Certificate 15: May contain foul language, graphic violence and scenes of a strong sexual nature.
Next Chapter: Darkness
Secrets
Every city has its secrets. From the vibrant and sensual urban metropolis of Intercity, to the foreboding reaches of the Black Province, there will always be places where the light cannot reach.
Interpol is the governing force of the Federation. Through them, the world is protected from anarchy. They are the law. Although, given the global reach of Interpol’s authority and influence, the mechanism that drives this force of justice remains almost completely obscure. To date, there are no official records regarding their proceedings or objectives. For all intents and purposes, Interpol does not exist. And the Federation goes to extraordinary lengths to keep it that way. The only known facet of this organisation are their ‘operatives’: the hired servants of the law who enforce the will of Interpol upon the world.
Meet operative Darius Wolfgang: twenty-eight years old, approximately two metres tall and weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle. He possesses no children, no partner, a university degree standard of education and an enviable law enforcement background. He has nothing to lose and everything to gain- a perfect blank canvas to be sculpted by Interpol. But despite him being an incredibly talented operative, his abilities on paper (rather misleadingly) appear to be mediocre at best. This is largely down to the quality of his public file, which directly reflects Interpol’s view on his capabilities as an operative. Since he’s only been contracted to work on third class assignments over the course of his career, the quality of his public file has been significantly degraded. Indeed, no other operative on the force has apprehended more prostitutes, habitual shoplifters and street corner thugs than Wolfgang.
It’s raining. A low and rumbling boom of thunder ripples across the skies of Intercity, disturbing the dreams of those who have yet to awaken from their slumber. But not Wolfgang. It’s only three in the morning, and he’s already half an hour into his morning workout. Twenty. Fifty. One hundred press ups- whilst being weighed down by a fifteen kilogram sack of rice that he earlier slumped across his broad chiselled back. But that’s not enough. Hanging his feet from a lofty iron bar, he completes seventy toe touch crunches without breaking so much as a sweat, before acrobatically somersaulting onto the cold laminate flooring below. He lands with a manly thud, muscles twitching with vitality. However, Wolfgang’s morning exercise is abruptly cut short when his electronic watch suddenly begins to vibrate. The next assignment has arrived.
Assignment Codename: Red Caesar
Target: Roman Cortez
Description: Average height, Stocky Build, Olive Skin, Silver Hair.
Affiliation: The Blood Sanctum Gang, Black Province Criminal Underworld.
Classification: --First Class-- Extreme Caution Is Advised.
Details: …
A self-driven motorcycle pulls up outside his small ground floor apartment. The pelting rain bounces up viciously from its lustrously coated black frame, whilst its powerful headlamps pierce cleanly through the dense fog like a knife through butter. Within three quarters of an hour, Wolfgang will reach the first waypoint of his assignment. The infamous Royal Boulevard.
Soon after arriving at this forsaken slum, a few hardened faces begin to emerge from the murky cover of darkness. And although it’s still in the early hours of the morning, the perturbing stereotypes associated with the Royal Boulevard are already in full flow. The large cliques of hooded miscreants loitering about the place. The blood tinged syringes scattered plentifully across the sidewalk. The thumping bass of aggressive urban music- all stark reminders of how unforgivingly brutal this environment is. Even as a seasoned operative, Wolfgang knows he must tread carefully if he wishes to leave the Royal Boulevard unscathed.
For a little while now, he’s been stalking a Class ‘A’ drugs dealer suspected of being in connection with the target, Roman Cortez. Interpol intelligence has suggested that this drug dealer has been tasked with circulating the Blood Sanctum Gang’s crystallised methamphetamine, and at around about this time, would be supplying the last few vulnerable addicts with their daily fix. Interpol has also advised Wolfgang that this drug dealer has a strong affinity with the colour red, and prefers to sport eccentrically spiky hair styles in order to differentiate himself from other dealers. Fortunately, these tips have allowed Wolfgang to identify his man within minutes of his arrival: he's currently located outside of a poorly lit alleyway, preoccupied with clinching his final sale of the day. The customer appears to be captivated by his flamboyant and overly enthusiastic style of pitching, and soon prepares to accept the extortionately high price of his merchandise.
Time to shut him down. After receiving the green light from his electronic watch, Wolfgang blitzes onto the opposing sidewalk and dashes towards his target. The suspect manages to spot the operative just in time, and makes a hasty retreat into the darkness of the alleyway. But Wolfgang is faster. As the gap between the predator and his prey dwindles from several metres to an arm’s length, the suspect swiftly begins to realise that physical resistance may be the only way to escape being caught. With a malignant shriek the drug dealer turns front and swishes out a rusty metal blade, desperately trying to plunge it into the operative’s face and chest. But Wolfgang has better reflexes. Almost by instinct, the operative ducks below the wild and flailing knife thrusts of his assailant before capturing his right arm, twisting it ruthlessly until the sound of shattering bone rips through the dealer’s ears. He admits defeat immediately. After desperately signalling that he’ll no longer resist, Wolfgang slams the dealer back first onto the hard and damp concrete floor, maintaining his grip on the arm. The tussle is all over in a matter of seconds.
After momentarily enduring the pain of having his freshly broken arm wrenched about like a worn screw, the dealer soon yields to Wolfgang’s interrogative techniques, and tearfully begins to reveal all about his shady employer. He describes Roman Cortez perfectly, just as Interpol predicted he would. After collecting some valuable information about the target’s favourite places within the Black Province, Interpol intelligence pinpoints the exact venue where Roman is mostly likely to show up next. ‘La Dame Trompeuse’ Gentleman’s Club: a famous whorehouse in the Red Light District. As this venue is located in prime Blood Sanctum Gang territory, the target will most likely be accompanied by an assortment of his strongest thugs and bodyguards, who will be protecting him around the clock.
The same thing can’t be said about the drug dealer turned informant, whom Wolfgang left slumped against a large blue industrial bin. In a cruel twist of events, some members of the Blood Sanctum gang happened to be in the area, and plainly heard him squeal on their boss. Wolfgang was probably better off not knowing what happened to him afterwards. The following day, operatives eventually managed to identify the drug dealer as Ludwig Bretner. What remained of his corpse was discovered in the very bin Wolfgang left him by. The body was severed limb from limb, and the soft tissue of Ludwig’s face had been corroded beyond recognition by sulphuric acid.
Every city has it secrets. Some for better, and some for worse. But as the drug dealer learned, bringing any of those secrets to light may just get you killed.
*Chapter Two: Darkness | Coming soon.
Special Mention:@cbishop
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