou glanced around, as if looking for someone he was waiting for, and spotted a beautiful, curly-haired redhead nearby. She wore a dark trouser suit and tiny-rimmed glasses on her button nose. He'd noticed her watching him with interest and wondered whether someone had sent her to keep an eye on him.
He put his book away, keeping one eye on the receptionists who had called over one of the watchmen, and waved at the redhead. She looked confused for a moment, but tentatively waved back.
He walked over and offered his hand, a tentative smile on his face. After a brief pause she shook it. "My name's Shirou."
"Natalie," she replied. "I was going to come over and say hi."
"I thought I'd beat you to it." He hoped that despite his deplorable communication skills, their conversation would make it look like he'd been waiting for her and not trying to scope out the building. And his aforementioned difficulty in communicating would be mistaken as shyness in meeting the stunning redhead.
Natalie's smile lit up her face, her green eyes sparkling. "I was just finishing work for the day and wanted to ask if you'd like to join me for lunch. I was building up my nerve."
Ah… Shirou relaxed. Someone as inept at talking like him.
"I was just about to suggest the same thing."
She laughed. "Okay, well a date it is. In the past six months my dating experience has been limited to men who could barely read their own name. You were sitting there reading alone and looking… well, looking like someone I'd like to meet."
One of the watchmen began to walk towards them. He motioned for Natalie to lead the way. "We best be on our way, then?" The watchmen lost interest in him and wandered back over to his colleague.
He'd wanted to get inside and look around a little, but that was impossible. Besides, he'd already figured out exactly how he was going to get inside.
He looked at Natalie as they walked together, and wondered if he was being set up. And if so, why? No one knew about him, Nick Fury assured him of that. So what was her game? Whatever it was, he was confident in his ability to survive it.
In the back of his mind, he figured it was possible that she was the help assigned to him. But if she was, what was the need for the farce?
. . . . .
"I know this little Italian place," Natalie said as they walked through the increasingly crowded financial Mecca. "It's a bit out of the way, so it shouldn't be full of people talking about nothing but work."
"Lead the way," Shirou simply said.
They reached the restaurant shortly after. Like Natalie had said, it was nowhere near as busy as the rest of Fifth Avenue. Unconsciously, he moved to open the door and they both entered the warm restaurant. The smell of tomatoes and spices wafted out of the kitchen, making him hungry. A young woman seated them in a booth, and Natalie removed her jacket, showing the black blouse she was wearing. The waitress placed menus in front of them and, after taking their drinking order, left them alone to look over what they wanted to eat.
"So, what do you do, Shirou?" Natalie asked as she fidgeted with her napkin.
He'd been thinking about his answer to that specific question since they'd left SquidCo and had decided to stick with the truth. "I'm still a student." Misdirection and subterfuge were another skill he was incapable of using.
"A student?" The slight oh crap in her voice was easy to hear. She looked around the setting, her eyes darting between each patron nervously.
He sought to allay her fears. "I am legally emancipated, and I am a student due to the nature of my situation. Part of the requirements for my inheritance was for me to attend school, at least for a year." The origin story that the Director had spun in case of this sort of situation held up in the face of scrutiny as her posture relaxed. The thoughts of the repercussions she would face for dating a minor—though to be fair, he was frequently mistaken as an adult due to the mature features he possessed, even at school, by the Staff and students alike—must have severely spooked her.
"That's a lot better than, 'I'm a student'." She finished her coke and ordered another. "Any hobbies or eccentricity you are willing to share?
"A few. Though, I admit that out of all my hobbies, my favorite would have to be reading, regardless of the subject matter of the book."
"A bookworm, then."
"More of a bibliophile, if I'm to be honest. You should see my library."
She gave him a searching look and he immediately realized the hidden meaning of the words that had slipped out. He scratched the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign of his embarrassment. One she was able to notice.
"What is your favorite book?" Natalie said, smiling, apparently grasping and understanding the depth of his ineptness when it came to communication. For that he was thankful, and the respect he had for her had gone up.
"My favorite, huh? There was a book I read about magic and a hidden society filled with people that could wield the mystic power. Harry Potter, I believe it was called. For some reason, I am drawn to the concept of the story and a specific character, Neville Longbottom."
Natalie leaned from her seat, eyes wide in fascination as she stared at him, engrossed by his words. For a moment, he was captivated by her beauty, before he clamped down on that feeling with steel. His heart belonged to another. Even though he may not remember her name nor face, he knew without a doubt, in his heart, that he was already taken.
"Why?" the word came out like a whisper, her pale lips slightly open.
"For a long time he was a failure at magic, disregarded by all, even the professors as incompetent. But when needed, he showed true bravery by slaying the remaining tether the Dark Lord had to the land of the living. For some reasons, I have always sympathized with failures."
The phrase, third-rate magus, came to mind, unbidden.
"I have heard of the book." Natalie looked sheepish. "Never did read it. Thought it was a bit…"
"Childish? Yeah, I guess in way it was. The 'love being the strongest weapon' trope was a bit dramatic."
Natalie laughed, placing her hand over her mouth. "I didn't want to offend you by saying what I thought of it."
"It's pretty hard to offend me. And, it's not like I expect everyone I meet to share my opinions."
"When I was little I wanted to be an actress."
A bit of an abrupt topic change, but he rolled with it easily.
"What stopped you?"
"I was terrible at it, mostly," she said causing them both to laugh. "So I went to uni and now I'm a secretary for an overpaid scientist. Not exactly glamorous."
He arched an eyebrow at her, as if indicating her rather glamorous appearance.
"Thank you," she said with a slight grin. "You have to dress well around here, no matter how much your wages may groan under the idea."
They chatted about her university days, where she studied history. They even got onto the topic of her family for a while. One brother and sister, both older, both more successful, both assholes. He—surprisingly—always managed to deflect questions she asked him back onto her. He wanted her to feel comfortable. They continued to talk as they ate; him, his spaghetti and meatballs, and Natalie an Italian ham pizza.
As time passed, his original concern that he was being set up had begun to evaporate. If SquidCo did know about him, he wouldn't have thought they'd have set him up on a date. The same went for his assigned teammate. He'd have expected more guns, and some torture. Besides she gave far too much information about herself and her job. Even so, that left him with a startling opportunity to glean some information about Richard Welk. "What do they actually do in that place, anyway?"
"Invention of trademarks for the most part. The top fifteen floors are totally off limits to anyone who isn't high on the corporate ladder or working on an important invention. They even have their own lifts and stairwells, just in case us plebs get nosey."
Wow… "Segregation in the work place?"
"Tell me about it! There's also a basement lab, which is even more off limits."
"I know a guy who works there, Richard Welk." he appeared to ponder this for a moment. "At least I think he works there."
"Doctor Welk, I know him. He's one of the nice ones. Always says hello. You should have mentioned earlier; I'd have called up to him."
"I only just remembered to be honest, when you said about scientists."
Shirou doubted that after he'd stolen the Doctor's laptop he would be in the mood to say anything to him.
They chatted for a few more hours, until the staff began making hints that they couldn't stay since offices were emptying for the day and it was starting to become busy. He paid for the meal and they left the restaurant, the sunset casting the sky in a brilliant orange and red. "You know it's only five," Natalie said.
As much as he would have liked to take her back to his room in the hotel, his heart clenched at the thought so he simply pretended to not understand the hidden meaning.
The unknown girl of his past better be worth it.
. . . . .
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Sword
. . . . .
Shirou poured over the SquidCo building blueprints and cemented the strategy for his entrance. And more importantly, his exit.
One of the buildings next to SquidCo was twenty stories high and lacked the security of its big brother. There was a second building on the opposite side, which one could actually use to look into the office of his target, but it was also over six hundred feet away. He had been called many things. Bat shit crazy wasn't one of them. Which was why, after he'd gotten dressed in dark combat boots and a hoodie, he found himself on the smaller building's roof just after ten pm. He stood at the edge and looked down onto the streets below.
Five floors beneath him, thirty feet away, and across a gaping twenty stories deep chasm, lay his entrance into the SquidCo building. It was a small balcony with a door. They'd been put in every ten floors, presumably as some sort of smoking area.
There was no way a human could jump it, not without leaving a very big red stain on the concrete pathway far below. Even he would be unable to survive a fall from such a height if he made a mistake. Get it wrong, and he'd be that big red stain.
Once his rucksack was secured properly, he backed up to the opposite side of the roof and positioned himself against a large air conditioning unit. A second was all he needed to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do. He breathed out slowly and reinforced his body, improving upon the physical capabilities of his body to a superhuman level.
He shoved himself off with everything he had, sprinting the fifty feet across the flat roof, moving in a way that belied his strength.
Shirou planted his foot just below the roof edge and pushed off.
He hit the balcony with a resounding thud and rolled across the floor to lessen the impact as the smell of stale cigarette smoke hit his nose. He came to a stop against the cool glass door and stared up at the roof he'd just left. He could swear he had seen something move in his peripheral as he jumped.
He set about letting himself into the building. There was no need to conceal that he'd been here—Richard Welk was going to realize that someone had stolen his laptop. Unless he was an idiot. But he doubted that would be the case. He slammed his foot against the glass, and stepped inside, acutely aware of any sounds that might indicate someone nearby.
Hearing none, he continued through the building to the lifts. Getting into one of them was out of the question. There were enough cleaners and security staff inside the building to notice if one started to move when it wasn't meant to.
But that didn't mean the lifts were a total no-go area.
The darkness inside the building was occasionally broken with wall lights, creating an eerie atmosphere. Shadows crisscrossed over one another, trying to claw back the darkness from the low level lights.
The lift doors were surrounded by ornate bronze work. He took a few seconds to study the artwork. It really was quite beautiful. Dozens of figures carved into the bronze, most in full ancient armor, stood in front of their boats, waiting for whatever war the artist was depicting.
He placed his hand close to the steel of the lift doors and noticed something in the carvings. On the opposite side of the waiting warriors was a huge walled city. Men stood on the ramparts, staring down at those before them. Suddenly he realized that it was a depiction of the battle of Troy, or at least the beginning of it.
He forced the heavy lift door apart, and while stuck in that position, peered into the darkness beyond. Though reinforcement did not grant him night-vision, he could still see, to some extent, in the dark. He was able to make out the lift itself a few floors below, idly waiting for its next journey.
He took a moment to take out his gloves and wore them. Then he pulled the balaclava down over his face. The blueprints showed no internal cameras but he didn't want to accidentally walk into a cleaner and have his face plastered all over the news in the morning.
The Director would suffer from an aneurysm.
A quick jump later and Shirou found himself holding onto the thick lift cable. Once he'd wrapped his feet around the cable and made sure his grip was iron-tight, he began his twenty-two-floor climb.
There was no way of telling how long it took; he wasn't about to wait for a second and take a look at his watch, but it felt like years. By the time he'd reached the top of the lift shaft, the effects of Reinforcement had worn off and his arms and shoulders ached. There was also another problem—the lift doors were closed. Jumping over to them would have left him with about an inch to grab hold of. An inch between life and death wasn't big enough for him to take the risk.
Shirou wrapped one arm around the cable and stretched out his free hand, palm facing the door.
"Trace…"
The gun, a spatial representation of the actualization of blades in his reality marble, was loaded, the hammer cocked.
"…on."
With that one word, numerous blades, some named, most un-named, materialized into the real world. All fixated on the door.
With a slight shift of hand, the projectiles exploded into motion, slamming into the door. It may have alerted every person with working ears within the vicinity, but it was the quickest way.
Once the doors were practically non-existent, he moved around slightly so that his back faced the wide open space where the lift doors were. He pulled his feet up, planted them on the cable and launched himself back, twisting in mid-flight and landing beyond the lift doors. He hit the thinly carpeted floor hard, but rolled, the backpack taking the brunt of the blow.
He remained motionless for a moment and listened for any signs of approaching life. It was soon apparent that he was alone. The information he'd gleaned from the file stated that the cleaners didn't normally get to the thirties until after midnight, and it was only a quarter past eleven. But it was better to be safe than sorry.
The information had also told him that level thirty-two was as high as he could go. The next few flights would have to be done in the private lift or stairwell, both of which were armed with alarms, and wouldn't open without a key-card. So no climbing up lift cables, which wasn't the worst news in the world.
The plan was to disable the stairwell lock and use the stairs to gain entry to the restricted floors.
Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on the stairwell being guarded too. Which in hindsight seemed like a stupid mistake to make. Hindsight, as they said, was 20/20.
Shirou peered around a corner and watched one giant of a man sat directly in front of the door some thirty feet away, a book in his hands and a stun gun at his waist. That was definitely not in the dossier from Nick Fury.
For the life of him, he couldn't figure out how he hadn't heard him, and then Shirou noticed that he was wearing headphones. The man started tapping his foot to whatever beat he was listening to as he read his book. Listening to music probably wasn't one of his usual duties, but he was glad the man had, otherwise that stun gun would probably have been pointed at the teen.
Shirou ducked back round and wondered how he was going to creep past the watchmen. There was a good chance he would be noticed from a few inches away, even if the man was listening to music. Unless he was blind, and then he'd be sort of useless as a security guard.
The man was an innocent, one whose means of livelihood was to guard an entrance. He did not commit a crime by being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and as said earlier, Shirou was not heartless enough to snuff a life just to make a mission easier. So with that in mind, he slowly turned the corner and walked towards the man.
It didn't take long until he was seen.
It also wasn't long until a stun gun was placed dangerously close to his temple.
A shift of his elbow. A minute rotation of his body. And an elbow to the nose.
Shirou sighed. Though it was the least damaging way he knew of downing the watchmen, it still didn't lessen the sour taste that filled his mouth.
He walked to the prone man and stole his card key from his belt. "Sorry," he whispered.
After using the key card to unlock the door, he dropped it onto the floor. It mattered not where he dropped it as the man, once awake, would hurriedly raise the alarm.
The stairwell had an oak banister, behind which, more carvings depicting warriors from different times—Greek warriors, Roman Legionnaires and even a few English War Bowmen, sat on the wall. If he had the time, he would have studied them closely. Unfortunately, he was in a hurry and was forced to leave the pieces of history alone.
Shirou tore his gaze away from the splendor surrounding him and jogged up the next few fights of marble stairs, stopping outside the entrance to the floor he needed.
The door pushed open without incident. No one was hiding behind it waiting to apprehend him in the act, so he stepped through and into a brightly lit corridor. Glass windows faced him, allowing him a peek into dark offices as he made his way along the floor to find his destination.
Mr. Welk's office, while not the largest on the floor, was two or three times bigger than most of the others. According to the blueprints he had his own private bathroom, too. The more valuable one was to the company, the higher up the pecking order he/she was and the less they would have to mix with those beneath them.
Shirou crept along until he reached the closed door. Mr. Welk's name was painted onto the dark wood in a golden font. Instead of having glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling down the length of the wall, Mr. Welk's office windows stopped at about chest height, giving him a measure of privacy. At least his employers thought highly of him. Not sure the same would be said tomorrow.
His blinds were closed, which made getting close to the office a lot easier than it would have been otherwise. Shirou sat next to the door and was about to fish out a snake camera from his bag, when part of the door exploded above his head showering him in wooden shrapnel. He dove aside, ears ringing like bells, and glanced through the jagged hole now in the door. It was about a foot above where his head had been.
"You're not going to kill me." Was the first thing he heard from the Doctor once his ears stopped sounding like a marching band was playing in them.
"I wasn't planning on killing anyone," Shirou shouted back as another round ripped more of the door apart, putting a hole at what would have been his stomach height.
"Don't lie! You're here to kill me and take my life's work. Well, you can't have Mr. Fizzi" He ejected a shotgun shell, instantly loading another.
He placed his open hands in front of the door, showing Mr. Welk that he wasn't armed. "Wait! I have no interest in the spokesclone."
He really didn't. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s interest lay in the process of creation rather than the finished good.
Moving slightly had let him peer through the door and into the office, where Richard Welk stood, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Just put the gun down," Shirou said. "We can talk about this." He wasn't about to inform the man that the gun wouldn't be able to stop him if he was actually out for blood.
Shirou pushed the shredded door a little. The response was immediate. "Stay there," Richard Welk screamed and fired at the door once more. "Try that again and you'll look the like the doorframe with my next round."
The wood resembled Swiss cheese. It was quite surprising that it was still upright.
He glanced through the closest hole, getting a good view of the obviously agitated Mr. Welk in the process. The shotgun was still pointed at the door, though his arms were beginning to wobble and sweat creased his forehead.
"You going to let me talk to you?" Shirou asked.
His answer was to load another cartridge.
"Your choice." A projected blade, small and nondescript, was thrown through the hole. It moved with speed, until it struck the fingers that pulled at the trigger of the shotgun. Mr. Welk dropped the weapon in panic, which gave him the opening he needed to dive through the remainder of the door and fling another blade in his direction. It caught the scientist square in the chest, driving him into the far wall with enough force to hopefully knock the fight out of him.
Shirou picked up the shotgun. "We done now?"
Mr. Welk slowly made his way to an upright position. "You won't find him," he said defiantly.
"I'm here to steal a laptop, your laptop to be precise. No business with your clone." He emptied the shotgun and tossed the cartridges into a waste paper bin next to a large wooden desk, dropping the empty shotgun onto the desk. "How'd you know I was outside your door?"
The man pointed to the carpet outside the office. "Pressure plates, I activate them when everyone's gone home."
That was rather impressive... and oddly paranoid. Was the man expecting an assassination attempt?
"Please just hand your laptop over. I have a busy day tomorrow, and so, I need to retire early."
"What laptop?"
Alarm bells couldn't have begun ringing any quicker if they'd tried. "Your laptop, you know, the electronic device that contains the blueprints of your spokesclone."
"What the fuck?"
Now the alarm bells were going haywire. "Don't you have a soft-copy of the blueprints. You couldn't possibly have opted for a hard-copy version when it's security could be easily guaranteed using an electronic device."
"I am not stupid. The blueprints were indeed saved on my laptop, but I had to dispose of it because the trademark project was to be scrubbed."
That never came up in the file.
The man continued. “I'm afraid you've been given the wrong information." Or been set up.
"Who do you think is after you?" Shirou asked.
"I don't know! And even if I did, why would I tell you? You're a thief. A thief who's currently still wearing a balaclava. How do you expect me to trust you?"
He had a point, and if he was being set up then unknowingly, Shirou was being pulled along into the trap. He was definitely expecting trouble. The teen pulled off his balaclava and tossed it onto the desk. The expression that crossed Mr. Welk's face wasn't good. "What?"
"You're far younger than I expected."
That was a first. Usually, it was the opposite he heard.
Shirou shrugged at the man.
Mr. Welk walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, removing a cigarette and lighting it up. He exhaled a moment later and Shirou expected the sprinklers to go off. "I disabled them years ago," he said, anticipating his thoughts. "Occasionally I need a sly one."
Shirou said nothing and the silence began to stretch. The Doctor turned to stare out the window, his face inquisitive. When he turned back, his face was ashen.
"You know the real kicker?" He continued. "I won't be surprised if that bastard, Abelard, faked this whole mess so that he could take credit for the invention of the process."
Abelard, no last name given due to multitude of reasons Shirou was not privy to, was the project manager of SquidCo. A man with less than Stellar qualities.
"He'd told me that he had arranged for a way to smuggle Mr. Fizzi to safety utilizing the cyborg-for-hire, Machine Jones, but... with the way things are shaping up to be, I doubt that's the man's real intention."
Mr. Welk raised his cigarette to his lips and his head exploded, covering Shirou in gore. An eyeball flew past his head as the now headless body fell. He caught the corpse and kicked the desk, flipping it onto its side to use as cover. Wind sucked through the small bullet hole in the thick glass window. He looked down at Mr. Welk. An innocent man who didn't deserve the hand Fate dealt him. Or to be just another man's stepping stone in his greedy quest.
It was obvious who had, whether directly or indirectly, killed the man now.
Abelard.
He sighed as he ran for the still open door. He made it out of Mr. Welk's office and back to the ornate staircase when a synthetic female voice sounded from behind him. "Stop, you murderer!"
For some stupid reason, he did just that.
"Die scum." She shouted, then shot him.
Comments
Grant Walker
Weird amnesia but yay
