Fashion Streak

“When are they getting here?” Blackjack looked from his watch to the sky. “It’s almost dark.”

“Yeah,” said the African American next to him, playing on his phone. “I don’t like just standing on some street corner, especially considering…”

“Considering what, Sage?”

“Well we’re getting funny looks, from all these I-talians.” He looked up from his phone to the cautious passers-by, giving them worried glances. “Don’t want them getting the cops on us.”

The Blackjack took out some cards from his mechanic’s jumpsuit and began flicking one from hand to hand, “We’ll do fine. We’ve got all the paperwork.”

“Yeah, well,” said Sage, watching the cards, “it’s different for you.”

“How?” Sage pointed at himself as Blackjack looked on in confusion. The silent exchange continued for a few moments before Blackjack turned to the side and kept playing with his cards.

“What are these two scientists doing, fucking each other in a taxi?”

“Hey! My mom’s one of them—“Sage stopped as he saw a figure in a trenchcoat walk up to them. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the fashion police.” The figure looked out from beneath his brim before turning to Blackjack, “And I’m here to arrest your jumpsuit.”

Blackjack snorted. “He’s our third, ‘TBM’ as he likes to be called. Why the fuck are you wearing a trenchcoat?”

“My left arm’s a sub machine gun. Can’t go in banks, airports, schools or shopping centres without it on. Still can’t go to schools with it on though. Schools are a constant no-go.” He turned to face Sage, “I assume the dick in the jumpsuit is Ellis Blackjack Bradbury, who—“

“Captain Ellis Blackjack Bradbury, I earn—“ He was cut off by an Italian with a large camera around his neck pushing past him, his straw brown jacket billowing in the wind. The man kept running away from them.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Said Sage, turning back to TBM. “I’m Cameron Cir. Call me Sage.”  Blackjack pointed at TBM,

“And call me Captain.” He started picking up the cards on the floor. “Sage call the handler, this is taking too long.”

“Calm down, one of the brains is here.” A taxi pulled up and out stepped a tall man with a red beard and a pale brown sweater. “Doctor.” Blackjack gave a wave as he picked up another card. The taxi pulled away as the Doctor adjusted his glasses,

“Afternoon gentlemen,” he extended his hand, “Doctor Charles Sti—“ His head was inverted in a cacophonous flurry as two shots glided out across the street. The cards Blackjack were picking up scattered and flew around the corner, floating down gently. TBM pressed himself against the wall, revealing a prosthetic right arm to Blackjack, who was still bent over on the ground,

“Oh, so your decision making skills are only half—“ Sage pulled him back around the corner, the three stayed next to the wall for a few moments, before hearing a motorcycle roaring away. Sage pulled out his phone,

“Come on mom, pick up.”

“Well shit.” Said Blackjack, still sitting on the ground. He looked at TBM. “The… contract did say that we were only responsible from the point of coming into contact with them, and he didn’t finish his name so…”

“He’s on the corner. We were said to meet him on Via Fontano. He’s on the corner of Via Fontano and Via Bianco.” The pair looked at each other for a moment.

“Sage.” Blackjack looked up to see him tap his phone furiously. Make sure no one takes any pictures. Sage kept looking at his phone, and put it to his ear again,

“Come on mom, please, please!” The phone rang out again. “Fuck!”

“Fuck yeah!” Sage turned around the corner to see Blackjack and TBM drop the dead doctor by the side of the road. Ellis took put his phone in his right hand, “We can still claim our cancellation fee!” He raised his left arm to high-five TBM.

“Very funny.” The two turned around when they heard Sage’s phone smash on the ground.

“Oh.” Blackjack cast his eyes away, “I forgot about your mom. Let’s hope she doesn’t show up alive on Via Fontano for the next thirty minutes then get the fuck out of here!”

Sage stared at him.

“Fine, we’ll hope she doesn’t show alive for the next hour.”

They heard an explosion a block away.

“I was joking! I swear!”

People flooded out of the buildings around them, stepping on the playing cards on the ground. Sage pulled Blackjack up as he went down to pick them up,

“Get your stuff Blackjack.”

TBM smiled smugly. “Okay. Done.”

“Fine.” Said Blackjack. We’ll go back to the lockup.”

 TBM watched Blackjack and Sage walk away. “I’ll spend that time getting a sandwich. Oi Captain, Who has poor decision making skills now?”

Blackjack started to run to catch up to Sage,

 “Don’t worry, I’m sure your mom is safe, we’ll find who did this.”

The pine trees stood stiff, pointing to the air in perfect straightness. Through their leaves the brilliant light reflected from the Italian Alps poked through. Amongst the trees there stood ten soldiers, standing as rigid and motionless as the trees. From the south, behind them came the rumble of a land cruiser. It stopped, and one door glided open and shut. One set of footsteps, slow and deliberate, circled around in front of them.

“Men.” Jim addressed the soldiers with his hands behind his back, continuing to pace.

“You may be wondering why I had you come out here, at the base of the, beautiful Italian alps,” His walk took him to the other rear side of the soldiers.

“You may think that you, Conquistadores, are from the best special forces in the world. Well I think that you’ve been inside for too long, that you’ve gone soft.” He emerged from the left side again, carrying a pack.

“So to test you,” he dropped the pack in front of the Conquistadores.

“We’re going camping.” The file stood stoic, hiding their disappointment.

“Packs are behind you, fall out.” He sternly pointed out towards Milan, watching his soldiers head towards the land cruiser and taking their packs off the roof rack.

“You, soldier there, what’s your name?” Jim pointed at one operator.

“Corporal Stephano, Sir!”

“Corporal!” Jim started jingling his keys around his finger. “Get the esky out of the truck.” Just as the keyring circled the tip of finger he saw it glint in the sunlight.

“Nononononononononono!” He grabbed the keys and pushed past the Corporal. He threw himself against the car window and began hitting it desperately. There on the passenger side seat lay a pair of land cruiser keys, complete with Eurocar tag. Jim then took his desperate assault to the door handle, though it was as fruitless.

“I can break the window sir,” offered Corporal Stephano.

“No! Don’t do that, I can’t write off another company vehicle.” He turned around and put his hand through his hair.

“What do you mean another company vehicle?” Asked the Lieutenant next to Stephano. Jim recognised him,

Salazar.

They had bumped into each other at a train station in Lisbon once and Jim had never forgotten his face since then. Jim remembered that Salazar probably hated him for some other reason involving his promotion from call centre operator to site manager and six month stint as company director due to a clerical error but that wasn’t important.

“Well, Sir?” Seeing Salazar narrow his brow, Jim watched his life flash before his eyes, but it ended with a shot of a company vehicle full of Slovenian brandy in a self-storage unit in Genoa.  Jim snapped back and looked at Salazar, narrowing his eyes.

“That information, is need to know. Now.” He turned to address the wider group. “You have encountered our first planned challenge. This is a fieldcraft test, whoever can enter the vehicle without damaging it wins.

“Wins… what?” Asked Sergeant Riaro, standing at the back.

“The first to gain entry to the vehicle gets the first pick from the esky inside.” A couple of men looked around at each other and then started to amble forward, inspecting the vehicle’s doors. Lieutenant Franco stepped from behind Salazar and started working a pin into the passenger side door.

“Sir.” Asked Stephano, stepping away from the circling Conquistadores. “What’s in the esky?”

“All of our food.” He whispered. Franco swung his head up from the door.

“What!” His pin broke. Jim cast his eyes to Salazar and continued,

“I said, it has all the food to satisfy a man!” He thought for a few moments and then continued. “Sandwiches, and steak, and BEER!” Instead of seeing the expected chorus of approval he saw the enthusiasm drain from his men, and a few noses rising.

“Shit.” He thought. “I thought I told the supplier this was for Southern European men!” Jim could see that they had given up on gaining entry to the vehicle. “Come on Jim, think!”

“Welcome, ladies, to the March meeting of the Lombardy LGBTQIAMX-132’s association, where will be discussing how Fashion Week is a patriarchal imposition on us women, and men pretending to be women.” One “woman” stuck her hand up.    

“Excuse me, Chairperson, but the transgender, genderfluid, genderqueer, non-binary—“

“Norane,” the Chair replied. “You may refer to them as T-onwards for brevity.”

“Right. The T-onwards have decided to form their own sub association ever since out newest member Alex coughed in their general direction. This is just the LGB Wome00n’s association.” The chairwoman looked out across the roof. The amount of denim and short haircuts in the room seemed to corroborate.

“Thank you Norane. On with the agenda, we’ll start with last minutes, then half of the motions before we go to lunch—” she looked down at the table.

“Of oysters, cheese and chardonnay? That can’t be right.” The entire room gasped in shock. Alex slammed her phone on the table. Norane started literally shaking.

“You—“ a bullet entered the doe’s leg.

“Are—“ a bullet hit the doe in its torso.

“Not—“ another round hit the doe, again in the leg.

“Getting away—“ two shots flew into the doe’s neck.

“This time!” The final round of Jim’s burst hit the doe in the head. Lubricated by its own blood, the doe began to slide downwards. Jim stood up from the ditch he had made his firing position. Corporal Stephano kneeled next to him and peered at the remains.

“Sorry, sir. I don’t think we can eat that. I think you shot it just one too many times.”  Jim lowered his M70 in dejection.

“Well last time I shot a deer just once it managed to run away.”

“Salazar finished it off though. Too bad that a rock fell down the mountainside at the same time and pushed it right off the cliff.” Jim zipped up his jacket and put his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sure Salazar just shot it too many times.”

“Oh no sir, a big large rock just came flying out of the trees right as Salazar was about to dress it, nearly took him right off the cliff.” Stephano held his arms out to show its size. Jim stared at Stephano, then looked around, seeing that Salazar’s team were not in view.

“You know Stephano I really ought to have done a risk assessment before telling the men the next challenge was hunting, the chances for a hunting accident are strangely high.” Two shots rang out in the distance.

 “Got one!” cried out Sergeant Riaro just as loud as the bullets.

“Um…” Corporal Stephano took a step back. “Sounds like Lieutenant Franco’s team got one.”

“Come on, we can get something better.” Jim and Stephano carried on up the mountainside. They came across two Conquistadores.

“Sir.” They were sitting down.

“Weren’t you two supposed to be with Salazar?” Asked Stephano.

“A good question Corporal,” said Jim. ‘Why aren’t you two doing anything?”

“Salazar’s just keeps running, we couldn’t catch up with him. He’s gone crazy.”

“Yeah.” Said the other one. “Why the hell do we have to hunt anyway?”

“Because you all failed!” Everyone looked in surprise at Jim’s sudden outburst. “If you had passed the fieldcraft exercise we wouldn’t have had to do a hunting challenge. It doesn’t end until you find something we can eat. Get moving.” Both soldiers grudgingly stood up and walked away mumbling.

“Come on Corporal, just the two of us.” He pointed upwards, “To the snow line, the others wouldn’t have gone there yet.” They headed up the mountain between the pine trees. Jim adjusted his beanie and Stephano put on a second pair of gloves as the ground turned white, and the air started to chill.

“I feel good.” Jim whispered. “I got this. Third time lucky.”

“Fourth time. You’re forgetting the deer you shredded.”

“Technically,” Jim turned back and whispered, “that one counts—“ he stuck up his hand.

“Movement.” The two began to creep through the trees, their boots crunching softly on the snow. Jim stopped, Stephano stopping right behind him. Jim extended his hand excruciatingly slowly.

The doe stood by the patch of grass. It was on a lone patch of dirt surrounded by snow. It was populated with a few enterprising strands of new grass. The doe called her young over, which started to playfully dance around the grass, eating with delight. The doe was about to eat some itself when1

“Shit!”

The doe shot her head up and surveyed the land around herself. It caught a glimpse of something in the trees and shot forward, right behind her fawn.

“Up-side, in-side out!”  Jim finally forced his zip open and he pulled his phone out of his pocket, nearly dropping it.

“She’s living La Vida Loca!” Jim tried to hit the phone’s sleep button but couldn’t press the small button through his gloves.

“Fuck!” He threw his phone, but it bounced off a tree and hit Stephano, who went tumbling down the mountain.

“Acceptable losses.” Jim advanced undettered.

Jim charged forward and threw himself into the snow, to the left of his M70’s sights was the doe and her fawn, running almost out of view. To the right of his sights was the moustache of Lieutenant Salazar.

“Quintessentially tomorrow.”

Bob walked through the parting frosted glass doors to be met with the marble letters dominating the room they stepped into. Polis shuffled away from the door’s sensor so it closed.

“It’s warmer outside.” He looked around the lobby, barren and polish white and grey tiling. Watson pointed to the desk at their left,

“Let me handle this. You can all soak in the interior.” He walked over to the large, unoccupied desk. Frankie and Eric sat down uncomfortably in the small chairs.

“Ugh. I hate modern architecture.”

Bob cast an eye to Watson, still standing patiently at the desk. He then looked at the central column in the room, and the mezzanine overlooking them. “Wouldn’t have to worry about any teenagers working here…” He breathed.

Polis, who was almost shivering, narrowed his eyes at him. “T-teenagers? W-what did you say your experience was exactly?”

“Uhhh… Not… teenagers, mean majors, we had some really nasty battalion commanders in… North.”

“North wha—“ The two stopped and started at each other, both holding the same magazine in one hand. “I had it first!”

“Guys,” Bob looked at the stack of magazines, “there’s like, a hundred magazines there.” From across the room there came a very conspicuous throat clear, coming from the desk.

“Oh no…” Polis mumbled, walking over to Watson. “Not again.”

“Of course you know who I am! Without my work your company wouldn’t exist!” The startled receptionist started shrinking into her chair. Eric and Frankie stood up and followed Polis,

“Calm down Watson!”

Eric put a hand on Watson’s shoulder, “This isn’t helping.”

Frankie slid up to the desk, “We need to see Mister Landgraph.” Polis punctuated it with a smile.

The receptionist nodded and reached for the phone.  “Mister Landgraph, we have some… people here to see you—“

“We have nothing of the sort!” From across the lobby on the mezzanine stood a man in a black turtleneck, holding onto the air dramatically. He held his pose for a few moments then cast his eyes towards the desk on the ground floor when he realised no one was walking towards him. He started to click his fingers in the air. The receptionist put down as her phone and the team walked towards the turtleneck, who was addressing the ceiling.

“It is I you want, Landgraff!” He looked down,

“With an f. Two, in fact. Mister Landgraph is… occupied, right now but I have everything you need to know.” He procured a brown envelope and peered down at the assembled team. He flicked the envelope down at them with his eyes closed. He opened them again to see that it had been sucked towards the roof by the air conditioner and stood nestled in the giant “Q” of “Quintessentially Tomorrow.”

The team looked at Landgraff and he looked at the team. The team then looked at the Q, and Landgraff looked at the nearest reflective surface, the ceiling. The ceiling looked back. It was very interested. Watson however stared in disbelief,

“After all I’ve done for this industry… they replace me with a… a… Fop!” Frankie and Eric got ready to hold him back.

“It’s okay.” Said Frankie.

“He’s the fashion designer, not the cybernetic designer.” Said Eric. “They probably got him to deliver the envelope because our contact has something better to do.” Landgraff started snickering,

“Actually he’s not doing much right now, he’s not even at work today.” He started laughing softly to himself as he walked back where he’d came from, clutching the handrail as he left.

“Wow. What a fag.”Remarked Frankie and Eric. Watson turned his gaze to the Q.

“How are we getting that down?” Polis was already walking to the reception,

“Can we get a ladder, or something?” His shoe in his right hand Bob said confidently,

“No Polis, I’ve got this.” Polis raised an eyebrow as Bob threw his show into the loop of the letter Q, lodging it there next to the envelope.

“Nice work.” Said Polis. Bob took off his left shoe and aimed it at the Q. He threw it up, and it sailed through the air, hitting the toe of his right shoe. The right shoe fell from the Q and took down with it the envelope. All three items fell around the floor. Bob scooped the envelope up and began reading its contents.

“Looks like we’re heading to the Moroccan Consulate…” Polis took his keys from his pocket and began to jingle them around his finger.

“And I think we’ll need to pay a visit to the lockup too.” Just as Polis and Watson had gotten in view of the letter Bob thrust it back into the envelope and looked around the lobby, trembling slightly.

“We can read the rest of it in the lockup.” Frankie and Eric looked at each other as the group walked towards the door, quickly and close together.

Konrad looked through the car window at a mechanic’s shop, now surrounded by yellow tape and police. He reached for his radio just as it buzzed.

“Too late, the police—“ Came Lucius’s voice. Konrad looked through the front of the car window at Lucius.

“Oh Konrad.” Lucius looked back, “Sorry, you go ahead.” Konrad picked his radio up again,

“Oh no it’s fine, you go ahead.” The two looked at each other from their car windows.

“You know,” Ragana leaned forward from the back seat, holding her radio, “We would not have this problem if you chose one big car.” Konrad turned around,

“For the last time.” He picked up his radio. “For the last time, no one drives SUVs in Milan, we’ll get noticed.”

“Whoa, look at that,” said Lucius. The team turned their attention back to the police line as a gurney was slowly rolled out of the workshop, covered in a sheet.

“Fuck!” Konrad gripped the steering wheel. “Someone beat us to it.”

“Oh shucks,” said Scruffo, pressed between the car door and Ragana, “looks like we have to pack it in and go home. He put started pulling furiously on the handle only for the door to not move.

“It won’t open.” Said Ragana. “I turned on the child lock, you are the size of child.” She patted him on the head. Konrad was about to talk into the radio when there came a transmission of silence. He looked around the car,

“Ragana? Scuffo?” Neither of them were using their radios.

“Two detectives leaving now.” Konrad turned back around.

“Is Rouge going to do that every time he uses his—” There came another transmission of silence.

“Seriously.”

“They’re leaving. They found something.”

“Uhh…” Konrad watched their journey from the building, “how do you know?” There came another burst of silence.

“I always know.”

“Okay then… Lucius and Rouge, tail them and see where they’re going.” He looked at Ragana in his rear-view mirror. “You’re less conspicuous.”

“Of course.” The indicator on the car ahead of Konrad began to flicker.

“I expected more cars.” Sitting behind the stop line, Lucius kept checking his mirrors nervously. Rouge leaned forward, draping himself across the empty passenger seat.

“So were they.” He narrowed his eyes at the Fiat they were tailing. “Faster.”

“Tailing doesn’t work if you pull up right next to them—“ Rouge grabbed Lucius’s knee and pressed down.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Lucius slammed the brakes as the car shot forward, bringing it next to the detective’s car behind a red light.

“Leave this to me.” Rouge danced forward into the passenger seat and slowly lowered the window. Greeting him were two Italian detectives, watching him. Rouge looked back at them for a moment before tilting his head slightly.

“M’detective.” He raised the window back up. Both cars slowly rolled forward as the light turned green.

“Thank god.” Said Lucius, “Come on we’ve driven across half the city. Rouge do you think they know we’ve been following them?”

“It’s not over until they stop for fuel.” He replied, staring ahead.

“Can you say something intelligent for once, like what does that even mean?” They took a left around a sharp corner.

“I was going to jump one in the bathroom of a gas station.”

“Oh.” The car started moving to the start of the road.

“They’re stopping, just keep going and play it cool, like— he swung his head as if he had just come upon a revelation, “like— myself.” Their car passed the parked Fiat and turned the corner, slowing down. Rouge put up his hand as the car slowed, and got out.

“Keep it running.” He walked over to the corner and peeked around. “Team one, I’ve got something.”

“We hear you Rouge.” Said Konrad.

“They’re just standing here, we’re in a weird part of town, light industrial by the looks of it.”

“So—“ Rouge turned his radio off as he reached further around the corner.

“Senti quello?  C'è riproduzione di musica, sanno che siamo su di loro.” Rouge sunk behind the corner as the two detectives got out and back into their car. It peeled away from the kerb and started driving towards the corner Lucius had parked. Instead of hiding Rouge leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.  The detective’s car slowed down and the passenger window opened beside him, the detective put his hand inside his jacket.

Time slowed down.

Rouge reached for his collar.

The detective narrowed his eyes.

Rouge flicked his head down, Chanel 4221 108/3P™ glasses tumbling through the air and landing on his nose.

The detective put his other hand on the door handle.

Rouge flipped up his collar and bit his lip.

The detectives’ car went over a speed bump, and the visual exchanged ended with the detective hitting his head on the low ceiling of his Fiat.

The car reeled away, backs towards central Milan.

Lucius stepped out of the car and walked over to Rouge, who had swung around the corner and was staring at the building the detectives were in front of.

“It looks like a shitheap to me,” said Lucius. “What did you hear them saying?”

Rouge Crossed his arms. “Only word I recognised was ‘music’.”

“I don’t hear any music.” Lucius waited for a response but got nothing. He stepped forward to look at Rouge who kept staring ahead through his Chanel 4221 108/3P™.  “Hello?” Lucius began to click his fingers.

Rogue furrowed his eyebrow for a moment. He spun around and began walking to the car.

“Rouge?”

He kept walking, he made it to the car and opened up the rear door. He withdrew the parts of his HK416 and began assembling it.

“Woah man, what the fuck are you do—“

“The detectives noticed that there’s no music playing at this club which they regarded as suspicious, it’s obvious that this location is associated with the murder at our last location of interest. Therefore, we must assume that our next lead is here, I would then assume that the club owners are criminal elements and that the detectives left to allow the Carabinieri to go in.” Said Rouge, not looking up from his gun. He pressed his radio, “Konrad the police are gone, regroup.”

“Roger.”

“So…” Lucius began to carefully assemble his MP7, “How do you know it’s a club? It looks like a slum.”

“La Fossa del Suono, popular with young urban fops and specialising in Bavarian electronic dance music. There isn’t a single club on Eurafrasia I haven’t been kicked out of.” He inserted the magazine into his gun. “I disrupt the gender ratio, too much man for any club.” He clarified, without being asked to. Konrad’s car pulled up beside them and the rest of the team piled out.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were arming, what’s—“ Rouge closed the car’s rear door and pushed past Konrad.

“We have until a superintendent approves the deployment of the Carabinieri to see what happened to Chanel™’s prototype in there.

“Woah hold on, I think we need to talk about—“ Lucius also pushed past Konrad, except slowly, biting his lip as he did so. “Rouge!—“ Rouge kept walking to the door. Ragana and Scruffo were already going through the back of their car.

“Here little man, take this.” She handed him the P90. “Small man like you shouldn’t take machine gun into nightclub. Use this.” As Scruffo held the P90 backwards in his trembling hands Ragana assembled her rifle.

“Guys!” called Konrad as they walked away from him. “We don’t even know what— what kind of nightclub is open in the middle of the day?” Ragana stopped and turned around.

“They are southern European. What else they do, work?” Her and the other three by the door tipped their heads back in laughter.

“Ow!” Jim grabbed his chest.

“Director Martins sir! Are you alright?” The soldiers stopped and began to close around him.

“I’m fine, I just felt something… wrong, for a moment.”

“Sir!” said another soldier, “Sergeant Riaro felt it too!”

“And Lieutenant Salazar!”

“And Franco!”

“And Stephano!” Cried more. Jim stopped and turned around to see Milan’s skylines through the trees and narrowed his eyes at the city.

“Ready.” Konrad pressed himself against the club’s wall facing Lucius, holding his AKM somewhat reluctantly.

“Clock’s ticking Katie-Eight!” he said.

“Now is not the time to start calling me th—“

Rouge grabbed Konrad’s collar and threw him towards the door. It swung open and the rest of the team filed in, Scruffo at the back. Konrad was able to quickly recover and stood behind Lucius.

“Enjoy the view.” Rouge held up his hand.

“Quiet you two, get your torches on.” The only light in the club’s entrance came from the sun spilling in from outside. Lucius and Konrad continued forward to the door leading into the club proper.

“We got this.” He looked at Lucius. “Three?”

“Two.”

“One!” The team flowed in through the open door into the club. It was completely dark, save for the light radiating off of the bar’s lamps. It was as still and silent as they’d had observed from outside.

“Careful,” said Konrad. “Still could be a trap.” The fanned out further, towards the dancefloor.

A burst of gunfire lit up the space between them and the bar.

“Ahh!” cried Sruffo.

“Little man!” cried Ragana, her sights hovering over the bar.

“It’s okay, I just fell over—“ he gagged. “Oh my god I can’t clean this—“

“Rouge, Lucius, doors!” Said Konrad, heading towards Scruffo. The two filed forward, crouching and surveying the room. Konrad pointed his torch down, highlighting the room’s floor.

“Fuck…” Ragana kept her eye on the bar and picked Scruffo up with her left hand. She peered down. “Don’t look, little man.” The dancefloor was covered with corpses, and the club’s icy blue decorative panels were covered in blood. Konrad shone his torch on a cube hanging from the ceiling. It was still bright red.

“They’re still here!” Konrad shouldered his gun again and dashed towards Rouge, who was shimmying behind a partition.

“Rouge.”

“Konrad.”

 “I Don’t think these guys committed the murder at the mechanic’s—“

“These guys were the victims, yeah. Whoever shot them isn’t some criminal tier outfit.” Konrad looked across to Lucius. He nodded back and shot up from the partition and crossed the dancefloor as Rouge and Konrad watched down their sights for movement. Ragana and Scruffo had circled over to face out behind Konrad.

“Doors,” said Lucius. “Trail heading through it.” Konrad stepped up behind Lucius, he could hear Rouge breathing close behind him. Konrad looked over his shoulder. Scruffo was nearly totally covered by Ragana as the two started walking backwards towards him. Lucius made it to the door and crouched by its left side. Konrad stood up behind it and filed through as Lucius eased the door open.

“It’s a staircase. Be careful.” Said Konrad as he stepped over a body. Lucius swung underneath him and the three of them slowly advanced down the stairs. As they got to the bottom they saw that the door had been smashed to splinters. Lucius stepped on the landing, over his shoulder Konrad saw a dark lounge with more bodies in it. He heard a wet cough across the room.

“Luci—“ Konrad tackled Lucius forward and they both landed before a couch as the spot Lucius was standing at was shredded by a burst of gunfire. Konrad looked up around the dark room and tried to get up off Lucius,

“Why thank you cowboy—“ Another burst buried itself in the stairwell after Rouge rolled down the stairs and stopped behind a pillar and Konrad ducked back down as three more went over his head. One bullet punched through the couch and into the floor just ahead of Konrad. Two more bullets hit the ceiling, shattering the lights as a series of wet coughs emanated from the other side of the room. Konrad rolled left off Lucius and came to a prone next to Rouge’s feet. He scanned the room for the source of the noise.

“Two o’clock!” Konrad swung his sights over a spec of auburn poking over a partition. He opened fire just as the lights came on, his eyes filled with bright blue and pink light. Rouge, with his Chanel’s still on, followed the movement of the target and fired a few rounds.

“He’s a fast one.” The rounds missed and Rouge lost sight as a passing strobe bathed the dance floor. Konrad got up to his knees and listened, heavy footsteps coming from around the room,

“Right,” Lucius headed towards the right of the room with his gun raised. Two bursts of fire rang out across the room, striking away from the team. There came another two, closer but still not striking either. Konrad responded by raking the other side of the room, obscured by the smoke machines starting up.

“Twelve o’clock!” cried Konrad, hearing heavy footsteps thunder away from them.

“I’ll take the side.” Said Lucius, strafing slowly.

“Right behind you.” Konrad tapped Rouge on the shoulder and they started moving to the other side of the room. As they got to the middle of the room they had started to navigate around the upturned tables, taking care to avoid slipping on the white power on the floor. They closed in on the retreating footsteps.

“They’re going left.” As the footsteps continued they were bombarded by electronic dance music from all around them.

“Konrad!” Said Ragana from behind, scowling. “Do we know who they are?”

“Negative,” Said Konrad as he waded through the smoke and noise. As the smoke floated around the room he saw a gap between two clouds.

“Contact!” He fired at a doorway seconds before its metal door slammed shut. “I think I got one.” Lucius let out a long burst to the right wall of the room, shredding its panelling. He heard a thud.

“That’s another.” Konrad and Rouge emerged from the smoke to the other side of the room. Konrad’s sights were hovering over a small splash of blood on the door.

“That’s where I shot him…” he murmured. The two looked around the rest of the clearing, seeing nothing. Rouge got caught on a zebra skin rug before catching it with his foot and flicking it behind him as he kept walking. Two shots penetrated the rug and hit a light on the celling.

“Sorry.” Said Scruffo from behind. Konrad and Rouge closed on the metal door, Konrad closed on it but stopped when Rouge held up his hand, he then tore into the door with half his magazine. Konrad resumed as the door sadly swung open. He stepped into a grey concrete corridor stretching out in both directions. To the left there were small splashes of blood leading away, and to the right a long streak. Konrad watched the left turn on the left side of the corridor, and Rouge came in to take position along the right. The walls were lined with lockers and cabinets.

“Hear that?” The room was quiet except for the music next door bouncing off the walls, and a groaning from one of the cupboards. Lucius filed into the room just as one of the lockers burst open and a body dropped from it onto Lucius.

“Fuck!” Lucius clocked the body and it fell onto the floor.

“Watch the corridor.” Said Konrad, and Lucius turned his eyes to the corridor. Konrad crouched down and turned the body onto its back.

“Half the jacket’s just been torn off. He pulled it off the man’s arm and inspected it. “He’s got a blue flask pin… that’s DYAD right?”

No one replied. Konrad continued to search the man’s pockets and found a small binder with one bullet lodged in it. The EDM track in the club began to fade. “Simon Handra…” he flicked to the last entry. It stood on yesterday’s page by itself, in messy handwriting. “Project Garm… spme numbers.” He read to himself. The words “Project Garm” had been underlined twice.

“What are those numbers?” Asked Scruffo as he peered over Konrad’s shoulder.

“I don’t know. Let’s flush the rest of them out. Rouge watch our rear, Ragana and Scruffo take left. Lucius, we’ll take right.” They dispersed, Rouge laid down, using the corpse as a support as the other teams departed.

Lucius held next to the wall as he rounded the corner and the pair continued in silence, Ragana’s heavy footsteps behind them. They followed the streak of blood running down the middle of the corridor. With every indent and office they swung their guns with the curve but didn’t hear anything.

“So Katie-Eight,” Said Lucius,

“Don’t call me that,” replied Konrad as he walked under the yellow lights.

“I looked you up, you once operated under the callsign K—“

“That was K-88, not— shut up.” Konrad started staring intensely at a spot on the floor, where the blood appeared to stop.

“What’s the matter cowboy?”

“Shut up!” He pointed to the spot on the floor and then looked up at the ceiling. After some tense seconds a drop of blood fell. He turned his head and looked at Lucius, before holding up three fingers. He dropped one of them.

He dropped another.

He dropped the last one and both he and Lucius opened fire on the celling panel, shredding the roof and sending wood clattering to floor. As the last shell casing hit the floor something heavy fell from it.

“Gotcha.” He landed face first on the floor.

“Hold on,” said Lucius, looking at the bright white and blue suit, now missing an abdomen. “He looks more like a club patron than a—“ Konrad saw a pin clatter down next to the body. “Katie!” Lucius grabbed Konrad’s arm and pulled him to the ground, covering him, as another pin clattered down.

His colour sense was spot on.

Rouge examined he clothing of the man he was using as a bipod.

But it has to be my style, no one else’s.

Actually, dead men don’t appear in fashion magazines. Rouge reached over with his supporting hand and tried to pull the man’s watch off his wrist.

“Raga!” From his right Rouge heard Scruffo exclaim, followed by two shots and a loud thud.

Shit.

Rouge took one last look across the club room and shot up, running down the hallway.

Come on!

He slid around a corner to see Scruffo leaning over a wounded Ragana, pressed up against the wall.

“Raga…” Ragana responded by tearing Sruffo’s P90 off him and firing it with one hand down the hallway. Rouge knelt and leaned around the corner, seeing nothing.

“Ragana are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She wheezed. “I come around corner and he grabs my gun, headbutts me, takes my pistol, kicks me, shoots and darts off. He must have been bigger than me.”

She’s not small herself.

Scruffo was much less calm. “He shot her! Call an ambulance, wait can we do that? Don’t die Ragana, if you die I die! Please—“

“Little man,” Said Ragana with a weak laugh, cutting him off. “You are the one who has been hit.” Scruffo slowly looked down to see Ragana’s hand pressed against his torso, small rivulets of blood flowing through her fingers. “We’ll get them next time. Together.” She coughed. Rouge was about to reach for his radio, holding down the button before he spoke.

“K—“ he was cut off by the sound of an explosion rattling through the corridor.