Elijah and Rusty lurked in the periphery of the gathering like ghosts as the crowd gawked at the unfolding drama in the VIP area. The tension in the air was wound so tight that a mere whisper could set off the coil of violence that was brewing.
The two operators had already flicked the safeties off their weapons the moment they saw Azeline and Ferei surrounded by Hovem’s goons, but just before they could make a move, they noticed something odd. Instead of bum-rushing Azeline and murdering them horribly, the thugs merely glowered and shifted in front of Azeline. It was as if they wanted to seem as threatening and violent as possible to scare her off, and it was apparent that they had absolutely no effect on the woman.
As a matter of fact, it looked more as if these guys were significantly more scared of Azeline than she was of them.
Lurking among the onlookers like ghosts, Elijah and Rusty began to separate, positioning themselves in a way that provided the most optimal cover for the women in case the worst came to pass. As their eyes scanned the VIP area and picked out targets, the crowd whispered about how strange it was that Hovem hadn’t handled these girls yet. By any stretch of the mean, whoever had the nerve to barge in on him like that was usually left bleeding out on the ground or, at the very least, tossed into the ring.
With the questions rippling through the masses, the operator's hands gripped their weapons tighter. The safeties had long since been flicked off since those thugs first came rushing about, but the crowd's whispers were starting to make them nervous. They knew that mob pressure was a real threat and could make someone do something real god damn stupid in the heat of the moment.
Yet, as they watched, the thugs did absolutely nothing.
No one surged forward, no one hurled insults, and no one made a move other than inching away. They merely glowered and shifted before Azeline, posing as fearsomely as they could while trembling when the woman turned her gaze to them.
For a long, charged moment, the two operators exchanged a silent glance before exchanging a subtle nod. Right now, the most optimal decision is to remain hidden and simply observe. There was no reason to let themselves be known and have their identities exposed when they didn’t have to.
Azeline’s icy glare and intimidating poise seemed to corner what looked like the boss of this den—a surprisingly slender East African-looking man. His features were marked with scars and held a bit of a lighter tone than you’d find someone of that ethnicity on Earth. Elijah couldn’t help but marvel at the melting pot of what appeared to be this shit hole of a fight club and bar. Here, amid the decrepitude and vice, countless races and every ethnicity converged in an unholy union of opportunity and survival. It stirred something deep within him—an excitement for the unknown.
Whatever was being discussed was heavy with threats and carefully measured gestures and nods. It was obvious the standoff was beginning to draw to a close, but Azeline’s stance remained unyielding. Her eyes never left Hovem as she brought up her hand to a point and mouthed what Elijah could only assume was a threat. Then, as if reaching the final note of a discordant negotiation, she whipped around and strode toward the main body of the crowd with Ferei close on her heels.
Almost in unison, the thugs’ expressions shifted into relief as if a massive weight had been lifted off their shoulders. However, Hovem let out a visible sigh of resignation. It was as though the pressure had lifted, and with it, the immediate threat had receded into a fragile agreement.
Still blending with the crowd, Elijah and Rusty slowly parted to give way to Azeline and Ferei with the rest of the crowd. With the two women gone and the masses collapsing back in on themselves, Elijah gave Rusty a curt nod before they trailed after the duo toward the exit.
The dim artificial light of the den painted long, distorted shadows on the cracked stone walls as Azeline pushed her way toward the exit. Every shove carried the weight of unspoken promises of violence and potential peril while Ferei took more measures. The nervous woman’s steps were more measured as she glided through the opening Azeline provided and chased after the blonde as if the crowd would swallow her whole if she fell behind.
As Elijah and Rusty slid their way towards the exit, the oppressive cheers and jeers of Glennsworth’s underbelly seemed to consume their sense as another round of fighting took place. Shifting his gaze back to the blood pit, Elijah found himself drawn in by the chaos unfolding below. In that grim arena, the chestnut-skinned fighter continued to swing his arms around in twisted back-to-back fights haggardly. His infected wound still oozed as he continued to brutalize his opponents by simply overpowering them with his herculean strength.
After knocking out a pair of fighters armed with maces, the beast of a man stopped and set his sights on the VIP area where the girls had just left, and when Elijah followed the monster’s furious gaze, he caught sight of Hovem. The kingpin’s face had soured into a mask of petulant anger while his eyes narrowed as he fixated on the carnage. A bitter twist of disdain formed on Hovem’s lips as he looked for any release from the humiliation he just suffered and saw one such opportunity. With a clenched fist, Hovem dragged his thumb deliberately across his neck in a silent but fatal gesture: only one shall leave that pit alive.
Without hesitation, the massive man limped over to a battered combatant who was desperately crawling away. It was a surreal and pitiful scene that Elijah couldn’t help but cringe at, especially when the wounded fighter was kicked over onto his belly. Raising his hands in a futile attempt to shield his face, the fighter let out pathetic begs for his life as the massive beast slowly lifted his foot. And without a shred of mercy, the heel came crashing down, prompting Elijah to quickly turn his head just as the sickening sound of bone and flesh being squashed by an unstoppable force.
“Jesus…” Elijah muttered under his breath as cheers resounded throughout the entire bar.
Disregarding his dark curiosity, Elijah decided it just wasn’t worth to keep watching something so… pointless and kept on flowing through the rabble. But from the chants and cheers from the audience, it was apparent that the monstrous fighter pivoted over to his next victim.
Suddenly, Elijah’s earpiece crackled with Rusty’s familiar voice coming through. “Girls are about to hit the exit. Looks like we’re in the clear, but keep your eyes peeled,” he said in a cool and measure tone as if this kind of madness was just another merely routine operation.
“Copy that.” Elijah acknowledged while giving a quick glance to check his perimeter. As he soon as he merged back with Rusty, he saw that Azeline and Ferei were walking up the stairs of the exit back onto the surface.
A moment later, Mike’s voice joined in on the comm channel. “Remember boys, make sure to run your surveillance detection routes on your way back to the safe house. We can’t take any chances with this.”
Elijah’s eyebrows shot up as he shook his head slightly, an inward exclamation of, Ahhh, shit. surveillance detection wasn’t exactly covered in the ‘Quick and Dirty Ops for the Uninitiated’ manual. Q-course never went over any spook stuff, and no supplemental schools covered tradecraft in the Special Forces, so Elijah was at a loss.
With a self-deprecating sigh that only he could hear, Elijah murmured into the mic, “Uh… not sure how to do that, guys.”
A long, awkward silence settled over the net that was so thick and heavy that the hooting and hollering of the rabble around Elijah seemed like a distant hum. The pause even made Elijah wince as he shifted uncomfortably, especially when he saw that Rusty stole a glance over his shoulder. The orange-bearded operator wore an unmistakable expression of exasperation that one could only interpret with one simple word: “Really?”
If Elijah was honest with himself, the look cut him deep, but before the silence could weigh him down any further, a saving grace was thrown his way. Dave’s voice finally broke through with a mix of impatience and incredulity. “Right... alright then... stay put and blend in for a minute, kid. I’ll hold your hand on this one.” He said as if he couldn’t believe he was going to have to do an impromptu training session for basic tradecraft.
Elijah’s lips pursed and his eye twitched as a mix of relief and embarrassment clouded his features. “Copy that,” he murmured back into the mic.
There wasn’t much that Elijah was ashamed of, but he had his limits, especially when he found himself floundering in the middle of an operation of his own making. The realization that he’d just been caught with his pants down, lacking a fundamental skill that was essential to what he was doing, sent a flush of burning embarrassment across his cheeks. It stung worse than the memory of that brute squashing a poor sucker’s head like a melon. Sure, he wasn’t a spook, and no one expected him to have the training, but being able to know or shake someone that was tailing you seemed pretty goddamn important right now.
This was a gap he’d need to close, and fast.
With a labored sigh, Elijah swallowed his pride and did what he was told. Edging closer to the frenzied fight pit, he melted into the shifting crowd like any other ruffian, trying to get his eyes on the brutal show below. And when he finally reached a vantage point where he could get a halfway decent look, he saw another melee taking place.
It seemed that the giant could still fight as it hobbled around within that chaotic pit. It seemed they were either going to make the poor bastard fight until they ran out of fighters, or the Hulk was dead. It was like a twisted horde mode survival game where wave after wave of enemies came at you with no semblance of a break. In the center of the ring, another orc had stepped up—a figure alarmingly familiar.
However, what was really surprising was that Elijah seemed to… recognize the new opponent taking to the ring. It was the same Orc that Brak always had with him. It bore the same jagged scars, the same dark grey pigmentation that seemed carved from stone, and the same mane of wild, unruly hair that was half braided. The orc shuffled into the ring with a nervous trepidation that was well justified as it squared off against the giant.
Around them, the remnants of previous carnage lay strewn—a gruesome tableau of brutally executed fighters, their mangled bodies dragged aside and their blood smeared against the arena floor, leaving a macabre trail. The air was heavy with the coppery tang of gore and the visceral cries for more death echoing off the cracked walls.
With a guttural roar, the orc lunged into action, tackling the giant in a burst of frantic aggression. The colossal fighter, still reeling from his earlier rampage, staggered as he attempted to absorb the impact. Yet, summoning what little might remained, he cocked his massive arm back and swung with desperate fury. His fist, acting as a literal sledgehammer, collided with the orc’s ribs in a thunderous blow, sending them into the air a foot, but the orc held strong. The impact reverberated through the pit just as a shoulder blade speared the giant’s infected wound.
An agonizing cry reverberated as both combatants were flung backward into the blood-slicked edge of the ring. From then on, the brawl turned messy as fists, feet, and teeth were thrown. Every body part one could utilize was turned into a weapon as the two titans clashed in a desperate frenzy for dominance.
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The arena became a cacophony of grunts and roars with the sickening sound of bone crunching as both warriors threw haymaker after haymaker. But, slowly and inexorably, the giant’s strength began to wane. His colossal arms trembled with exhaustion as they sluggishly few towards his opponent, and the ferocity in his eyes grew heavy with each swing. The orc, riding the momentum of every hit, pressed its advantage—each savage blow chipping away at the giant’s resolve.
Elijah watched, transfixed, as the titan’s movements were reduced to a crawl, with each strike becoming a mere echo of his former might. After one more shuddering blow, the giant finally staggered backward as his defense crumbled, and he stumbled into the crowd, crushing a couple of poor spectators. The once-mighty colossus was now on the precipice of defeat, his final moments guaranteed as the Orc confidently moved to finish the job.
Just as the orc advanced with a smug glint in his eyes—a look that was so sure of its victory over the dwindling giant, it took a more measure and leisured pace. At least, that was until fate intervened most grotesquely. Out of nowhere, a flailing, screaming body hurtled through the air, aimed straight for the orc’s face. The impact was brutal: A horrible snap resounded as the poor spectator, used as a makeshift projectile, scored a direct hit, folding his back in an unnatural way. The orc flinched, unable to properly brace for the full brunt of the crashing mass, and was sent sprawling backward in shock.
Having fallen onto its rear, the stunned orc instinctively swatted at the still-screaming and writing man in the ensuing chaos, silencing him with a savage swipe. But there was no reprieve. As the orc struggled to regain his bearings, his eyes snapped back to the fray—only to see that behemoth of battered flesh and fading glory charging at him with renewed ferocity.
The giant’s face had twisted into a feral snarl, and his eyes were set ablaze with a manic hunger for retribution. Gripping the leg of another hapless spectator as if it were a crude weapon, he swung the poor soul like a sledgehammer with whatever might he had left. A sickening crunch shattered the roars and cheers, which was followed by a deliberate, horrific pause the moment spectator-turned-weapons head was unable to bear the force and gave way into a horribly bloody mess. The sound reverberated through the pit, leaving the orc dazed and momentarily vulnerable.
Seizing the opportunity, the brute mounted his beleaguered foe, unleashing a guttural scream that sent a shiver down every spine in the arena as he threw wild punches with reckless abandon. Blow after brutal blow rained down as the brute’s massive fists hammered the orc, fueled by raw, unbridled rage until finally, a thunderous right hook caught the orc square on the jaw. With the orc completely discombobulated, the giant wrapped his calloused hands around the orc’s neck, squeezing in one last savage act.
Still hidden among the shifting crowd, Elijah stared in morbid fascination, completely slack-jawed. The only thing he was able to manage was mouth the words ‘What the fuck?’ as the most unreasonable melee took place before him. The spectacle was simply too much for his Earthly mind to handle. Even a hardened veteran with over a decade of experience in the Global War on Terror couldn’t quite comprehend the absurdity of the violence.
“The winner is the brute!” Hovem’s voice unnaturally echoed throughout the arena halls. “He lives yet another week! Bring yer best fighters the next bout!”
Elijah couldn’t help but shake his head at the ridiculous until his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sharp smack on his arm.
An amused huff resounded as Elijah snapped around to see him staring at Dave. “Ya, that was some crazy shit, but we should go,” the CIA operative spoke curtly, leaving no room for further discussion. “We’re taking the shortest path there while I give you a crash course on not getting us made.”
With a jerk of his head, Dave signaled for Elijah to follow as they slid through toward the exit. Once outside, the two squinted a bit at the molten orb that was the sun as it sank beneath a horizon that threatened to devour it whole. Meanwhile, the darkness of evening slowly crept over Glennsworth like a shroud, bringing out those who lurked the night.
“Probably wouldn’t be the greatest idea to be caught out in this shit hole at night,” Dave commented with a mix of snarkiness and genuine concern as he led the way along a longer, less conspicuous route. “Come on, we can catch up with Rusty and that blonde.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow. “What? Did we split up or something?”
“Ya, we fuckin’ split up!” An incredulous huff left Dave’s mouth. He gave Elijah a look as if he thought he was halfway stupid. “What you think we’re gonna pile all our nuts in a single basket so all that some ass has to do is take one good swing?”
Looking off to the side in thought, Elijah realized that was a very valid point. They were already concentrated in one safe house, a problem they would have to handle sooner rather than later, so taking multiple paths was more or less a prudent decision.
As they walked, Dave started his impromptu crash course on surveillance detection and counter-surveillance. “Listen up, kid,” the CIA operative began. “Not really ideal way to do it, but we’re gonna have to start from square one. This is a skill you desperately need to master if you want to make sure no one’s tailing you.” He explained while twisting his neck and releasing a few pleasurable snaps. “Ya see, surveillance detection isn’t just about keeping your eyes peeled and gawkin’ around like some kind fuckin’ bird—it’s about planning your route, blending into the environment, and spotting the telltale if you’ve been made and someone’s trying shadow you.” He paused to let his words sink in.
“Now I know you ain’t stupid, but it’s really important you get this shit right and learn the difference between counter-surveillance and surveillance detection,” He continued, emphatically cutting the air with his hand in a karate chop. “Surveillance-detection is what we do to find out if we’re being surveilled in the first—sort of like sniffing out a rat in a maze. counter-surveillance, on the other hand, is what we do when we want to watch the rat that’s watchin’ you.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed as they continued down the rain-slicked street, the twilight casting long, distorted silhouettes on the cracked pavement. The lesson wasn’t over yet. With a sharp intake of breath, Dave broke the silence. “So, kid,” he called out in a low, but rough voice, “how do you figure if some dickhead is tailing you?”
Elijah frowned, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t do any weird moves—don’t start jerking my head around like a damn idiot. I watch the windows and mirrors, see if something’s off in the reflections.”
Dave snorted, shaking his head. “Nope, wrong. That’s fuckin’ dumb and you just died. If you start gawking at a glossy surface expecting to spot some bastard following you.” He chided, giving Elijah a dirty look. “That’s amateur shit you see in movies—the last thing you want is to announce that you’re aware of your tail by doing something so dumb and having them change tactics. It’s all about plausible deniability to keep them guessing. Does he know I’m here? Was that just a fluke?”
As they made their way through their way, blending into the urban decay of Glennsworth as just another pair of thugs, Dave continued his lecture. Time seemed to slow at this point as each time maneuvered their way through the town, taking twists and turns, creating a chaotic maze of a route. Even in the growing darkness of a setting Sun people were out in droves, albeit the more scrupulous sort. It was both an ideal environment for the operators while also being intolerably risky.
In place of the average man trying to get by in the deepest parts of Glennsworth underbelly were the bloodthirsty killers, the desperate thieves, and those who wished to predate on the weak who were unwise enough to be outside. But even in this tenuous environment, Dave was skilled enough to continue his nuanced lesson. Each team was assisted and coordinated by drones flying high overhead with their own separate Quick Reaction Force (QRF) to cover all potential angles in case they were compromised.
The paths they took to Mara’s establishment were meticulously planned to ensure that no one tailing them could properly latch on, while still keeping the teams near communication relays that had been set up beforehand. But as the operators converged near Mara's establishment, Elijah caught something odd at the edge of his vision.
A few of Mara’s girls who went on break usually ventured out this way to grab some last-minute snacks or pastries. There were was always a rotation of courtesans going to and fro, but this time there were it seemed like the entire gaggle of them were out and about. And they seemed absolutely terrified, unable to make eye contact with Elijah.
As they neared their destination, Dave picked up on Elijah’s unease and frowned. He glanced up only to notice he’d caught up with Rusty and that agitated blonde woman, but they were still a good ways ahead. The oranged-haired operator, however, seemed to keep a rather healthy distance from the woman and had a rather tense posture as if anticipating Azeline to lash out at him.
“The fuck? Is he scared of her?” Dave murmured in a way that made it sound like he was going to give Rusty shit later. The sight was too odd not to talk shit—a seasoned operator like Rusty wasn’t one to shy away from anything, so to see him inch away from some blonde was pretty funny.
“He should be…” Elijah said with a slight cringe. “I'm sure as shit scared of her.”
Giving Elijah a strange look, Dave opened his mouth to retort, but both of their earpieces crackled to life again with Ian’s, the Australian SASR operator, voice came through in that classic accent. “Be advised, we've got trouble inside the safe house. It's not gone shit yet, but it doesn’t look good either.”
Dave and Elijah exchanged a puzzled, almost wordless look. The two were momentarily stunned by the baffling report. It didn’t seem quite urgent, but it seemed bad enough to pick up the pace, and as their mouths opened to inquire what in the hell Ian meant, they watched Rusty close the gap with Azeline to stop her.
But in a flash that boggled the mind, the woman roughly—seemingly very unhappy to be abruptly grabbed and pulled—shrugged off Rusty’s hand with a vicious elbow straight to his stomach. The impact sent Rusty reeling, stumbling back before falling to his knee, which caused both Dave and Elijah to react instantly. They both ripped their weapons free from under their baggy cloaks and sprinted after the grumpy blonde.
Meanwhile, Azeline marched straight to the Tavern’s entrance with a haughty harrumph. She knew those mundane idiots were too uppity for their own good, and they even dared to lay a hand on her as if she was just some random peasant girl. With a swift and agitated shove, Azeline flung open the door, only to be met by an unexpected, raucous scene on the other side.
It was as if some kind of event was going on, but amidst the rowdy clamor of Mara’s establishment, Azeline spotted that damnable fairy flittering about, cackling with unbridled glee. There was a roar of laughter from the patrons, who had crowded around a long table in the center of the tavern, all straining for a better view as Yana gave a flouring ballet twirl with two pairs of dice in her hands before diving down the middle of the crowd.
For a moment, Azeline stood there frozen. That damned Fae was making her presence known again—an occurrence that could only spell trouble. Though Yana usually hid her presence from prying eyes, today, the fairy’s overt display made Azeline very nervous.
Then, in a voice that couldn’t describe her joy, Yana erupted, “I won! I won! I won!” Her shrill, excited cry cut through the cacophony as her wings fluttered erratically in a clamor of celebration. She zipped around, clapping, goading the onlookers to join her in her celebrations before a vicious twinkle sparked in her eye. The fair immediately looked at someone at the core of the gathering before spinning around and pointing at the doorway just past Azeline. “I won, so you better pay up! My apostle is here with pockets!” she declared with a mischievous and giddy tone.
At this moment, as if under some sort of enchantment, the crowd acted in unison and parted, creating a path that allowed Azeline an unobstructed view of what was going on. And there, seated regally at one of the battered wooden chairs, was a stunningly beautiful woman who made Azeline’s eyes nearly bulge out of her eye sockets.
The woman in question exuded a magnetic allure as she sat sideways, one shapely leg casually thrown over the other as they rested on top of the chair’s arm. Tightly fitted leather pants clung to her like a second skin and accentuated every curve. As she turned her head, the woman’s lush, cream-colored hair—intertwined with rich, chocolate hues—flowed in soft, mesmerizing waves while atop her head, two rotating cat ears locked directly onto Azeline. It wasn’t long before two sky-blue orbs seemed to pierce the blonde Elf with an intensity that made her want to scream and run out the door.
“Hello, my dearest Azeline,” purred the cat girl in a sultry hum that filled the sudden silence. As she spoke, the cat girl gracefully swapped which leg was on top of the other as they lay crossed on the chair's arm and gently tapped the hilt of a dagger strapped to her boot with her finger. Gingerly, she picked up the pair of dice in her dainty fingers, and Idly toyed with them while her azure eyes sparkled with impish delight. “I’m pleased to see you’re... healthy. I heard you’ve found a new employer!”
Azeline’s hardened facade wavered as her eyes went to a cowed and nervous Mara in the corner as if she was trying to seem as small as she possibly could. Azeline’s eyes darted about, searching for escape, any escape, before a trembling whisper escaped her lips.
“I... I-Indi?”
