[attr="class","rigidw"]

It had required no intervention on Rocket’s behalf to secure the Fixer’s position as head of security for the cruise, to the mild surprise of the logistician assigned to this particular mission. While he was not, presently, a particularly known quantity among the security circles in Hoenn, his reputation abroad was flawless; And it just so happened that he had worked for the owner of the S.S. Fortuna before, taking care of some messy business in order to keep the woman’s hands clean. She had been delighted to receive his request, and had cackled like a fairy tale crone when he had run his plan of action by her - She held no love or loyalty for her customers, and so had given him carte blanche on how to proceed. The ship, she had hinted with a cruel curl of glossy lips, was thoroughly insured. [break] [break]

The personnel manager for the cruise ship had been less thrilled at having the Fixer dismiss the bodyguards he had already secured, but that hadn’t particularly bothered him. Puffed up trophy attack dogs, one and all, hired more for the gratification of the guests than to provide any real sense of security. The Fixer had brought in a smaller cadre of professionals that he had worked with before, that he trusted to toe the line and obey his orders when he gave them, no questions asked - So long as the money was good, a true mercenary was as reliable as clockwork. A grimmer sort, by and large, but the guests oohed and aahed at their stoic, militaristic presentation nonetheless. [break] [break]

The ship was, in his eyes, a floating tomb. The Fortuna was a mausoleum wrought from vanity, gilt with the desperate need to be seen, to have one’s wealth and importance recognised in order to grant some semblance of value to a hollow soul. The ostentatious dead and their black cryptkeepers, his wardens of fell stone and dread purpose that kept watch over the cavorting cadavers, clad in shimmering finery and as dazzling as the cored out husks of dead stars. Walking corpses, one and all, weighed down by their ornamented sin, the despair of those they tread upon in their glorious ascent condensed into glittering gems, as cold and shiningly empty as the eyes of those that wore them. [break] [break]

He could sink them all. Punch a hole in the hull and watch the frigid depths close their stygian fingers about their vacant souls and hold fast, watch them struggle with a gaze and heart as devoid of compassion as their own. [break] [break]

But he wouldn’t. [break] [break]

He had a job to do. [break] [break]

He maintained a continuous, randomized patrol of the main hall, his boots thudding upon the cold glare of the polished marble like the drums keeping rhythm to a funeral march. The tactical system built into his helmet kept a continuous feed of information running on his visor’s HUD - Names, estimated wealth, threat assessments, attack vectors, and more - while Dissolution, his Abra, kept him apprised of whatever he deemed necessary intel, via telepathic imaging and feeling. If the Fixer had not long ago relegated the parsing of such a constant flood of knowledge to the mental equivalent of muscle memory, no doubt he would have been swiftly overwhelmed. As it was, however, he was bored. He had started plotting out stratagems for how he would kill everyone present in order to pass the time around a half hour after the guests had trickled in like gaudy birds of paradise. According to his database, he was up to a solid 247. ’Not bad.’.[break] [break]

You’d think that being armed to the teeth with very large guns and wearing helmets that were as welcoming as your average gallows would serve to make the prospect of approaching the security detail as inviting as a long walk off the side of a cliff, yet he had witnessed individual members of his team fending off the advances of fascinated glitterati more times than he cared to count already. Poor Svara in particular was suffering an endless stream of tittering admirers - There was something novel about a woman in heavy assault gear, apparently, though the Fixer had met a considerable number of formidable mercs that just so happened to be female. Baffling, but the rich weren’t exactly famed for their intellect or reason. [break] [break]

Most of them, anyway. His partner for this little voyage was something of an exception to the rule of vapidity. That, or she was just another case of a rich adrenaline junkie flirting with death as a way to get her kicks, but he didn’t think so. He’d read her files, of course, and had done his own homework besides. ’No, little Miss Fiorelli is a different animal altogether. Even the most charming flower can grow twisted if it’s kept in the dark long enough, after all.’ [break] [break]

He had watched her, of course, when he was made aware of her presence on this assignment. A little professional stalking paid dividends, in his experience, and you could really learn some fascinating things about a person when they didn’t think they were being watched. That, and he’d studied all the reports of her performance thus far, and he judged her to be acceptable. Either stupid or reckless enough to not operate under an assumed identity, which was a black mark no matter the reasoning, but he didn’t think she was a stupid woman, from his studies. ’No sir, but real fucking unlikely to have a long and illustrious criminal career if she keeps this up. Shame.’ [break] [break]

He had passed by her numerous times on his endless roaming of the marble savannah, a faceless predator moving through the herds of golden prey, which swirled and eddied in giggling or smirking whorls in his wake. She fit in as neatly as a knife between the ribs, just another shiny piece in the grand mosaic of the rich and the beautiful - Which meant she was doing her job well, gliding among the crowds and playing the role of socialite as naturally as a viper slithering through grass. So far, so good. If she kept it up, he might not have to kill her. The thought pleased him enough that Dissolution sent him an inquiring pulse of thought from his vantage point, ensconced within the dazzling chandelier high above, which he mentally waved off. He’d see how she handled their meeting tonight. [break] [break]

-THAT NIGHT-

[break] [break]

He could have simply knocked at her door without raising anything other than a few gossip’s eyebrows - Hardly uncommon for the muscle to be invited back to a suite for a dalliance, after all, but he didn’t want to associate them publicly if he could help it. [break] [break]

So he moved a panel aside in her ceiling, and dropped soundlessly to the floor behind her, a terrible specter rising up to loom over the woman like a nightmare coalesced into solid reality. The impression was strengthened by the demonic nature of his heavily modulated voice, though the friendly manner in which he lifted his hand, and the amiable tone with which he spoke offset it considerably. ”Evening, Belladonna. Enjoying your cruise so far?”
[break] [break]

[attr="class","bgtk"]