«Have you ever wanted something so badly that your world narrows to a single focus, thinking, refining, and organizing every step of the way?»
«Your hands move with purpose, and you pour endless hours into chasing that fleeting moment of victory.»
«But how would you know that feeling? You are confined to the pages I show you. I could spin lies as easily as truths, and you'd believe them. Why? To satiate your curiosity—because boredom drives you forward.»
«And yet you will never know how much effort I have invested if you do not go beyond the confines of these pages.»
«As. If you were able to understand me, it would mean you are an intelligent being capable of rational thought. Oh, forgive me—I'm rambling again.»
"Ring!"
"Ring!"
The sound of his phone ringing woke Mr. Valen from his slumber, but truth be told, he was hardly asleep. Why?
It was because today was the big day, the moment everything he had planned would subtly come into play.
With that thought, Mr. Valen resolved to pick up his phone, lest the caller lose interest.
"Yo Val," a booming voice came through the other end.
This voice belonged to Dog Head, a man with whom he had been in constant communication for the past two days, finalizing the details of their heist.
Mr. Valen had also used this chance to gain his trust, convincing him of the legitimacy of the endeavor.
"Hey Dog Head, today's the day," Mr. Valen finally responded to the voice at the other end, his tone deep.
Dog Head, noting the seriousness in Mr. Valen's tone, laughed softly, "Don't stress it, kid, we're only gonna kill you if we find out you lied to us."
He may have joked, but Mr. Valen could tell he was frightfully serious. Not that he cared—but he responded anyway.
"I understand, remember, you move in at ten sharp," he said grimly before cutting the call.
Letting out a short breath, Mr. Valen stood up from the couch on which he had slept and looked at the time.
It was 6:00 AM, which meant that he only had four hours until 10:00 AM; he had to get to work early.
Fortunately, Lia was not at home, having opted to stay at a capsule hotel near her workplace due to the growing tension between the Brotherhood and the Magentas.
Quickly, Mr. Valen took a bath and pulled on his signature hoodie and jeans. He then resolved to sterilize his wound with the hot water he had left on the stove.
Gritting his teeth, he poured the stinging antiseptic over the jagged stumps where his three fingers used to be.
The searing pain lit up his nerves, but he didn't flinch, or at least he tried not to flinch but alas, he was only human.
Steam rose like tendrils from the raw, exposed flesh.
Once the pus was washed off, he wrapped his hand tightly in sterile bandages, layer after layer, until the wound disappeared beneath clean white gauze.
"It's time to step out," Mr. Valen muttered to himself as he left the run-down apartment building.
Like before, the streets were deserted, with only the occasional taxi passing by.
«The public unrest still lingers.»
Mr. Valen stood there for almost an hour until he finally flagged a Taxi that stopped, coming to a screeching halt.
Getting in, Mr. Valen saw that the driver was a woman with long dark hair, wearing a grey hoodie. It was rare to see a female driver, but unfortunately, he could not see her face.
Just when he was about to describe his location to the driver, he felt his stomach churn as though something was horribly wrong.
The driver seemed too familiar.
This bad feeling overwhelmed him so swiftly, so suddenly that he knew not where it came from, until.
"No wonder you're always in these hoodies, it's so cosy," a familiar, almost cheerful voice caused him to widen his eyes his breath hitching in his throat, not in fear but in surprise.
The speaker was Lexa—but the problem was, Lexa wasn't supposed to arrive until the day after tomorrow, after he'd received his pay.
'She is two days early,' Mr. Valen thought calmly, his expression unchanging as he reached a horrid conclusion. 'If she interferes, I will have to kill her,' he thought.
Soon, the taxi came to a stop with two men in suits boarding it from both sides, their expressions stiff as they glanced at Mr. Valen.
One of the men was missing an eye; his remaining eye, however, was dark brown, and his well-groomed hair had a dark sheen.
From where he sat, Mr. Valen was able to make out the fact that he was armed.
«A compact .380 ACP pistol in a leather strap, it's quite light for a man.»
The other man had no hair to speak of, he was bald, and a pair of dark sunglasses left the question of his eye color an utter mystery.
The car drove off again, but just as Mr. Valen was about to take a breath, his world went black—the men had covered his head with a bag.
'Not this again,' Mr. Valen thought to himself then sighed.
Meanwhile, Lexa's voice resounded in the background. "Hmm, don't rough handle him too much you'll scare him."
Her tone made her seem gentle, but Mr. Valen knew all too well that she was the cruelest of the bunch; in fact, if one took into account her temperament, they would discover that she had a rather interesting condition.
Time passed differently for every creature.
For smaller animals with faster metabolisms like flies or bees, it goes by rather slowly, which is why these insects react so quickly, because to them, the world moves more slowly.
On the other hand, bigger creatures like humans with slower metabolisms experience time at a faster rate.
That fact was even truer for Mr. Valen—to him, the taxi ride was draining his already borrowed time.
Suddenly, the car slowed to a stop, he could feel it, and he could also feel one of the men grabbing his shoulders in an attempt to lead him out of the taxi.
"Careful now," Lexa's voice resounded once again, her tone laced with feigned worry, her every word breathing deception.
Due to the restriction placed upon him moving became a tedious task, but he managed, shuffling between unsure and decisive steps.
Then they stopped.
"Should we tie him up?" One of the men asked as he removed the sack from Mr. Valen's head, his form lax.
The man who'd freed him was the one-eyed guard, his posture relaxed as he spoke to Lexa across the hall.
Yes they appeared to be in a hall
The hall stretched wide and barren, its stone floor cracked in certain places. The cause of these cracks and the nature of them allowed Mr. Edward to believe that they were caused by some sort of repeated collision.
Other than that, the hall itself was empty save for wooden crates scattered here and there allowing one to conclude that its use seemed to be for storage, at least before it was abandoned.
Bringing his attention to the people in the room Mr. Valen observed.
One man stood uncomfortably close to him, but although he was near, he was not alert; in fact, he had his back turned to him and was speaking to Lexa.
"So you just want to torture the kid," The guard with one eye intoned, his brows furrowed.
"Yep, pretty much," Lexa responded with a small smirk, before thinking, "I have to confirm my suspicions."
Mr. Valen noted that while he stood deep in the hall, Lexa and the second guard lingered near the entrance, the guard clutching a duffel bag.
«Am I the only one who thinks this situation is too convenient?»
A quick calculation told him Lexa and the guard could close the gap in under five seconds at a sprint—longer if they moved cautiously.
"This is too close for comfort," Mr. Valen thought as he moved, his form leaping onto the one-eyed guard before him.
His sudden movement immediately caught the attention of Lexa and the bespectacled guard.
"Thomas watch out!" Both Lexa and the guard with glasses yelled, trying to alert the one-eyed guard, who was surprisingly named Thomas, but it was too late.
Mr. Valen's hand had snapped to the guard's hip, his fingers closing over the cold steel of his gun.
But Thomas was no statue—he moved fast, faster than Mr. Valen expected.
"Bam!"
With brutal force, his elbow slammed down toward Mr. Valen's wrist in a trained strike meant to break his grip.
But his holster was a cheap one, just a basic leather strap, and it snapped open under pressure.
Mr. Valen gritted his teeth at the pain of said strike before he yanked, twisting the pistol free as the guard caught his wrist with both hands, trying to pin him against his own body.
Both men struggled for control of the weapon, but the guard had the clear advantage—two hands against Mr. Valen's one.
"Thomas, his left hand is injured," Lexa, who was already approaching with slight caution, yelled, the other guard following beside her.
The other guard with sunglasses had his weapon pointed at the two struggling men, his expression uncertain.
Turning to Lexa, he asked, "Should I-"
"Don't shoot, idiot," Lexa intoned with gritted teeth, her brows raised in excitement, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she muttered, "he's never reacted this way before, it can't be."
At that same moment, Mr. Valen leaned in, driving his shoulder into the guard's chest, disrupting his balance.
The guard staggered, still gripping Valen's arm, trying to keep the muzzle pointed away from himself, but it was too late.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
Two clear shots could be heard, the jarring sound amplified by the acoustics of the hall.