Chapter 67

Chapter 67

A few weeks prior, Blackrazor sat beneath an overhang atop a building overlooking one of the many public lockers set up in the more tourist oriented parts of Hong Kong. The shadows bent around him, his body melding with the very surface of the building and leaving his presence all but nonexistent. To the sensitive, he would be no more present than a bird or a mouse. Now all he had to do was wait. Merged with the shadows, he could tell that his biological needs were suspended, his organs slowing down to a near stop as they didn’t exist in a physical sense. He could wait as long as he needed, the only obstacle being boredom.

Fortunately, he had been trained to endure boredom.

He sat in silence for days, watching the same set of lockers as the sun came and went, the shadows shifting but never leaving this comfortable spot where he could keep watch. People came and went, people stopped at the lockers and got their things, but none of them went for locker 137. He’d felt another presence monitoring the locker for about a day now and was marginally certain that this person was the one he’d been waiting for. Still, he maintained his attention, not until they went to the locker would his suspicions be confirmed.

He had sent a message using the Adjunct’s phone, asking for the Professor responsible for the region to come and receive a dead drop message as a form of meeting. It was standard practice in the society that the members of the organization didn’t meet directly and should only contact one another in case of an emergency. The message had been carefully composed to trigger a sense of alarm and cause for immediate action. His target would have to report it to a Tenured immediately, following a similar method.

Every organization has a weakness, and this method of indirect communication is it.

Of course, the practice wasn’t handled without caution. The person sending the message was forbidden from sticking around to observe whether or not their message was received and the receiving party would investigate the area before picking it up just to make sure. Unfortunately, it didn’t take into consideration a person who could literally turn themselves into shadows. So eventually, after nearly four days of waiting, the Professor stepped out of a nearby cafe and walked over to the locker, taking out a key and opening number 137. Blackrazor moved immediately, his body liquifying and sliding through the shadows that were cast on the building, down to the street level.

He kept his eyes on the target, patient as the sun was still beating down on the street between his perch and the target. They’d move eventually, though, and that’s all he needed. As if urged to action by his thoughts, the woman whose face he’d never known turned around and made her way back to the cafe to continue her meal as if nothing had happened. He slid across the ground like a serpent, darting through connecting shadows until he slid comfortably into her own cast image. The only indication of his presence being a darkening of her own silhouette. More waiting, more patience. This was only the first step in a longer journey.

Eventually she left and went to an expensive hotel, apparently her cover was that she was a local journalist, the same as himself. He wasn’t surprised, she had been the one to give him the cover story and he had picked up photography as a result. Still, it was interesting actually seeing her for the first time. A pretty woman in her forties with a nondescript face and long brown hair. She looked British, her accent nonexistent though. Professor Crane, a seasoned poisoner and specialist in the art of the quiet, time sensitive death. She could ‘kill’ someone and be miles away before their heart actually stopped. Her poisons are undetectable, lethal, and carefully crafted for each kill. A master of her craft and still only a Professor in the hierarchy.

The Night Society didn’t just employ murderers like Crane. While she was a remarkable specialist, she was a dime a dozen when it came to the standard fare of the Society, death. There were, in fact, other ways to assassinate people besides killing them, as strange as it sounded. The Night Society employed financiers, professional hackers, world-class information brokers, and even genuine journalists. They could destroy an individuals financials, spread their secrets across the globe, destroy their digital information or spread their footprint, they could engage in a smear campaign that would make an American politician blush.

Professor Crane answered to one of these unique specialists, Tenure Smallfoot was, according to what he’d heard, actually a rather well known financier who had grown adept at using specialized tactics to completely undermine a company’s financial standing and destroy their credit. In a matter of hours an organization could disappear off the face of the earth, their assets seized and the owners left penniless. This monster was who Crane called as soon as she finished reading the note from the adjunct that Blackrazor had left sinking to the bottom of the South China Sea.

“We have a situation,” Crane said before pausing, “It’s too sensitive to elaborate. We need to meet, sir,” She paused again, “I understand, I will see you then.”

What was the news? Blackrazor had used himself as bait. The note said that he had faked his death and was working towards exposing the Society and that he was fully compromised.

Satisfied that the bait had been taken, he settled in. From what he overheard from Crane’s shadow, they would be meeting the next day. It was a little surprising but it showed just how seriously Smallfoot took his job as upper management, maybe it was his business background, it didn’t really matter. Blackrazor knew this kind of information had to be handed off directly with the higher ups and more importantly, only a Dean could give an execution order for a member of the Society. That meant the note would have to arrive at headquarters one way or another.

So he waited, clinging to her shadow for every second. When she showered, when she ate, when she slept, as she dressed the next morning, as she left and got into a car to head to a restaurant. He observed as she sat down at a table near a window, overlooking the city below. He listened to what she ordered and he felt a bit of tension uncoil within himself as another presence approached, sitting down across from her.

“Mister Caldwell, thanks for coming for this interview, sir,” Crane said.

“Please make it quick,” Smallfoot said.Updated chapters at novelhall.com

“First, here’s a bit of an overview of the questions I’ll be asking,” She said quickly and handed the note over to him. There was a long pause and Blackrazor took a moment to shift from her shadow to his.

“I’m afraid these questions are a bit outside my usual realm,” He felt Smallfoot check his watch, “More importantly I have a call. We’ll reschedule.”

“I understand sir,” Crane said and inclined her head.

With that, Blackrazor left with Smallfoot, the Tenured’s path taking him through the hotel where the restaurant was stationed before entering a limousine and departing for the airport. It only took an hour for the plane to get off the ground and the man to get comfortable enough to make a phonecall. Blackrazor didn’t know which Dean was the one that Smallfoot answered to, but it really didn’t matter. The Deans were the primary instructors for the Society and the core leadership, there was only one place they would be unless they were on assignment. Headquarters.

He’d be dead eventually anyway, once the execution order went through.

He sighed and shook his head. The boy had so much potential, it was a bit of a shame but he couldn’t control the young man’s decisions any more than he could control any of the other graduates. The training and brainwashing could only go so far before it interfered with an assassin’s capacity to do their work. Such was the way of things he supposed. He looked down at the documents in front of him and reached for his pen only to freeze as he felt a shift in the air behind him. He turned his head and blinked, “You.”

–

Blackrazor stood in the corner of the room, his arms crossed. He leaned against the wall and smiled at the old man. He had really aged, his skin mottling. It was too bad he had to die, Blackrazor was sure that Ishtar could have given him his youth back and restored his vigor. Now, he was barely functional as a leader. Still, he hadn’t remained in his position for this long without reason and Blackrazor hadn’t taken any risks.

“I greet the Headmaster,” He said, raising his hand to his heart and inclining his head.

“Park Beyol,” The Headmaster said, turning his chair around to face him, “You look good for a dead man.”

“It’s Blackrazor now, sir,” Blackrazor said patiently, “I’ve been reborn as a supervillain.”

The old man’s lips twitched, “I heard you had abilities, but that they had to do with metal. How did you get in here?” The old man asked, sitting back in his seat. Blackrazor watched him move and raised an eyebrow at him. A shadow brushed against a book and pushed it over a small metal plaque that was embedded in his desk. He had sent his shadows throughout the desk and searched for any sort of emergency alarm devices, he’d found that the plaque was a button. The old man’s lips curled into a smile, “Oh, you’re quite serious.”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Blackrazor said.

“Your aim?”

“I want the Society.”

“I see,” The old man said with a slow nod, “That doesn’t sound like you, you were ambitious but not this ambitious. What changed?”

“I have a new master,” Blackrazor said, “The first supervillain.”

“Ishtar, I’ve heard of her,” The old man grunted, “She has the United States by a stranglehold and my people tell me she’s even reaching overseas.”

“You’re well informed sir,” Blackrazor confirmed with a nod.

“Well, what’s the plan, Blackrazor? How are you going to do it?” The old man asked.

“I already have, sir,” Blackrazor said dispassionately and nodded to the old man’s wrist. The Headmaster looked down at a miniscule drop of blood running down his wrist.

“Ah, Crane’s trick. How long do I have?” He asked.

“Enough time to talk and for you to tell the Dean’s about the change in leadership, sir. I administered it just before I appeared to you,” Blackrazor said, holding his gaze.

The old man smiled, “Well done.”