《Luther: A Criminal Underworld Odyssey》


 Chapter 1: Another Day in the Office

    The clock was ticking.


    The urban streets of 1940''s Italy shined brighter than any other. The engulfing black cement served as a mirror to the promiscuous air above. A thick atmosphere intoxicated the patrons that walked in and out of La Cabala; a hip nightclub found in the pits of the red lantern district. The only thing found on the minds of those that partook in the establishment was how much sex and alcohol it would take to forget about the problems that encapsulated their day to day lives. War was on the forefront, with Dictator Mussolini on the verge of declaring his siding with the Axis powers.


    Across the street of this cesspool of a nightclub, a car slowly pulls up. Its appearance is nothing more than scrap metal on wheels, but with the right driver, she can blaze her way out of any situation. Both front windows are cracked open and a veil of cigarette smoke rises into the night air.


    In the passenger seat of the vehicle, sat Luther. A mid-forties bounty hunter with the appearance of a fantastical creature. Their nails resemble that of claws; torn and sharpened by the digging and piercing of countless bodies. They have shrapnel wounds on their forehead that have transformed into dark steel horns. Years of dried blood and grime have morphed into a fur-like texture that covers their body from head to toe.


    Luther sat beside their partner Jack. A late thirties, suit wearing, and strait-laced bounty hunter. He''s handsome in that rugged, noire leading man style. Despite the sturdy charm that often serves as a weapon beside his trusted revolver, the man still has an uncharacteristically bright gleam of hope in his eyes for better days ahead. Even if he knows they are too few and far between.


    "Intel says this is the place," Jack said as he exhaled another cloud of smoke from his lungs.


    "Place like this? You sure?" Luther replied.


    "Why do you always have to second guess the intel?"


    "Why do you always have to follow it?"


    The two hunters glanced at each other with a mix of playful frustration and slight agitation. Luther began to load their revolver as Jack looked over the dossier. Jack is quick to take notice.


    "What are you doing?" Jack questioned.


    Luther, carrying over their agitation, sarcastically retorted, "The job would be a lot easier if you let me go in and shoot the bastards."


    "The job would be easier if you didn''t bring attention to every room you entered."


    Luther sighed while putting the gun in the glove box, "When you look as good as I do, it tends to bring a bit of attention."


    Jack takes another hit from his cigarette. "It doesn''t matter anyways. Just lay low." Jack and Luther both open their doors to exit the vehicle. Jack reaffirms, "We''ll go in and arrest the guy. Keep it none-lethal because-"


    "Pay is better that way. I know," Luther interrupts while slamming the metal frame shut.


    There is an icy pause as the two partners walk in front of the parked vehicle. Jack stands under the flickering light of a street lamp while Luther remains off to the side, clouded in darkness. Indistinguishable from the environment that surrounds them, Luther resembles a silhouette of a trench coat and fedora. Incognito clothing.


    Luther flicks their cigarette along the sidewalk. As Jack adjusts his suit jacket, he pulls out his own revolver and begins loading it.


    Luther takes notice of their partner''s actions. "What happened to non-lethal?"


    "Just a precaution, in case," Jack states before briefly pausing. "You know."


    "I know?"


    "You do."


    As Jack finished loading his firearm, he spits his cigarette onto the street pavement and extinguishes it with his shoe. The two hunters huddle together as they walk towards the nightclub.


    Inside La Cabala live music can be heard from across the room. Men and women take to the dance floor to drown out their worries in a flurry of passion and rhythm. The layout of the bar is simple, but effective, in serving guests. Along the right side of the building, a bar stretches out; serving people a mixture of bottles and cocktails. On the left side of the room are a couple of booths, with tables that surround the dance floor, and a stage that encompasses the far end of the establishment.


    On that stage is a jazz band. A trumpet player, no older than 18, centers the stage in a wild solo. His talent on the brass far outweighs that of his older peers, and the swagger he enchants brings the room to life. In the trumpet''s reflection, two figures can be seen entering through the front doors.


    The two bounty hunters look at the entertainment ahead. As they trench forward in unison, Jack begins to loosen up his step and break left towards the dance floor. Luther, leaving their disguise intact, slums towards the bar on the right.


    Luther pulls up a stool besides a crowd of guests. They try to act small besides the loud crowd, hoping perhaps nobody would take notice to them. As they adjust in their seat, the allure of the liquor ridden bar back begins to entrance them.


    Luther looks towards the Bartender and orders for a whiskey. The Bartender, a midlife geezer and owner of La Cabala, who remains nostalgic for the simpler times of his decade turning youth, glances at his new patron.


    "Humid summer night like this. Want me to take your coat," The Bartender paused momentarily while deciphering his new customer. "Sir?"


    Luther smirked at the Bartender''s attempt at hospitality.


    "The coat stays on. I''m looking for a friend. Do you think you can help?" Luther asked.


    "Does the whiskey come with a tip?" The Bartender responded.


    On the other side of the room, Jack has mingled his body halfway across the dance floor. Sliding his feet to the beat, Jack moves from one dancing partner to the next; all the while scoping the tables and booths for his target.


    That target is Giuseppe Camorra; a middle-aged kingpin that runs a couple of shady practices in Italy''s underworld. His thinning hair and sunken ghoulish eyes exfoliate a life of stress and constant looking over one''s shoulder. Though he''s always known that those in his profession rarely see retirement, it doesn''t lighten the load on him mentally. To compensate, he hires the strongest, youngest, talent he can find to help prop himself up.


    Jack locates his target from across the room. At a corner booth, Camorra sits surrounded by a small population of goons and women. Everyone at the table is relaxed and enjoying glasses of champaign, save for the clear muscle that sits at the end. There to lighten any potential burdens that might come in Mr. Camorra''s path. One such burden begins to make his way towards the table. Yet as Jack began to exit the dance floor, a hand grips onto his shoulder and pulls him back.


    At the bar, Luther is continuing their conversation with the bartender. The bartender continues their relay of information, "Yeah, Mr. Camorra is here often. Has a soft spot for the women. Lately though, he''s been bringing in a little extra heat. He''s been a bit on edge.


    "What for?" Luther questioned.


    The Bartender goes cold and begins to clean a glass on the counter. They clear their throat to highlight the need for additional compensation. Luther begrudgingly placed another bill on the table and slid it over.


    The Bartender pours another drink for Luther and continues, "Whispers from the walls say he''s been moving livestock."


    Luther''s ears prick up, "Bulls or cattle?"


    Raising an eyebrow, the bartender responds, "The one that actually pays." As Luther''s demeanor begins to show disdain, he continues, "Some say he''s also been moving crops into Italy. Illegally of course."The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "I don''t recall Italy being in season right now."


    "Times are changing."


    "That so..." Luther says finishing their second glass.


    As the bartender is placing the whiskey back on the bar back, he gives Luther some final advice, "You better act quick though. You''re not the first to ask for him tonight."


    Luther subtly adjusts in their chair to catch a glimpse at the dance floor.


    Back in the crowd, Jack is pulled back into another dance by a familiar face. Simone Jackson, a 27-year-old, African American, bounty hunter from New Orleans gives him a smirk. The two lock hands with each other and begin a tactical slow dance.


    Simone whispered in Jack''s ear, "What brings you out here tonight handsome."


    Jack whispered back, "I could ask you the same thing. You''re a long way from home, aren''t you?"


    "Baby my home is where the money is."


    "Looks like we might''ve been double booked."


    "I''m just a contingency. Anderson needed someone a little more, subtle, in case you caused a commotion."


    "Please, I''d never start something I couldn''t finish." Jack said smirking.


    The music begins to hit a faster tempo. The couple move from a slow dance and enter a tango.


    "We''ll see." Simone responds while following Jack''s lead.


    The floor begins to clear out for their dance. Across the room Luther notices that their partner is occupied and walks away from the bar. "Should''ve known he''d get distracted," Luther mutters to themselves.


    Luther, having enough of the subtleties, begins to head over to Camorra''s table. The kingpin takes notice of the looming shadow making its way over and snaps for the muscled goon at the end to handle it. As the goon walks over and places a hand on Luther''s shoulder, Luther deflects and slams the man through a nearby table.


    A brief silence from the commotion breaks through the room. Simone is being held in an off-axis move, "I was wondering where your partner was," she subtly laughs.


    Jack lifts her up and replies while loosening his tie, "Yeah, me too."


    Onlookers begin to gaze in the direction of the violence before thinking critically. Not to be upstaged by this moment, the trumpet player and band hit a quicker tempo as all hell breaks loose.


    Camorra''s men break from the table and begin their offense. Some charge towards Luther while others ready their weapons. Jack is quick to draw out his firearm and shoot out those with guns.


    Luther dodges an oncoming fist and throws a guard over their shoulder. As the muscled goon lands on the ground, Jack runs up and stomps on his face. Jack looks towards his partner as they fight off another guard, "What happened to laying low?"


    "I got bored," Luther replied as they gave a hook across their opponents'' jaw.


    Jack gets socked across the mouth. He hawks out a sputum of blood on his opponent to temporarily blind them and knees them in the midsection. Luther comes from the side to give a crossover blow.


    Simone, watching as the chaos continues to ensue, steps back into the crowd as they begin rushing out of the nightclub.


    "Have fun you two," she said nonchalantly while leaving the establishment.


    Meanwhile. over at the bar, the bartender is already on the phone with the police.


    Luther lunges forward and hits another one of Camorra''s goons. The bodyguard is rocked backwards. A woman, who was previously partying at Camorra''s table, is knocked over in the commotion. Taking notice of this, Luther dodges their next opponent in order to slide over and help the woman to their feet.


    "Sorry about that," Luther apologized, reaching out their hand.


    As the woman is helped up to her feet, Luther is stricken in the back by another thug. Jack grabs the man in retaliation and charges him into another booth. The thug flips Jack over and the two fall onto the booth seat. As the thug begins to overpower Jack, he reaches onto the table for anything to grab. He feels the rim of a bottle and uses it to hit the thug on the temple. Despite the bottle shattering, the thug continues to apply pressure to Jack''s windpipe.


    He reaches up again in desperation. His hands hover over a mild source of heat, as an ashtray holds a recently lit cigar. Jack grips onto the cigar and uses the lit end to jam into the thug''s eye. The thug falls backward out of the booth in pain. Jack takes a moment to regain his breath and composure.


    Luther who was knocked to the floor and has their hat fall off of their head. Camorra, who had remained confident behind his bodyguards is suddenly stricken with fear. He instantly recognizes the creature who is coming after him and he begins to push his men away as he retreats towards the emergency exit.


    Luther realigns themself back up and catches their breath. They turn to Jack.


    "Target is getting away," Luther informed.


    Jack socks another goon on the nose before replying, "You better get moving then!"


    Jack tosses Luther his pistol as Luther dashes towards the emergency exit to give chase. The emergency door slams open, gusting away the summer night fog. Luther breaks through and scopes out both directions before locking onto their target. Camorra, not far ahead is breathing heavily as panic begins to set in. He turns a sharp corner before coming face to face with a dead end. The footsteps behind him ring louder by the second. A deafening sound of terror.


    Camorra attempts to climb over the fence blocking his path, but he is immediately thrown down by his pursuer.


    "Where the hell do you think you''re going Giuseppe?" Luther exclaimed as they tower over their mark.


    Upon slamming on the alleyway cement, Camorra makes an immediate attempt to unholster his weapon and shoot Luther. This would be the first in a chain of mistakes.


    Upon removal of his firearm, before he could pull on the hammer back, the gun is shot out of his hand. The smoking barrel is raised along Luther''s side as they raise it further to take aim at the trembling target.


    Camorra grasped at his blood-soaked hand in a moment of agony. The gun wasn''t the only collateral of his actions, with his index and middle finger being consequently blown away. Camorra looks up at the creature that stands before him.


    "I know who you are demon! There''s no point in reasoning with the Witch of Verdun." Camorra stated in a concoction of anger and torment.


    Luther paces forward into the light of an alleyway lamppost. Hat removed; they can finally be seen in full view. They exfoliate power, intimidation, and a daunting capability provoked by the whispers of urban legend. They''re chilling, but not haunting; calculating, but not manipulative. The definition of a beautiful egg wrapped in a nightmarish shell.


    "So, you know my reputation then," Luther asserts.


    "And you know mine," Camorra replies as Luther begins to tread around their prey. Camorra crawls himself up against a light post, "Are you going to do it or what?"


    The offer to end the life of another lowlife is tempting. Luther even ponders on it before remembering what Jack said.


    "Bounty is larger if I bring you in alive. You''ve made your bed, so now it''s time for you to lay in it," Luther decided.


    "Take me in alive and I''ll be out within a week."


    "Not my problem."


    "It''ll be just a small inconvenience for my business... You know what I do, right?"


    Camorra, who has become numb to the pain in his hand, looks up into the light above him. The low hum of electricity is angelic. The warmth of the summer night air reassures him.


    "I''ve heard a bit about your weapons dealing."


    Camorra laughs, "Please. That shit just pays for my nights out. Guns have always been good business, but since the war began, there has been a new stream. Ammunition is great, but do you know what pays better for those lonely soldiers in the cold of the night?"


    "Humor me," Luther responds as they readjust their aim.


    Camorra smiles. The grin of the devil himself. As he continued to speak, his words became drowned out by Luther. The ringing in their ear growed ever more piercing. Their face went from cool and collected, to a fury of rage and disgust.


    Meanwhile, Jack rams through the emergency exit of the bar. He''s short of breath and alarmed by the sudden bang of a gunshot in the distance. Jack takes a full sprint in the direction of Luther and their target. As he approaches their location, Jack''s sprint begins to slow until it becomes a complete stop.


    Luther approaches and passes by him. They hand back the revolver and mumble to Jack, "Couldn''t help myself. You can have this one."


    Jack slowly walks over to the dying man. Camorra, still momentarily breathing and sitting upright, tips over to his side. Blood begins to spill out of his mouth and sputter with the force of a cough. He looks upwards at Jack as he stepped in front of him.


    Camorra whimpered out, "What did that thing do to me?"


    Jack bends down and examines the target.


    "Damn," Jack said


    "What do you mean, damn!?" Camorra yelled out in agony.


    Jack raised himself back above Camorra. Far off in the distance, sirens for both ambulances and police could be heard approaching.


    "Long story short, you''re dead. No way around it. If I leave you as you are it will be slow and painful."


    Shock began to set into Camorra''s eyes. Grief and hysteria are on the verge of breaking through. If he was going to die, he was hoping for something quick. Not a slow bleeding out, withering in pain.


    Jack continued, "Your organs will fail as you continue to bleed out. Paramedics might arrive quick enough to keep you alive for longer than a few minutes, but the outcome won''t change within the hour. Your fate''s sealed."


    Camorra violently continued to cough. Clinging onto what ounce of life he had; Camorra clawed his way to Jack and raised his arm for help, or perhaps mercy.


    "Please," Camorra pleads.


    Jack holsters his weapon once again. He looks off to his side and notices Camorra''s firearm, and couple of lost fingers. Jack moves away from the man.


    "You aren''t worth one of my bullets, but I can see some justice, and maybe even irony, within your own."


    Jack picks up the revolver and looks it over. The steel is scratched and stained with a light hue of red. There''s an engraving on the handle. It reads: Stay safe, Ramona.


    Jack winces a bit as he reads out loud the engraving. He lets out a sigh as he reapproaches the beating corpse. As he stands over Camorra, he uses his free hand to pull out a cigarette from his pocket.


    "I hope it was all worth it man. We only get one shot at all of this, and only the selected few seem to make it count." Jack says as he lights his smoke.


    With a quick puff, Jack bends down again besides camorra. The coughing has subsided and his grip on his abdominal wound had lessened. Jack places the cigarette in Camorra''s mouth. He lets out a final inhale as Jack rises back up. Jack aims at the main below him as Camorra exhales.


    "Arrivederci," Jack says as he pulls the trigger. Firing a round into the head of his target and putting the man out of his misery.


    Jack goes to toss the gun away, but he hesitates. Instead, he places it in Giuseppe''s hand, and bends his arm so it laid next to his chest. Something for his soul to part with as it begins its long journey to what lies ahead.


    Jack turns back down the alleyway to look at his partner, but they''ve already vanished into the night. Sirens grow louder and a mixture of paramedics and police officers make their way into both the alleyway, and La Cabala.

 Chapter 2: A New Day

    A muted commotion can be heard beyond the exterior of the four walls that make up Luther''s apartment. Luther lays in bed, motionless. Their dresser is littered with a mixture of bottles and trash, save for a single photo in a frame. The photograph contains three soldiers and the lower body of what appears to be a nurse; but the photo had been burned to remove a portion of the picture.


    Suddenly, a loud knock jolts Luther awake. Their sweat stings the eyelids as the summer humidity remains unbearable. They rub their red-stained eyes, unrested from another sleepless night.


    The knock rings out again as Luther groans. Jack can be heard from the other side of the door. His voice slightly muffled, "Luther... Come on! It''s half past noon. We have to get going."


    The knock rings out for a third time as Luther is slow to rise from their bed. As they shuffle across the room, they head into the kitchen rather than letting Jack in. As Luther opens the fridge to grab a beverage, the knocking subsides. A tinkering noise takes its place, followed by a click from the lock.


    "Don''t pick my lock, asshole." Luther says cracking open a beer as Jack enters the room.


    Jack''s appearance is almost the exact opposite of his partner''s. His hair has been combed back, he''s wearing a freshly pressed suit, and while the duo might both smell like bourbon; his is pleasantly from a spritz of cologne, whereas Luther''s originates from the swig of a bottle.


    Jack flicks a pin across the room into the trashcan. As he walks over to the chair, he sets an envelope on Luther''s counter.


    "Here''s for last night, subtract the cremation fee," Jack says.


    Luther appears slightly agitated, but continues to drink through the beer bottle. They finish it and set it on top of the envelope. The bottle leaves a condensation ring on the envelope, wetting the cash inside.


    "You can keep it Jack," Luther remarks.


    "No. You need the income too. I mean..." Jack responded, taking a brief moment to pause and look around at the disheveled apartment. It''s on the verge of falling apart. Jack continues speaking to his partner, who has returned to the solitude of their spring mattress, "Anyways. We have work to do."


    "Who''s the handler?" Luther asked.


    "Anderson," Jack answered with a light hesitation.


    "Fuck Anderson. Where''s Hernandez been?"


    "Vacation. Besides, Anderson has always brought us solid work that pays out."


    In Luther and Jack''s line of work, there are middlemen known as handlers. Typically, they''re counter intelligence agents that work for and represent different countries of interest. They handle information and dossiers for different jobs tasked to the hunters.


    Anderson is known for his conservative, derivative tone when speaking with Luther. While he respects and values their skills and capability, there''s always been an aura of hostility between the two. The fact that their alternate handler Hernandez had been on vacation for four assignments straight irritated them.


    Luther rolled over on the bed, no longer facing Jack but instead the water-stained wall. There was an elongated pause between the two. Luther could sense there was further news they weren''t going to enjoy.


    "Spit it," Luther said.


    Jack stretched out his body in the chair with a bit of a sigh. "I have some provisions, that are well past due."


    "Meaning?"


    "I''m going to need you to handle this one on your own. Ride solo."


    Luther burrowed into their pillow a little further, cementing their unwillingness to get up. Between the hangover, meeting with their favorite handler, and having to do double the work, today wasn''t off to the strongest start. Jack lifted himself out of the chair and scanned out the room. He began to grab trash from the countertop and throw it into the garbage. It might not be his apartment, but he couldn''t stand how disorganized Luther had left it.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The sounds of bottles clinging and valuables being sorted lifted Luther''s ears from the depth of their recently diagnosed comatose.


    "Don''t clean my stuff Jack¡ª" Luther began.


    "¡ªIt''s a mess." Jack retorted before Luther could finish.


    "But it''s my mess. Organized chaos. When you start moving things around, I can never find what I''m looking for."


    Jack set what he had in his hands back on the nearby dresser. He tied off the trash that he had picked up and threw the bag over his shoulder.


    "Come on. You know he doesn''t like to wait." Jack said as he began to head to the door.


    Luther rose to their feet and threw on a new shirt. The two headed out of the apartment entrance. As they stepped down the stairs of the damp and grungy complex, the commotion from outside began to grow in volume.


    Jack opened the exit to the building''s front door. The daylight sun blinded Luther in a sudden white flash.


    The noise from outside was originating from another military parade. Crowds haad gathered around in support of their troops and Italian dictator Mussolini. Children sat on their father''s shoulders waving Italian flags, as vehicles in rows slowly drove by with the dictator''s face plastered on the side. On the sidewalk there was a recruitment booth, where men eagerly awaited to sign their lives away proudly.


    At least that''s how Luther felt about it all; they glanced over at the sideshow and grumbled to themselves. The two hunters continued walking for a few blocks, parting their way through crowds and festivities. Jack took in a little bit of fun, giving complete strangers high fives and walking with a bit of a shuffle.


    As the two approach a nearby caf¨¦, Jack broke away from Luther and headed towards his parked vehicle. As he opened the driver''s door, he turned back and yelled, "Don''t go off dying while I''m away."


    "No promises," Luther said as a small smirk breaks through their mask.


    Jack enters his vehicle and begins to drive off, meanwhile, Luther enters the caf¨¦. As the door opens, a small bell is rung to signify the entrance of another customer. Inside, the sun shined brightly through the panel windows. Coffee is being pressed and brewed at a steady steam. The dark, rich aroma called Luther to the register.


    On the other side of the room in the corner sits Anderson. He sports a pair of sunglasses and a thick wool coat. His cappuccino serving as nothing more than a mere prop to blend in with the crowd. As Luther orders their dark roast, Anderson continues to casually look down at the newspaper in front of him. The headline of the newspaper reads, ''Germany breaks through French borders! When will Mussolini join the warfront?''


    Luther approached the table and took a seat.


    "Morning," Luther said taking a sip of their coffee.


    "It''s past noon... you look like hell." Anderson replied.


    "Yeah, well, you know only jackasses wear sunglasses while indoors."


    Anderson doesn''t respond. He just stares at the being sitting across from him, judging and unamused.


    Luther breaks the silence first, "Jack says you have a present for me."


    "Only because I need you."


    Luther gives a sarcastic smile as they pour cream into their coffee, "Awe, you need me? Do you really mean that?


    Anderson''s demeanor doesn''t budge. He slides the newspaper over to Luther.


    "I need you to pick up some groceries."


    "Will the store be busy?" Luther asked as they stirred their beverage.


    "It''ll be rush hour," Anderson warned.


    "And who will I be picking up for help with all these, heavy, groceries?"


    "Luca Balero." Anderson stated.


    There is another brief silence between the two. Luther is attempting the mental gymnastics to make sure they heard everything correctly.


    "Is there a problem?" Anderson asked.


    "No... I just don''t usually get kids to help," Luther hesitantly said.


    Anderson taps the newspaper with his index finger, "Haven''t you read the headlines. Matter of time before Mussolini pushes Italy to war. Then no more groceries."


    "And Balero?"


    "Kid''s father is a top Marshall under the courageous dictator. If put to the task, he''ll step down from his position to not risk the life of his son. That kind of setback can delay Italy''s involvement in the warfront. At least that''s what the National Liberation Committee thinks."


    "And it won''t?"


    "All of this is inevitable. But their checks clear for you and the US government approves of their tactics, at least off the record."


    Luther continued to drink their coffee, "What''s my budget and timeframe for this errand?"


    "You can find more of that information in your paperwork, but it''s an urgent task; and after work, I''d consider a change of scenery."


    "I''ve heard Spain is nice this time of year. Or maybe we could be neighbors."


    Anderson looks at his watch and gets up from his seat. Pushing his chair in, he asks for confirmation, "Are you in or out?"


    Reaching down for the newspaper and hidden dossier, Luther places their hand over it first and responds "I was getting tired of this place anyways. Food is overrated."


    Anderson wiped his hand on the side of his coat, readjusted himself, gave a slight nod to Luther, and begins to walk away. Continuing to the front door, he remained stone-faced; his deadpan mask becoming indistinguishable from his actual anatomy.


    The bell attached to the entryway rang out to signal Anderson''s departure. Luther leaned back in the chair and finished their coffee. They tossed the cup into the garbage behind them and stood up. As they pushed their chair in, they noticed that Anderson had left behind his cappuccino, still untouched.


    Luther grabbed the drink for themselves and headed for the exit.


    "Wasteful knob," Luther murmured as the caf¨¦ bell rings out.

 Chapter 3: Groceries

    Luca was a ten-year-old, spry, quick-witted son of an Italian Marshall. His bedroom was decorated similar to his social peers, with posters of military and fascism propaganda littered around. He had a pristine case of medals that sat alone on a dresser, and a photo of himself with his father in military uniforms that was placed on his nightstand. The photo is of one of his favorite memories, his first day of academy; it was one of the few days his father set aside work to see him off personally.


    Jumping out of bed, Luca sprinted to the bathroom and wets his toothbrush while swishing away at a capful of mouthwash. He got dressed in his school uniform and headed out of his bedroom.


    The hallways of the Balero manor were filled with paintings, artwork, vases, displayed weapons, and a singular bust of Mussolini that sat at the end of the hallway, watching over everything in its view. Luca dashes by in a full sprint. It''s nearing the end of the school year, and he can''t wait for summer. Going to camp with his friends, having time with no homework, and maybe, just maybe, he can finally go to work with his dad.


    As Luca is playfully roaming around the estate, Luther approaches the building. They are wearing the uniform of the help, and Anderson''s dossier included a fake I.D. card that should get them past any brief security. Blending in with the morning staff who are entering to start their shift of work, Luther doesn''t run into any trouble getting in.


    Luther begins to move around the estate, observing for their best opportunity to capture Luca and escape without setting the building on a high alert. The easiest opportunities would be to either drug the boy while he was still asleep and take him out in a laundry sack, or perhaps take the role of chauffer for the boy''s trip to school.


    As Luther began to head to the target''s bedroom, Luca turns a corner in the hallway and accidently runs into Luther. Luca is knocked to the ground.


    "Oh, my goodness. Master Luca, I''m so sorry. Are you quite alright?" Luther asked helping Luca up to his feet.


    "Yeah, I''m okay¡ª." Luca said dusting himself off. He looks at Luther''s nametag to see who he is addressing. "Mrs. Kyle."


    Luther winces for a split second, but quickly responds, "Please, call me Val."


    Luca gives a quick nod and continues to run down the hallway towards the kitchen and dining room. Seeing that the boy is already awake and moving around the house, Luther pivots and follows him back.


    As the two pass by the kitchen, the head chef grabs Luther by the shoulder and pulls them in.


    "You''re the new help, right? You''re late. Sir Balero is nearly done with his first cup of coffee and nobody is out there to top him off," The chef informed as he placed a cannister with a pouring spout into Luther''s hands. "Now hurry before he gets mad. I don''t want to start the morning with another execution."


    Luther glances at the chef with a sense of doubt, "You''re kidding?"


    The chef slams their knife into the nearby cutting board and begins to push Luther out of the kitchen.


    "Clearly you are new," he said pushing Luther back into the hallway.


    Luther begins to head to the dining room. As they pass by an office, they notice Luca inside. Luca is glancing over his father''s medals, photos, and achievements with a sense of awe. In the dining room, Luther takes a spot behind Marshall Balero.


    The room is large in size, but mostly empty. An elongated table contains a chair on each end, with candles lined across the center; creating a barrier between the two halves.


    Sitting on one end of the table is Marshall Balero. He sits upright with immaculate posture. Taking calculated sips at nearly identical intervals, he reads the morning newspaper. Bodyguards stand attentively on both his left and right should he need anything at the snap of a finger. Luca''s footsteps can be heard echoing down the hallway. Marshall Balero makes a slight noise clearing his throat and snapping his newspaper straight. Luther moves in to refill the coffee cup that had just run empty.


    As Luca makes his way to the dinning room, his previous run slows to a mild walk. He takes a seat on the opposite end of the table. His mood subtly changes as he scoots his chair in.


    "Good morning, Dad," said Luca.


    Marshall Balero pauses before lowering the paper to acknowledge the greeting. His eyes pierce over the top edge of the newspaper, "Luca."


    Another servant walks into the room. An elderly man in his late 50''s or early 60''s. Distinguishable amongst the rest of the help, he had an aura of authority around him; masked away by his gentle charm. The butler laid a plate in front of the suddenly starved boy.


    Luca looked up to thank his favorite butler, "Thank you Maurice!"


    Maurice doesn''t break form or give acknowledgement as he takes a step back. He looks towards Balero for permission to speak, which he is given with a small hand gesture.


    "My pleasure sir" Maurice stated with a sense of warmth.


    Maurice gave a slight bow before exiting the room again. Luca began to eat his breakfast. With his mouth full, his attention is redirected again to his stoic father.


    "Some of the kids were saying that school might be suspended. Is that true?" Luca asked.


    Balero pauses again, as though he had lost his place on the page. He gives a slight sigh before answering, "You know I can''t speak on work."


    Balero finds his place and continues to read.


    "If school is suspended though, does that mean I can go to work with you?"


    Balero doesn''t give the question a response.


    Luca continued the one-sided conversation with his father, "It wouldn''t be good for me to be kept indoors all summer. If school gets suspended, camp would be suspended too. And if I could watch what you do. I could learn even more and become a great leader; just like you."


    Balero turns the page of the newspaper. His demeanor remains unfazed. Luca takes another bite. He doesn''t want the conversation to die out.


    "I know I can do it. All the best Marshalls are older, but with your help, I can become the youngest in history. Wouldn''t that make you proud. You and grandpa."Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Balero gives a momentary fidget at the utterance of his own father. But he is quick to regain composure.


    "My work has no need for a nine¡ª"


    "¡ªTen," Luca corrects.


    "As I was saying, there is no need for you to come Luca. You will go to school. You will go to camp. You will do well in your studies, and maybe when you are old enough, we will look into what placement you can be given."


    Balero sets his coffee down; and Luther moves in to top it off. Balero takes another sip before speaking again. "But until that day arrives, I don''t want to hear about you wanting to see my work. Am I clear?"


    There is a tense silence in the air. Luca wants to say more, but he knows when his father has heard enough.


    "Clear."


    Luca continues to eat his breakfast in silence. Marshall Balero glances at his watch to check the time. He then sets the paper down and takes a final sip of his coffee. As he gets up from his chair, Luca takes notice.


    "Time to go?" Luca asked with an air of disappointment in his voice.


    Balero readjusts his suit jacket and begins to head out of the room.


    "It''s a busy time we live in my son." Balero pauses in the doorway. "One day you will understand."


    Marshall Balero left the dining room with his security following behind him. As Luca finished his plate, another butler enters the room. The butler tells Luca to finish getting ready, and reaffirmed that Maurice will be out front soon to drive him to school.


    Listening in on the information, Luther exited the room and headed back to the kitchen. They set the coffee pot down on the counter. The chef is multitasking between preparing a soup and yelling at his subordinates.


    Luther cautiously approached, "Excuse me ¨C I''m trying to find Maurice. Sir Balero requested that I give him some news in regards to master Luca and his school."


    The chef pauses in his craft and aims his sights at Luther.


    "Maurice takes Luca to school. So he is obviously in the..." The chef said, trying to lead Luther to the answer.


    There is an awkward silence as the soup continues to boil.


    "The..." Luther said trying to lead the chef to give the answer.


    "The garage! I swear you servants are going to be the end of me." The chef yelled grabbing a stock of celery and furiously chopping it for his dish.


    Luther slowly backs away from the fiery cook and leaves the kitchen. Walking through the halls of the manor, they eventually reach the garage door. Upon approaching the door, they notice that it is locked, requiring a key to open.


    Luther reaches into their pocket to pull out a ring of keys that Anderson included in the dossier.


    "Don''t let me down Anderson." Luther said to themselves under their breath.


    After going through the first two keys, they don''t work in unlocking the door. Flipping to the third key, a pair of footsteps approach from behind Luther.


    "Is there something you need from the garage? Maurice asked looking over Luther''s shoulder.


    Luther had to think of something quick before he could draw more attention. "Yeah, I was just asked to fix Master Luca''s bike before he get''s home from school today."


    Maurice glances over Luther, looking at the ring of keys in their hand and examining their uniform.


    "You know, I hate hounding on the new workers, but do you mind if I see your ID card really quick?"


    Luther reached into their pocket and handed the ID card over to the protective butler. Maurice quickly examined it before handing it back. He raised an eyebrow as Luther kept their composure. He gave a mild shrug and unlocked the door as Luther stepped aside.


    "I hadn''t realized the bike was broken again. I''ve mention to Master Balero that we need to get the young boy a new one. Let''s head into the garage and get it done." Maurice stated opening the door and gesturing for Luther to head in.


    Luther gave a nod and headed in first. As Luther stepped down the stairs into the garage, Maurice''s friendly smile disintegrated. The two enter the garage; it''s a large open space with two Cadillac vehicles and multiple workbenches for staff and mechanics. Maurice closed the door to the garage and grabbed a hammer off the workbench.


    "With how busy Master Bolero has been in his work, I''m surprised fixing the bike was even a priority so early in the morning." Maurice mentioned as the two of them walk across the garage.


    Luther can now see the set of bikes in the corner of the garage, with all of them in pristine condition.


    "Yeah, mechanics aren''t really my thing so hopefully¡ª" Luther began, seeing Maurice holding the hammer in the reflection of the bicycle. "...this won''t take too long."


    Maurice is the first to take a swing of the hammer towards Luther. Luther is able to easily block the telegraphed attack and kick Maurice back. As Maurice composes himself and charges back at Luther, Luther takes a step back towards the bikes.


    "What do you intend to do assassin?" Maurice questioned as he took a few more swings at Luther.


    "I think you have the wrong idea old man," Luther responded, dodging his attacker.


    Luther reaches back and grabs one of the child-size bikes. They use it as a temporary shield until Maurice''s arm breaks through a few of the spokes on the bike''s tire. Luther spins the wheel to pinch his arm and disarm him. The hammer falls to the floor and Luther kicks it away.


    With Maurice''s arm still temporarily lodged in the bike, Luther throws the bike forward so that Maurice falls back.


    "It''s my job to protect Luca! I can''t allow you to bring him harm." Maurice said as he tosses the bike to the side.


    Luther places his hands out, "Listen."


    Maurice is quick to get back up on his feet and begin attacking Luther. Luther is trying to not injure the elder, but their patience is starting to run thin.


    "I''m not here to hurt the kid." Luther assured as they redirect a jab and counter with a quick punch to the nose.


    Maurice doesn''t slow down, so Luther begins to take a more offensive approach. They land a couple of blows to Maurice''s midsection and knock them back against a workbench. Slumped over on the workbench, Maurice reaches for a nail gun. Luther stared down the barrel of the nail gun and pointed at Maurice the same way an owner would point at their pet dog when they wanted them to drop something.


    "Hey, no!" Luther said as the butler turns around shooting nails across the garage. Luther dives behind one of the Cadillac vehicles as it gets pelted with nails.


    "Why does this job always have to be such a pain in the ass." Luther muttered to themselves.


    Luther sees a Mechanic''s creeper under the Cadillac and grabs it as a shield. They rise back up from behind the vehicle and charge at Maurice. A couple of nails shoot through the wood, nearly stabbing Luther in the hands, but they reach Maurice and bash into them with their body.


    The Nail gun gets knocked back on the workbench and knocks a couple more tools onto the floor. Stumbling to his side, Maurice now reaches for a nearby screwdriver.


    "Look I just need to "borrow" the kid for a bit," said Luther.


    "Over my dead body."


    "Your words."


    Maurice attempts to stab Luther with the screwdriver, but Luther ducks under his attack, grabs him by the torso, and tosses him over their shoulder.


    Maurice slams to the ground. He withers for a moment in pain. Luther turns to face their opponent and suddenly feels a moment of remorse. Yet before they can feel too bad, Maurice takes a quick move to stab Luther in the foot with the screwdriver. Luther jolts in shock.


    Luther exclaims in pain, "You son of a¡ª"


    In a brief lapse caused by anger, pain, and adrenaline, Luther grabs Maurice by the legs and swings him across the room. With no holding back, Maurice''s body is launched into the damaged Cadillac. His body crashes and dents the car even further. The whiplash alone might''ve been enough to cripple his spine, if not outright kill him.


    Luther snapped out of their brief episode of rage and looked over at the motionless body. They let out a sigh, "shit."


    Luther walked over to the body and successfully checked for a pulse. They reach into Maurice''s pockets to get the keys to the cars. Luther opens the trunk to the broken Cadillac and places Maurice''s body gently inside. They write a note that reads ''Please Open,'' and places it on the trunk after closing it.


    Luther enters the nondamaged vehicle and opens the garage door. They put on a face mask just to remain a little inconspicuous, even though the windows are heavily tinted black. So much so that the interior can''t be seen from the outside. Luther drives around to the front entrance where Luca and a servant are waiting. As Luther pulls up the servant opens the door to the back passenger seat.


    Luca, distracted going through his backpack, enters the vehicle. Sorting through his books, the door is closed, and Luther drives off the premises.


    "Jeez Maurice, what took you so long today?" Luca asks before looking back up towards the front of the car.


    Luther doesn''t give a response and continues the drive. Luca is caught off guard by the lack of a response and instantly recognizes that Maurice isn''t the one driving. He slowly begins to reach for the handle of the car. Luther catches this action and places his gun on the armrest of the car.


    "Don''t bother kid," Luther said tapping on his firearm.


    There''s a brief icy pause between the two of them before Luther continues speaking, "You can either sit still and behave, or I can make you go to sleep."

 Chapter 4: The NLC

    Luca''s hands returned to his lap. His nervousness began to set in as the reality of the situation overwhelmed him.


    There is another pause between the two before Luca chose his next words. "Where are you taking me?" he asked.


    Luther looked in the rearview and adjusted the mirror.


    "That old butler of yours is one tough fella. He''s going to be alright though," said Luther.


    Luca repeated his question, "Where are you taking me?"


    Luther tapped their finger on the steering wheel.


    "Not far. Few friends wanted to help your old dad with some career decisions."


    Luther turned at a light and readjusted themselves upward in their seat. Luca''s eyes pierced at them through the mirror. His nervousness and fear were momentarily vanquished, but remnents remained; as if he was wearing a loose-fitted mask.


    "What you''re doing isn''t right," Luca muttered.


    Luther smirks, "Yeah well, let''s just say kidnapping you wasn''t on my bingo card for the week."


    "You''re a coward."


    "Am I now?"


    "You are," Luca reaffirmed


    Luther raised an eyebrow and humored the kid, "What makes you say that."


    "My father says people like you are cowards. Your quicker to fight against your government, rather than enter any conflict to protect the country itself."


    "Look at you. Your big heroic father must''ve taught you so much. You already have everything figured out."


    "Kidnapping me won''t work." Luca''s demeanor changed a bit as he paused between sentances, "His work is his biggest priority."


    Luther comes to a stop at a light. The running vehicle drowned out the silence between the two.


    Luther lets out a small sigh and rolled their eyes, "Look, it really doesn''t matter to me whether it works or not. So, save your sob story for the next kidnapper. I saw how he treated you in the dining room."


    "Then why do this?"


    "Paycheck."


    The light changed to green and Luther drove forward.


    "So, what are you? A thief? Bounty hunter? Assassin?"


    "I''m whatever is asked of me. When you''ve been in the game as long as I have, it all tends to blur together. Wars break out, countries disagree, men strive for power that belongs to no one. The usual schlock. It''s all a cycle."


    Luca looks down at his backpack. The small tank keychain jingled against the movement of a speed bump.


    "You say that like it''s all a bad thing?"


    "They say the pride of the few is the cost for all."


    "People die all the time. At least in war it''s honorable."


    "That a quote from the living?" Luther asked with a hint of sarcasm.


    There is a brief pause again between the two. Luther begins to enter some downtown traffic.


    "You just seem bitter," Luca said, annoyed.


    "I am. Don''t mistake it. I lost everything for people like your father. Spent a whole lifetime thinking my effort could make a difference. Load of shit that was."


    As Luthor spoke, they noticed that Luca was observing different parts of the vehicle. Trying to think of anything that might be useful in escaping


    "Look kid, I know all of this is inconvenient. Just don''t try to cause trouble for the adults and it''ll be over soon. Promise."


    Luca relaxed a bit more in his seat, he didn''t find anything to help him anyways. His glance now turned back to Luther.


    "What''s wrong with your face?" Luca asked.


    Luther gave a slight smile, almost laughing. "You just now noticed?"


    "You look like a monster."


    "That''s because I am one. So don''t piss me off too much." Luther said as they lightly tapped at the tip of their jagged horn.


    "Did you always look like that?"


    This time Luther didn''t respond. They turned into an alleyway. The vehicle came to a slow stop. Luther grabbed the gun and turned around from their chair to face Luca.


    "Look, as lovely as this conversation has been," Luther said aiming the gun at the child. "...and believe me, it''s been lovely."


    Luther pulled the trigger of the gun; a dart shot out and tranquilized Luca in the chest. Luca''s eyelids began to weigh down as though gravity in the vehicle had increased tenfold. What vision he had left started to blur.


    "We''ve reached our stop," Luther said as Luca collapsed over.


    With the boy passed out in the back of the car, Luther turned the engine of the Cadillac off. They stepped out of the front of the vehicle and moved to the door for the back seat. Opening the door, Luther picked Luca up and carried him over their shoulder. The alley was dark and in a mostly abandoned part of the city, so Luther''s guard was low. They approached a steel door which led into one of the buildings in the alley. They gave the steel door eight distinct knocks with a varying number of seconds between each hit. The door cracked open with a set of eyes piercing through.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Password?" The voice grunted through the slight of the door.


    "You want the kid or not?" Luther responded.


    There was a momentary standoff between the two. The voice on the other side of the door asked for the password again, much to Luther''s displeasure.


    Luther''s locked eyes with the NLC soldier and said, "A new march will begin on the red bodies of Rome."


    The door closed again. After a few seconds, a knock came out from the window on the other side of the alley; a nearby scout to signal that the alleyway was clear and it was safe to open the door. The bolted locks on the steel door jolted inwards and the door opened. Two burley members of the National Liberation Committee stood in the doorway before moving aside for Luther.


    Inside the building it was revealed to have previously been a barbershop. Long since abandoned, the chairs, mirrors and tools all have a thick layer of dust and grime on them. The lights flicker on a low dim as Luther is escorted across the room towards the stairs.


    One of the members took a passing glance at Luca as Luther passed by, "Why is the kid asleep?" He asked.


    "Talked too much," Luther responded.


    Heading upstairs Luther is approached by two more members of the committee. They removed Luca from their arms and set the child in a chair; tying him up and placing tape over his mouth so he can''t make too much noise when he wakes up. One of the members opened the door to an office room, where Luther took a seat to wait. The door behind him was shut and locked after entering.


    The office is in poor shape. A makeshift desk is littered in folders, books and maps. A dresser on the side of the room had a cantor of whiskey with a couple of glasses; they''re the only things clean. A nearby bookshelf contained a few oddly stacked books on it. Luther wandered over to take a look. Encyclopedias, dictionaries, and photo albums from a time long lost all caught their eye. Yet their finger landed on a single, out of place, notecard. It was faded with the date November 14th, 1915 on one side and a message from what appeared to be a soldier to his wife on the other side.


    As Luther began reading the message, the office door unlocked and a man entered, "That card was written by my father," said the man.


    Luther turned their attention to the host. He was young, no older than mid to late twenties, with silky, curly, dark brown hair, strong eyebrows and a small but muscular frame.


    "I didn''t mean to pry," Luther responded.


    The man gave a hand gesture to signal that no harm had been committed. He walked by Luther and took a seat at his desk.


    "My father wrote that when he was deployed by the Italian military in the great war. They were undermanned and unprepared for the brutality that awaited them. At the time, I was to be born in the oncoming months. My father was unsure if he''d ever meet me, so he wrote letters to my mother in case he didn''t make it home."


    "And did he make it?" Luther asked.


    "Physically, yes. He returned from war the following spring. Mentally, however, he never left the trenches. Shortly after the birth of my younger brother, he hung himself. My mother would tell us stories of the man he was before he left, but rarely spoke of those final years. Those cards are the latest I know of him."


    "I''m sorry to hear that."


    The man snapped back into place and reached out his hand, "Where are my manners, my name is Ezio Brando. I am in charge of this section of the National Liberation Committee in Rome. I was one of the few to coordinate this assignment."


    Luther reached out to shake Ezio''s hand. As Luther returned to their seat, Ezio walked over to the cantor of whiskey.


    "Care for a drink?" Ezio asked.


    Luther got back onto their feet and moved beside Ezio.


    "Mind if I pour it myself?" Luther replied.


    Ezio shrugged and handed over the cantor, "Not at all."


    "In my line of work, we''re all just loose ends waiting to get tied," Luther said while pouring for two glasses of whiskey.


    They handed Ezio a glass and motioned for a cheer. Luther waited for Ezio to drink first before partaking in the beverage. The two of them returned to their seats to get down to business.


    As Luther took another sip, Ezio began to reach under the table. Luther quickly armed their pistol and took momentary aim. Ezio is quick to put out his other hand.


    "Be calm my friend. This is a safe space."


    Ezio slowly brought out an envelope and Luther holstered their weapon. He tossed the envelope across the table.


    "This is for your hard work today."


    He pointed his hand towards the envelope, signaling Luther to pick it up. They picked up the envelope and began to count the money on the inside.


    Before Luther could finish Ezio leaned back in his chair and said, "The job however, isn''t quite finished."


    "For me it is," Luther informed.


    "What if I paid double the rate?"


    Luther''s ears pricked up at the offer. They knew it was better to walk away with a pocket full of cash; but just like a gambler that hit it big, they weren''t one to walk away with money on the table. Luther set the envelope back down on the desk and leaned in.


    "What did you have in mind?"


    Ezio smiles and opens a drawer in the desk. He removes an expensive bottle of scotch and hands it to Luther to pour.


    "Earlier this morning, we sent our demands to Bolero''s office. During Mussolini''s broadcast tonight, he will take the stage and publicly step down from his position as a Marshall¡ª"


    "¡ªAnd now you need me to return the child?" Luther interrupted.


    "That''s the job."


    "That''s a trap."


    "Which is why I can''t send my own men. If they were killed, it would be one thing; but if they''re captured, that would compromise everything. All this work towards our noble cause would be for nothing."


    "All causes are noble," Luther responded.


    "That might be" Ezio playfully acknowledged.


    Ezio rose from his seat. He moved over to a painting on the wall. Removing it from the hook, a safe was revealed behind it. He spent a moment turning the knob on the front to open it. Upon opening the safe, he removed two additional cards and another envelope. Ezio closed the safe and returned to the desk.


    "This envelope includes double the pay for completing the return. The first card here is for a phone number. You can call this number from anywhere and give the person on the other end of the line your location. They will then connect you with our closest safehouse. This second card with my signature will serve as payment to use the safehouse. These cards are an additional gift for you. To use anywhere across Italy."


    Luther is tempted by the payout, but needs more details on the mission itself.


    "Cash and favors are all good and dandy if I live. So, what''s the plan to make that happen?"


    Ezio set the items aside and began searching through the maps and documents that cover the desk.


    "Someone with your set of talents can make it out easy. Either with violence, or escaping through ¨C other means."


    "And what might be these other means?" Luther inquired.


    Ezio found the map he was looking for and laid it out on the desk.


    "The drop off location we''ve decided on is an old abandoned opera house in east Rome. Should the situation get too big for you to handle, there is a stairway backstage that takes you to a maintenance room. From the maintenance room you can use the access ladder to the sewer system that runs underneath and through the city."


    Luther leans back unconvinced, "What''s to stop them from chasing after me?"


    Ezio reached for a device on his desk and sets it front and center. Luther quickly recognizes it.


    "A detonator? You have explosives?" Luther says mildly surprised. Explosives had become harder to come by since the start of the second world war, and finding any in Italy was a bigger challenge within itself.


    "We''ve set up explosives to create a cave-in to the entryway of the sewers. By the time the soldiers could find another way in to give chase, you''ll be long gone."


    Luther takes a drink from their scotch and pours another glass.


    "Mind if I make a phone call? Luther asked.


    "Not at all," Ezio said.


    The two partners took their glasses of scotch and cheered to the continued collaboration of another assignment.

 Chapter 5: Provisions Past Due

    Pierre grew up in the slums of Paris. A cornerstone of French society that was often ignored and beaten down. As he grew older, he realized quickly that the opportunities for cash were running few and far between. Then, everything changed when war broke out. Being a young man in his late teens, he knew it was a matter of time before he was forced to enlist or find a new home in a prison cell. So, he did what any reasonable man with nothing to lose would''ve done. He ran.


    Working his way across the Italian border, Pierre found a new life awaiting him. He was quick to make friends and connections. In Sicily, he joined the Cosa Nostra, otherwise known as the Sicilian Mafia. He was on the bottom of the food chain, and still poor, but "The Family" gave him a purpose. A place where he could belong and make an impression.


    Over the next two years Pierre continued to rise in the ranks. Working on jobs focused on narcotrafficking, protection racketeering and occasional loan shark business, Pierre felt his conscious was clean in what they did. After all, innocent people weren''t being hurt in his eyes, and he saw it as his job to try and keep it that way.


    Near the end of spring, word came down the pipeline that a new business venture was being opened up. A job that involved the renowned Guiseppe Camorra. Pierre was assigned to be in the room for initial negotiations between the two parties. He was intrigued to see two higher-up members of separate organizations in action.


    The day of negotiations arrived, and Pierre waited alongside his friend Michael for the meeting to start. All things considered, Michael was a good man in Pierre''s eyes. He brought him into the family, gave him a place to live, and always showed him support. Sure, he had a drug and whore problem, but that was common for men in their line of work. We all have our vices, and Pierre wasn''t in a place to judge.


    Michael pulled out a yoyo from his pocket. It was jet black with a red saint logo on it; but it was starting to show some wear and tear from its usage. One strong pull or a drop to the ground could break it apart.


    "Always got to have it on you, don''t you," said Pierre as Michael began fidgeting with the children''s toy.


    "It keeps my hands busy." Michael replied.


    "Yeah and no matter how hard you toss it away, it comes back to you with a simple flick."


    "Sounds like last weekend."


    "Sounds like an addiction."


    "Fuck you."


    "Fuck your sister."


    The two men laughed and gave each other a punch in the arm.


    "You know P, I got an idea brewing," said Michael.


    "You with an idea," Pierre scoffed. "Must be serious."


    "No, look, I''m being serious. I''m thinking of leaving soon."


    "For a vacation?"


    Michael wrapped up the yoyo as he continued talking, "I was talking to Anne, and we were thinking of immigrating to America."


    Pierre was taken aback by Michael''s idea. "You know you can''t leave. They would never let you."


    "I know, which is why I need to know if I can depend on you. Everything we''ve been through together, this place is going downhill fast, it''s not the right area to start a family right now."


    "Family?"


    There was a pause between the two.


    "After our next pay, Anne and I are leaving for a better opportunity. If you want to come, you''re welcome. If not, you can keep the apartment. I won''t hold anything against you."


    A few men entered the room along with the boss, Lorenzo "God" Mancini. He had earned that name for how long he''d survived in the family. Despite multiple disputes and hits put out against him, he always came out on top. As if God himself was on his side and the cross necklace he wore gave him an immunity to lead.


    Everyone took their seats at the table in the center of the conference room. Michael and Pierre were standing along the wall as security. Nobody spoke in the presence of Lorenzo unless they were spoken to. Shortly after, the doors reopened and Guiseppe Camorra entered the room with a few of his men.


    Lorenzo stood up from his seat and walked over to shake Camorra''s hand. "Mr. Camorra. It''s been some time. How have you been?"


    "I''ve been better Mr. Mancini. Business is good, but my ventures have been a little more crowded than I like," Camorra replied.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The two men sat in their respective chairs.


    "Well, let''s get down to business then. What can we do to help one another?" said Lorenzo.


    "I need to move my stock to a new comfort station. I have them inland right now, but I''d like to get them out before anyone comes knocking."


    Lorenzo gave a quick glance at Michael and Pierre. The two underlings were expandable should anything go wrong for Lorenzo, making them perfect bargaining chips.


    "So, you need a few of my boys to help you with the move? Is that it?"


    "We''ll need them for the move and guidance across the border into France. In exchange, we''ll allow your family into our crop market."


    "I wasn''t aware Italy is in season like our neighbors."


    "Right now, it isn''t. But my source says the floodgates are on the verge of opening."


    Lorenzo scanned over Camorra and his goons. This was an opportunity he couldn''t pass on.


    "What percentage are we talking?" inquired Lorenzo.


    "Fifteen" said Camorra


    "Make it twenty and we''ll help you."


    There was silence in the room, Camorra wasn''t budging.


    "Keep the coin for the job. But make it twenty for business," Lorenzo bargained.


    "Eighteen."


    Lorenzo gave a nod. He turned to his men.


    "Pierre, Michael, and Vito, I''m leaving you in charge of escorting Camorra and his stock across the border. Use the tunnels. Once the job is complete, you can report back to me."


    The three men gave a nod and walked across the room to be with Camorra and his men. Camorra handed Michael a card with an address on it.


    "I need you to meet us here in 2 weeks for the move. We will get moving at half past midnight, so arrive an hour early," ordered Camorra.


    The business meeting eventually came to an end and Pierre and Michael went home for the night. As Michael was driving, something was eating away at Pierre.


    "What''s the stock?" asked Pierre.


    "Excuse me?" said Michael.


    "The job for Camorra, what stock are we moving across the border."


    "It''s better if we don''t talk about it."


    "Is it?"


    Michael stopped at a light. He took a hit from his cigarette and blew it out the window. "It happens everywhere Pierre. We aren''t in the business for it though, this is a one-off."


    Pierre wasn''t satisfied with Michael''s answer. This had crossed one of his personal boundaries. Michael took notice of Pierre''s reluctance.


    "It''s like I said, we complete this job, get a nice paycheck, and we can both leave forever. It will be fine. Just don''t let it eat at you too much. There isn''t much we can do to help them."


    The next two weeks felt like normal. Pierre and Michael did their work and nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Then, just before the scheduled job, Camorra was found dead in an alleyway near one of his local spots. Word of his death spread like wildfire and the empire that Camorra left was waiting to be siezed. Lorenzo met with his men to discuss what their plan of action was going to be.


    Lorenzo looked over his men as everyone took a seat at the table.


    "As you know, Camorra''s been killed. Some say he was assassinated by the Witch of Verdun."


    Vito spoke first, "That''s impossible. The Witch is just a story to scare off the German. They aren''t actually real"


    Pierre intervened, "So what does that mean for the job. His stock that we are supposed to move next week?"


    "Camorra''s second in command is taking over for the job. Pierre, Michael and Vito, you will move out tonight to get it done. With Camorra gone, they need to be moved as soon as possible before the police can intervene. As for our deal with the crops, with Camorra out of commission, his empire will crumble before long. We''ll take over his operations. Some of Camorra''s men will be brought in, others will remain in France working their stock trade."


    The men in the room seemed happy about the news. One hundred percent was a whole lot better than eighteen, and they didn''t even have to go to war to take it.


    "Why not let the stock free or ignore the job?" asked Pierre.


    The cheerful atmosphere came to a sudden stop. Lorenzo''s icy gaze locked on to Pierre. He rose from his chair and crept over to him.


    "If we abandon Camorra''s men and they are arrested. Then word might get out about our deal, which would jeopardize this new expansion. So be a good soldier and do what you are told."


    Lorenzo gave a pat on Pierre''s shoulder before turning back around. "Now, are there any more questions about what we are doing?"


    The meeting had ended. Pierre was uneasy about everything. As Michael and Pierre were leaving the room, he caught a glimpse of Vito whispering something into Lorenzo''s ear.


    Later that night, Pierre, Michael, and Vito arrived at Camorra''s address to help with the move. The location was Camorra''s mansion. There were two cargo trucks parked outside in the driveway. The three mob enforcers exited Michael''s vehicle and walked up to the front door.


    Camorra''s second in command Bruce answered the door. "Thank God you''re here. The last twenty-four hours have been a shit show."


    "Where is the stock?" asked Vito.


    "We have them chained up in the basement for now. Soon we will move them to the cargo trucks and then we can get moving to the border."


    Pierre''s nose twitched. Something felt off. He nudged at Michael to stay alert.


    The group walked into the mansion. Pierre was in awe of its size and extravagance. It was unlike anything he had seen growing up in the slums of Paris. There was a barrage of art and displayed weapons along the marble walls. The living room and kitchen areas were open and spacious. The light from the backyard pool lit up through the wall of window glass that displayed the backyard.


    Michael pulled out his yoyo to fidget with for a moment and Pierre went into the kitchen to grab some water. Meanwhile, Vito walked over to Bruce and whispered something into his ear. Pierre walked around the different rooms of the house. As he went room to room, he noticed the door to the basement. It was bolted shut with multiple padlocks. A sense of dread overwhelmed him as he moved closer to the door. What kind of pain and suffering was on the other side of the splintered wood.


    Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. Pierre reached for his weapon and ran toward the source of the noise. As Pierre turned the corner, he froze in his tracks. His heartbeat became still. A warm pool of blood flowed around his shoes. He felt ill, he felt enraged, and he felt sick to his stomach. Michael''s lifeless corpse laid on the floor. His brains partially splattered across the kitchen counter. Vito was holding a smoking barreled gun.


    Before a single word could come out of Pierre''s mouth, or he could react by shooting Vito himself, the power to the mansion went out. The entire estate became pitch black.

 Chapter 6: Crumbling Empire

    With the lights pitch black, and unable to see beyond a few feet, Pierre jumped back around the corner of the wall. He could hear Vito and Bruce yelling out. A few gunshots rang out, but not in Pierre''s direction. He peeked back around the corner with his gun ready. The kitchen was empty outside of Michael''s deceased body.


    Pierre went back behind cover; his heart was in his throat. He had so many questions. Why did Vito shoot Michael? Did they find out he was planning on leaving? Were they going to shoot him next? What will happen to Michael''s wife Anne. As these thoughts raced in his mind, Pierre tried his best to calm himself. He had to focus on the task ahead of him, which was getting out alive.


    With the lights out, Pierre couldn''t see from very far away. He heard more gunshots coming from the front of the building, along with the eastern wing of the mansion. He thought about running out through the back, or escaping from the west, but before he could do anything, Bruce was standing in front of him. Bruce looked down at the terrified man below him before handing him an assault rifle.


    "Take one of these. We need you in the front of the estate. We''re under attack!" he said to Pierre.


    Pierre was handed the oversized gun and assisted to his feet. He awkwardly followed Bruce until they passed by the locked door to the basement. The door called for Pierre''s attention and Bruce was quick to notice.


    "Don''t worry about the stock. We''ll get it moved after this situation is dealt with."


    That wasn''t what was on Pierre''s mind. As Bruce turned back around, Pierre raised his gun.


    "Give ¨C me the key." Pierre stuttered.


    Bruce froze in his tracks. He could sense the gun being pointed at him. He slowly set his rifle down, lifted his hands up, and turned around.


    "This isn''t the time to grow a conscience," he said.


    "Why did Vito shoot Michael?"


    Bruce slowly took a step forward towards Pierre, and Pierre took a step back in return.


    "Michael was a traitor." Bruce said trying to deescalate the situation.


    "He was my friend. He was going to have a family."


    "Look, that''s in the past. There''s nothing that can be done about that. You have a problem with it, take it up with Vito, God, and the man upstairs. But now isn''t the time to fuck it all up."


    Pierre could begin hearing noise beyond the locked door. Through the sound of gunfire, yelling, and bodies falling by the wayside, he heard the voices. Voices that were slight and scared. Voices that had been through more, then even he, could imagine. He wasn''t going to be the one that helped in the suffering of the innocent.


    Bruce took another step forward. Pierre composed himself and locked his eyes down the sight. "I''m not going to ask again. Give me the keys to the door."


    Bruce slowly lifted the keys from his pocket.


    "Alright, fine. You can have the keys. Let''s just not do anything rash." He said as he tossed them to the floor in front of Pierre.


    Pierre slowly reached down to pick the keys up. As he felt their cold metal, he could see Bruce''s expression twist into that of a cocky demon. The barrel of a gun tapped the back of Pierre''s head.


    "What do we have here?" Vito asked.


    Pierre''s heart sunk. He thought he was good as dead. The barrel of the gun pointed straight at him shifted a few inches before ringing out a shot. Pierre''s ears rang out, the gunshot deafening his senses. Before he could pull himself together, Vito kicked him to the ground and removed the gun from his grip.


    Pierre covered his ears, trying to contain the ringing noise. His vision blurred as he tried to look back up at Vito. His gaze was met with the blunt end of a rifle smashing into his nose.


    "What''s the situation?" Bruce asked Vito.


    Vito picked the keys up and tossed them back to Bruce. "Fuck if I know. We need to get the power back on though. I can barely see shit."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    The two men paused. Bruce rose his fist to the air. The two men noticed that the gunshots had stopped.


    "Your men finish it?" Vito asked.


    Bruce yelled out a few names to no response. He readied his gun and went to the corner of the hallway. The mansion had become eerily silent. Bruce peeked around the corner. A single gunshot echoed through the halls and a bullet broke into the skull of the criminal. Bruce instantly fell to the ground, his soul evaporated before his body reached the hardwood.


    Vito jumped back and lifted Pierre up to his feet. He held him in a chokehold in a hostage position, or at the very least a shield. From the depth of the shadows, a single figure escaped into the foray of the living room.


    "Everyone else is dead. Set the body aside if you don''t want to join them," said a gruff voice from the midnight figure.


    "I don''t think so," Vito said taking a step back.


    Pierre''s senses were still dull from the gunshot and hit to the face. He could see blood dripping onto his shirt. He tried to glance up at the figure in front of him, but everything was in a haze.


    "Do you know who you''re dealing with? We aren''t Camorra''s leftovers. We work for "God" Mancini."


    Vito hoped that name-dropping the boss would work in his favor. Make the attacker second guess what kind of business they were getting themselves into; but the shadow didn''t even flinch at the revelation.


    "Like I said, set the body aside," the shadow ordered.


    Vito went from aiming at Pierre to aiming at the nightmare in front of him; but before he could move a hair on the trigger, the shadow drew its firearm and made a single shot. The gunshot rang out like a crack from a whip, and before Pierre could register what had happened, he felt Vito''s grip on him loosen.


    Vito fell back and his body broke through a glass coffee table. Pierre stumbled a bit to the side and fell over as his cognitive ability slowly began to realign itself.


    The shadowed figure moved forward towards Pierre and let out a whistle. Soon afterwards the lights to the estate came back on. The attacker was nothing more than a single man in a suit. The man approached Pierre with his revolver still drawn.


    "So, what''s your part in this?" the man asked.


    "Do what you want to me, just please, let the others go."


    The man grinned and pulled the trigger. A single clack from the revolver rang out. "Guess you could say I''m out of bullets," he joked.


    He opened the chamber to his revolver and dumped the shells onto the floor in front of Pierre. As he began reloading, Pierre rose back to his feet.


    "So, you aren''t going to kill me?"


    "Kid I''ve been in my line of work for a while. I''ve seen the eyes of killers, and I''ve seen the eyes of pretenders; and you''re not the former."


    Pierre walked over to Bruce''s corpse and grabbed the keys from his pocket.


    "What are you here for?" Pierre asked.


    The man finished reloading and holstered his weapon. Now that he was in the light, he could see all the blood on his yellow shirt.


    "Don''t suppose it''s going to wash out, is it?" said Pierre.


    The man ignored Pierre''s question and took the keys from his hand. He went over and unlocked the door. The door opened and he flicked the lights on to the basement. The two men slowly stepped down the stairs. As they reached the bottom, Pierre felt an immense feeling wash over him. The basement was full of women of different nationalities and backgrounds. Ranging from the age of young teens to late twenties. The sight of two children in particular made Pierre sick to his stomach.


    As the two walked over to the women in chains, the women flinched and tried to look away. As the man began to free them from their chains and cuffs, another set of footsteps began to come from the stairs. A startled Pierre turned to the sights of a gorgeous woman.


    The man looked back as he was unlocking some of the victims from their captivity. "Simone, I''m not one for words ¨C Can you help me out here?"


    Simone nodded and began speaking in a few different languages to everyone in the room before eventually speaking in English.


    "Please, do not worry. We are here to help you. The men that have done this to you are dead. We want to take you somewhere safe. We want for you to be able to go home," Simone reassured to the group.


    Some in the room began to cry, others smiled, but many were still frozen. Pierre didn''t know if it was disbelief, or perhaps reality that hadn''t set in yet. He wondered how long they had to numb themselves from the world they had been living in. Would that numbness ever go away?


    After the women were free from their captivity, the man and Simone assisted the victims into the cargo truck.


    As they closed things up, Simone entered the driver''s seat while the man worked over to the passenger side. He looked at Pierre one last time.


    "This is where we part ways. I don''t know what your place in all of this before was but leave this life behind while you can."


    The man opened the door and began to step inside.


    "Wait!" Pierre yelled out.


    The man stopped momentarily and looked back.


    "I never got your name¡­" Pierre said.


    "You can call me Jack," the man responded smiling.


    Jack closed the door, and the vehicle began to drive away.


    "You sure we can leave one of them alive?" Simone asked Jack as she looked at Pierre through the side mirror.


    "It''ll be fine. He won''t cause any trouble," said Jack as they drove out of view from the mansion.


    Pierre stood in the driveway alone. He turned around and walked back into the estate. A trail of bodies for at least thirty men were laid out across the entryway and surrounding hallways.


    Pierre returned to Michael''s body. He removed the car keys from his pocket.


    "I am so sorry Michael," whispered Pierre. He hoped that Michael''s soul could hear him. In the pool of blood laid Michael''s yoyo. Pierre lifted it up and brushed it off. Glancing it over, he decided to place it in Michael''s hands. He would''ve wanted it on him in the afterlife.


    Pierre began to drive away from the mansion. The life he had known for the last two years was dead. He thought about going to see Anne. He thought about taking the next boat to America. He thought about returning to the slums of Paris had it not been for the war. As Pierre left the view of his old life, he felt reborn despite not knowing what lied ahead.

 Chapter 7: The Void

    Jack''s apartment was almost the exact opposite of his partner''s. It''s brightly lit with natural lighting from the windows. The furniture is dusted weekly, and the floors are smooth to the touch from their sweeping and waxing. The closet is organized with neatly folded clothing and a plethora of suits on hangars. His bed is made with extra pillows for decoration and comfort. In the kitchen, there are dishes set on a drying rack next to the sink, and the fridge is full of healthy ingredients, bottled water, and meals that are contained and prepped in advance for the week.


    Jack stumbled into his apartment. He was exhausted from finishing his most recent job. He stripped out of his suit and tossed it into the trash.


    "No idea why I decided to wear light colors to a job," He muttered to himself, almost laughing.


    In nothing but his boxers, he took a seat and leaned back into his rocking chair. On the side table were his lighter and pack of cigarettes. He reaches over for them but then changed his mind. A nap began to take priority over a quick smoke. He exhaled out into the silence of his apartment before his eyes slowly begin to drift away to a peaceful slumber.


    A few moments of temporary bliss pass, but then the phone rang out. Jack opened his eyes and glanced over at the phone. He''d never wanted to shoot something so badly.


    "If it''s that important, they can leave a message." Jack said to himself as he made an attempt to fall asleep.


    His eyes closed again as gravity weighed down his eyelids. The phone stopped ringing, but no messages were left behind. A few more moments of temporary bliss occurred, but they are interrupted once again by the phone ringing.


    Annoyed, Jack grunts and stands up from his chair. He journeys to his bed and lifts the phone off of its switch hook.


    "Whatever it is, it better be good," Jack says into the phone.


    "It is," Luther replies.


    "You always know when to call me ¨C you know that?"


    "I do," Luther states.


    "And you know one day I''m going to say no."


    "One day."


    "But I suppose it won''t be today¡­"


    "I suppose it won''t," said Luther.


    Jack let''s out an elongated sigh.


    "How were the provisions?" asked Luther.


    "They''re paid off," answered Jack.


    There is a momentary pause between the two partners on the phone. Jack rests the phone on his forehead. Now that he is fully awake, his body has decided it wants to prioritize that quick smoke. He returns the phone to his ear.


    "You got the kid¡ª" asked Jack.


    "¡ªYou read the file?" Luther interrupted.


    "You know Anderson always approaches me first. I told him he should hand the job over to you. Thought it would be a good fit."


    "That''s why I like Hernandez."


    "Among other reasons," said Jack.


    "Yeah, well, I have the kid. Anderson wasn''t as jagged as usual when I met with him."


    "That''s good."


    "If you say so," said Luther


    "So, partner, what''s the plan?"


    On the other end of the line, Luther smiled. They appreciated how Jack was always willing to jump into a plan with little resistance. Through good and bad, they were each other''s ride or die.


    "I have a rental to return. Need a ride back to the dealership," informed Luther.


    Jack stood up and grabbed the base of the phone station. He carried it as far as it would go so he could reach for his smokes on the coffee table without leaving the phone.


    "Is that it?" asked Jack as he reached for the pack of smokes and lighter.


    "Might need someone to go in with me. Make sure there aren''t any scratches and that there are no issues with the paperwork."


    "Seems easy enough. Are there already any scratches or issues that I should be aware of?" inquired Jack as he sat back on the bed and gave a light to his nicotine bliss.


    "No, there aren''t any scratches at the moment; but you know how quickly things can change."


    "That I do," said Jack as he let out a puff of smoke.


    "Don''t suppose you can meet me this evening before that Mussolini broadcast?"You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    "That won''t be a problem. Let''s get it done."


    The two simultaneously hung up. Jack rose back up from his bed and returned to his rocking chair. He knew that there were a few hours to spare before he would have to go back into work; so he wanted to enjoy the little moments and recharge. He set his cigarette in an ash tray and lowered his eyes for a quick nap.


    Meanwhile, Luther turned back to Ezio. "Sounds like we''re in" they said.


    "That''s great. I knew I could count on you," he responded reaching out for a handshake.


    As the two solidified their deal, a knock rang out from the door to the office. A NLC soldier opened it.


    "Sorry to interrupt sir," he said.


    "Don''t be. What is it?" asked Ezio.


    "It''s the kid. He''s awake and trying to make a fuss. How do you want to handle it?"


    Ezio''s mask seemed to crack for just a moment. A slight agitation peeked through before he could reseal it shut. Both Ezio and Luther exited the office and entered the waiting room area of the building. Luca was tied up to a chair with his mouth gagged. He wiggled and fought to try and break free; but when he saw Luther and Ezio enter the room, he froze for a moment.


    "The boy wants to talk. Come on fellas, who are we to silence him."


    Ezio bent down on one knee to become eye level with Luca. He carefully removed the tape from his mouth to allow him to speak. Once the gag was removed, Luca stayed silent and observed the room of people.


    "It''s alright little Balero. What did you want to say?" Ezio said to Luca, trying to play nice.


    Before he could get another word out, Luca quickly let out a spit that flung right into the face of Ezio. In the back of the room, Luther cracked a flash of a grin.


    Ezio didn''t respond quickly to the hostility and remained somewhat calm. He removed the knife from his boot and lifted it up to Luca''s throat. His eyes were the only hint of rage in his body.


    "Keep this up and we''ll return you as a corpse." Ezio said calmly, but with conviction.


    Luca looked back at Luther to see if he was going to do anything, but they just responded with a shrug.


    "My arms hurt," said Luca.


    "Well that''s too bad," Ezio replied.


    "It''s also hard to breath with that tape over my mouth."


    "As long as you behave yourself, I''ll make sure my men don''t place it back on. Is there anything else?"


    "I''m hungry¡­"


    Ezio lowered the knife and placed it back in his boot.


    "Luther, would you mind going into my office and grabbing a snack for this young lad. I have some in the second drawer of my desk."


    Luther gave a slight nod and went back to Ezio''s office. They closed the door and approached the desk. Opening the second drawer, they saw an assortment of snacks. They grabbed a piece of slightly stale bread and a package of peanuts. As they closed the drawer, they took notice that the bottom drawer was slightly open.


    Luther, not being one to turn down an opportunity of information, gave it a quick peek. Inside there were some pieces of paper and what seemed like a random assortment of junk, but a smoke bomb and small journal caught their eye. They pocketed the smoke bomb, and gave a quick peek through the journal. It was full of information on different NLC hideouts across Italy. As they wrote down and copied the intel, Luca let out a scream from the other room. Luther tossed everything back to place and slammed the drawer shut. They rushed back into the room to see what caused the commotion. In the other room, Ezio was reattaching the mouth gag to Luca.


    "What happened?" asked Luther.


    "We had a bit of a spat. Kid was trying to start an ideological argument with us. And then tried to yell out for help when we wouldn''t take the bait. So he lost his speaking privileges," Ezio informed.


    Luther tossed the snack down in the chair next to Luca. Well, when you want to feed him, here''s some food. In the meantime, I''m going to rest up before we have to go.


    Ezio gave a small hand signal of approval and Luther entered another one of the offices. They sat in a chair and began to rest their eyes.


    Luther awoke in a pool of shallow water. They sat up and glanced around at their surroundings. There was nothing in any direction outside of the setting sun. An empty void of light. As the sun set. Luther felt gravity begin to get heavier. They couldn''t tell if the ground was sinking in, or if the water was rising, but it slowly began to rise to their shoulders.


    A slight panic began to set in. They stood to their feet, but the water rose with them. Soon, they were standing with the water almost completely washed over them. The sun continued to lower until it was nearly set.


    They felt a slight tap from the back of their head. As they turned, they saw Jack. He was standing on top of the water, able to walk on top of it. Luther attempted to reach their arm out for help, thinking that perhaps Jack could lift them up; but the gravity had grown too heavy. They were locked in place, and they could feel their knees beginning to buckle under the pressure.


    "Don''t suppose you can help me out here?" Luther asked letting out a grunt of stress from their body.


    Jack didn''t respond. They just continued to stare at the sun as it finished setting.


    "Jack?" said Luther.


    Darkness started to engulf the void. As it came closer, Jack finally turned to Luther. They didn''t smile, or reach out to help their partner, but instead remained stone-faced.


    Slowly, Jack raised his foot above Luther and used it to push them below the water. Unable to move or fight back, Luther felt helpless as the water began to break its way into their body. What was only a few moments felt like hours as Luther drowned and began to black out. In those last few moments of consciousness, Jack turned his back to Luther and walked away.


    Luther regained sentience from the temporary death. This time, they were on the outskirts of a battlefield. They felt a quick shot of pain in their legs, unable to do nothing but crawl. Beside them was a burning vehicle and a couple of dead soldiers. They crawled away from the wreckage and reached for a nearby pistol. There was something in the distance, but Luther couldn''t get a clear view of it. Their vision was blurry from pain previously felt.


    This creature took notice of Luther. As it approached, Luther took notice of the blade in its hand and blood splattered across its torn clothing. Luther lifted the gun and attempted to shoot the looming threat, but the gun was jammed.


    The creature kicked Luther onto their back and mounted on top of them. The red eyes of the threat pierced into Luther''s soul. It terrified them. They lifted their hands to try and protect themselves, but the knife came down and stabbed into their abdomen. As Luther flinched, they blinked and swapped consciousness with the creature. Now they were the one mounted on top, hurling the blade into the threat. But instead of the monster being beneath them, it was just another soldier. A man no older than early twenties. Their green eyes strained as the last remnants of a soul left.


    Luther lifted the knife up and rose to their feet. They looked around at the nearby battlefield, but there weren''t any signs of life. A haze began to wash over the landscape and they tossed the knife aside and walked further in. The haze became thicker and thicker until Luther was unable to see beyond a few feet. The fog felt dense and humid; almost suffocating.


    Suddenly, Luther awoke again. This time they were back in the office chair. A knock rang out from the door. Jack''s voice broke through.


    "Luther, it''s time to wake up. Mussolini is about to give his address and everyone is crowding around the television."


    Luther, snapping to their senses, stood up from the chair and walked out of the office. Their body still acclimating to reality.