2:7 Hell's City
#7 of The Underground Part 2: Pitch Black
Pitch Black is the second arc of The Underground series
Chapter 7 of 22
Hell's City
There was nothing quite like a moonless night in Arcadia. It was almost like a Metropolis/Gotham City parallel when comparing the normal everyday Arcadia, to the one that only arose at specific times. The air held a chill that was a separate entity entirely. It wasn't just the temperature, but what it brought to mind. As the cold seeped into your body, it reminded you of an old forgotten cemetery, buried in the sands of time. It was nights like these that the statues that were so familiar on any other changed into monstrous beings. The old buildings, aged in their design from centuries before, loomed out at you like vision from a nightmare. The dystopian environment seemed to become personified in the surroundings, as if Hell itself had erupted and constructed a city. Arcadia was a one-eyed-jack, she only let you see the side she wanted you to see. Even though he knew it was stupid to make the city out to be a living entity, the weasel knew it might as well be true. She was showing her ugly side tonight; her evil side. And on this moonless night, the worst of Arcadia would show.
"They tell me you're the best." He said to his company; the weasel leaning against his car.
A stoat, who must have been in his mid to late thirties, looked out at the Hellish cityscape. "That's because I am." He replied in a raspy voice, which the weasel could only guess came from smoking the majority of his life. As it happened, the stoat turned around holding a cigarette between his lips, the end truning from a faint orange to a fiery red as he inhaled.
The weasel folded his arm across his chest. "Good, because you're getting paid as such. So I expect nothing less."
"Who's the mark?"
Reaching into his coat pocket, the weasel produced a picture, which he passed to the stoat. "He escaped from Waverly a few nights ago. He's a very big loose end. Your..." he paused for a second, "benefactor tells me that he doesn't care how you put an end to him, as long as its done quickly."
Studying the picture the stoat looked up at his contact. "What's the time pressure? Flight risk?"
The weasel shook his head. "Not exactly." He replied and walked to the edge of the building where they had met to look out at Arcadia. "We think he has contacts here, if he starts talking, this could end very badly at Waverly. Especially for any of your buddies still there."
The stoat laughed slightly at this. "You have StormRaven's best at that dump, what are you expecting this guy to do?"
"It's not him we're worried about. It's who he knows, or who we think he knows rather. I want him silenced. If he's made contact with anyone in this city, I want to know about it." The weasel exhaled slowly. "After we ID them, you'll probably receive another contract from us, but not before we know who they are."
"Why wait?" The stoat asked, a hint of condescension in his voice. "For a little extra, I can bag two."
The weasel nodded; consenting to the fact that the hitman could very well take out two targets at once. However, the weasel knew how to play the game. "No offence, but that's why you don't have my job, and I'm where I'm at, Mr. Rainy." the stoat, Rainy, scowled at this. "You don't try and kill people before you know who they are. Hell, we have enough agents around this city you could be picking off one of our own. That wouldn't be a good thing at all."
"Didn't realize your Shadow Player had so much clout."
The weasel laughed slightly. "Shadow Player, huh? Is that the new name?"
"That's what the guys at Waverly tell me. Scares the shit out of them, and they ain't no group of fairies either." Rainy shrugged in reply.
"I get it. A voice is all I need to hear." The weasel replied. "I can only imagine what its like to be around him."
Rainy took a long draw on his cigarette, which had burned down to the butt. Pulling the burning cylinder from his lips, he dropped it to the ground where the orange tip exploded into smaller embers as it crashed to the concrete. "Who is this guy really?" He asked, smoke leaking from his nostrils. "Why the hell is there so much interest in some asylum that's been abandoned for years?"
The weasel laughed slightly at this. "You do realize that even if I did know I couldn't tell you, right?"
"So speculate, pencil neck." Rainy shot back.
"Does it matter?" The weasel asked. "I mean really? It's important to the Shadow Player, so it's important to all of us. I love money and I love life. The Player allows me to have lots of both, so I don't go asking questions."
"Fair enough." Rainy grunted as he shrugged. "What happens when those questions come to you?"
The weasel looked out at the Hellish view that was Arcadia. A cold wind from the sea blew over him causing him to shiver slightly.
"Then I'm dead regardless."