Hearing the casual mention of the word 'numbers' left an incredibly bitter, metallic taste in Aron's mouth. It was violently dragging up buried memories of the Black Hand that he had spent years trying to suppress.
The Black Hand wasn't a gang. They were a highly specialized, phantom group made entirely of stolen war orphans that were brutally trained from childhood to be the absolute best, most ruthless mercenaries in the world. They were ghost operatives that could be hired for absolutely anything, no matter how bloody or politically destabilizing the job was.
