Warning: Violence and quite a bit of cursing.

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Prologue

“Mr. ―” Timothy “Brand” Keats began, only to be interrupted by his boss.

“How many times must I tell you to call me Frick?!” he snapped, not looking up from the blueprints that covered his desk.

“I-I’m sorry, mi―” he caught himself. “M-May I come in?”

“This had better not be bad news,” Frick growled, piercing his employee with with harsh silver eyes as he looked up. He motioned for Brand to come in, quickly brushing the blueprints into a drawer before the latter could get a good look at them.

“I-I’m afraid it might be, s-sir,” Brand stammered, as he took a slow step into the room, peering around it as he did. The hardwood desk and brown leather high-backed chair were the same as in his memory.

He had only been in Frick’s office once before, when he had been plucked from among the lowest workers, and assigned his first mission within what he had thought was Frick’s inner circle; however, it had become clear that this was not his inner circle, but merely a group of lackies that Frick used, from then on, he had been hellbent on becoming one of those men that practically called Frick’s office their home.

“You might as well sit down and close the door,” Frick grumbled tiredly, shaking Brand out of his reverie as he indicated the sparse wooden chair directly across from his desk, as opposed to one of the comfortable plush seats spread around the room. Inside Brand growled at being made to sit in the hard seat. He knew that if he’d been one of Frick’s inner circle, any chair would have been available to him.

“Thank you,” he managed, barely keeping the grudge out of his voice as he slammed the door shut and slowly took the offered chair. Though he tried to keep a tough face, a sour expression slid onto it as he tried to get comfortable.

Frick, on the other hand, enjoyed watching Brand squirm, and a smirk came smoothly onto his face. “You know, Keats,” he said, purposefully not using Brand’s nickname. Only his inner circle deserved nicknames. “You should really try to hide your emotions a little better. One might think that you don’t approve of my hospitality.”

“It’s quite nice, sir,” he said, sarcasm dripping through his words. “I quite appreciate it.”

“And you should,” Frick snapped back. “It’s not everyday I let an employee waltz right up to my office without consequences! Do you know what I should do to you for being so cocky? You filthy son of a bitch!”

Brand shuddered at his boss’s sudden rage, and pushed as far into the chair as he could, suddenly afraid to be alone in a room with him. At this Frick let out a barking laugh, but settled back into his seat, unaware of when he’d left it in the first place. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths, before snapping them open again to pierce Brand with his silver-eyed stare.

“Now tell me what news you bring, before I decide to through you out on your ass like you should be.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Brand stuttered, his eyes wide in fear, face drained of all color. “I didn’t really understand what he meant, but Parkin said to tell you ‘they’ve made contact with her.’ And that she ―whoever she is― has joined them.” Having said what he had to say, he began rambling about the entire thing. “It all seems rather occult, if you ask me. ‘She’s joined them.’ It sounds so―”

“Repeat what you just said,” Frick interrupted sharply, not sure he’d heard correctly. He knew exactly what Parkin meant, but just hoped that it wasn’t true.

“I just said that it all seems rather occult if you―”

“No, the first part. They’ve made contact with her?”

“Yes, yes. Parkin said to tell you that they ―whoever they are― have made contact with her, and that he’s staying on her ―whoever she is― tail to make sure nothing happens.” He carefully enunciated each ‘whoever,’ trying to make a point that he didn’t know, and wanted to find out.

“Damnit!” Frick cried, slamming the desk with his fist. “Why can’t they just leave well enough alone!”

He turned to Brand and snapped, “Get out of my sight! And tell Ciro to come up here as fast as his fast ass can carry him!”

Brand nodded, barely managing to get out of his chair before his legs started running out the door. The worst thing you could ever do was be in the room when Frick was angry, and at the moment, he was livid.

Ten minutes later Ciro walked nonchalantly through Frick’s door, grinning at Frick’s frustration. “Hey-a boss-o,” he joked, curling up into one a blue plush chair to the left of the desk. “You wanted to see me?”

“Don’t you ever pull that stunt again,” Frick hissed in a deadly whisper a hundred times more frightening than when he yelled. “When I say to get your ass up here you better fucking sprint, understand?”

Ciro gulped and nodded, all trace of his grin gone, replaced by fear in his shockingly orange eyes. “Y-you got it, Frick.”

“Alright, now down to business,” Frick said, his voice at a normal level. “They’ve contacted her. I’d hoped they never would, that they would just let her live her life in peace. But they’d watch her all her life, just as I have, and they’ve finally chosen now the strike, do you understand that?”

“Her?” Ciro asked, a little bit surprised.

“Yes. And if you lay a hand on her it will be your head.”

“You’re so over-protective―”

“Understand?”

“I understand, Frick. I promise I won’t lay a hand on the precious little girl,” Ciro said, smirking.

“It’ll be you’re head if you do,” Frick replied, narrowing his eyes and staring pointedly into Ciro’s, keeping his gaze there long after the latter looked away. “Now, here’s the plan...”

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