|Negotiation Room |Blue Feather Hotel
|19.03.1178|
Alain finally adjusts the chair in order to sit down after those words leave Hannes's lips.
Silence spreads through the room.
Yet silence is not really a fitting word. The unnecessarily loud screech of wood against metal torments Hannes's elven ears as Alain, with almost dance-like grace, climbs onto the chair.
With every movement—whether leaning slightly to the left, bending backward, or lifting his arms—the client seems to whisper something to himself.
"Mr. Kneifler." The muttering stops.
"What do you know about the 'patron' system?"
The question is answered only with a snort.
Alain, already smiling knowingly, raises his eyebrow.
"Did you say something?"
The words echo within the room, though the carpeted walls dampen the sound.
A strange warmth spreads through Hannes's body, though he cannot recall its origin. He takes a deep breath. Then the words spill out of his mouth.
"I don't think that the use of a phrase like 'patron' is appropriate, as in practice it's not really about the protection of the client but—"
The warmth vanishes as Hannes looks up to meet his client's eyes. He lifts his hand to clutch his head with an unnaturally slow movement. Sweat forms across his forehead.
"I don't know anything about this business, since I've never been confronted with it."
He releases his head, laying his hand back on the table. The small yet noticeable imprint of his fingers remains for a few seconds.
"Care to enlighten me?"
Alain leans back in his chair, his feet crashing onto the table with almost no sound.
"It's actually quite simple. It's our job as bosses to ensure that new businessmen, still inexperienced in the market, don't fall victim to loan sharks, tax problems, the mafia, or other complications."
He gestures with his right hand, his movements dangling like a tentacle. His eyes remain fixed on the ceiling as he explains, his left hand subconsciously fiddling with the buttons of his shirt's collar.
Even as Hannes nods, trying his best not to roll his eyes at the explanation, Alain pays no attention.
"I see…" Hannes begins, staring at the money in front of him. He eventually pushes it toward the center of the table.
"And why exactly do you think this job is considered illegal, Mr. Alain?"
The words come out louder than intended.
Again, the room—no, only Hannes—grows ice cold, with nothing but the beat of his heart filling his awareness. His eyes dart around, already searching for an escape route.
"Yeah, because we kill people outside the safe zones."
Alain still looks at the ceiling, almost as if he refuses to lower his gaze, like a child refusing to meet the eyes of a scolding mother.
But no—something in that comment strikes Hannes. Alain is not a threat to be ignored. How could he be? Why would a criminal fear him, a trembling lawyer barely able to contain his fear?
Hannes chuckles softly.
"So you quit because you don't want to kill anymore?"
Alain shakes his head, coughing into the air.
"No… it's because of reasons I don't want to talk about."
Hannes clenches his hand into a fist.
"I'm sorry, but if you want my help, you'll have to give me at least some information."
Alain finally meets his gaze.
"Then leave."
Hannes stands up in an overly rigid manner, his face flushed red.
>> What am I doing? <<
He grabs his hat, setting it on his head after adjusting it quickly.
>> It's usual for clients to act like this. I should press down. <<
He walks toward the door.
"Wait."
He stops in his tracks immediately.
"I am sorry. I guess I was just a bit paranoid."
Alain raises his hand with a sheepish grin. His collar now hangs completely untied, revealing the swell of his collarbone and neck.
"Fine. But please promise me to cooperate."
Hannes walks back to the table. His steps sound louder than before, though he does not notice. He rests his hands on the backrest of the chair, maintaining a stiff posture.
Alain's gaze softens slightly once he is certain he has the lawyer's full attention. Yet it is not the gaze of someone ready to proceed. Rather, it seems as if a mask has fallen, for the expression is strangely unfamiliar to Hannes.
"You don't need to help me with witness protection, Mr. Kneifler. I suppose I was just… scared in a way."
His hands now lie parallel to each other on the table.
"We once worked for the government, you know. You might even call us veterans."
"With 'us' you mean the organization you work for, right?"
Alain does not answer at once. Instead, a pained choke escapes his lips. He clenches his hands into fists as if fighting back severe pain.
He takes a deep breath, then declares as loudly as he can:
"I was once a member of the secret organization Circus, an underground government division created to destroy the terrorist networks of Illyar within our country.
But three years ago, when the idea of an eclipse wedding between the two nations was introduced, we were immediately abandoned. No reward, no rent, nothing.
After our first leader died of illness, our vice commander took over and founded this new organization focused solely on the patron business."
No sooner have the words filled the room than Alain clutches his neck. His eyes well with tears; his cheeks and throat flush at a disgustingly fast pace.
Hannes rushes toward him to help, but before he can reach him, something strikes his stomach, hurling him backward into the piles of suitcases.
Loud noises emerge as Hannes crashes into the heap. Around him lie several briefcases and travel trunks.
>> What is happening here? <<
His own thoughts sound dull in his head. He feels no pain, yet his body weakens. His eyes flutter, then shoot open again as he sees Alain.
The man's arm, tentacle-like only moments before, slides back into his sleeve as he clutches his throat.
"Mr. Kneifler…" he chokes, his voice that of a crying child. "This is a confession, not a negotiation."
Hannes freezes in horror as Alain's neck bursts open with blood. A chain shoots out of the torn flesh, coiling mercilessly around his throat.
"I worked for the Ser—"
The words are cut short as the chain tightens, tearing Alain's head from his body.
The chain disappears in a puff of gold. Yet the severed head, which falls to the floor with a sound Hannes fails to register, transforms into a twitching arm.
The client's remaining body, standing as if nothing happened, now morphs into a sphere with shocking speed, leaving behind only the ragged shirt and waistcoat.
The sounds of flesh bursting, bones breaking, and tendons snapping fill the blood-soaked room.
>> I am dreaming… This is not happening. <<
Hannes closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. When the noises cease, he opens them again.
Before him stands a half-naked Alain, wearing only trousers and missing one arm—yet smiling.
"Phew… that was close…"
He stretches out his stump. The severed limb lifts from the floor as if drawn by invisible strings and reattaches itself.
"It'll probably attack again soon enough. After all, I'm not dead," he says, his voice weakened.
Hannes raises his hand, the numbness fading from his body.
"Rat…" he mutters, pointing toward Alain.
Alain raises an eyebrow and turns. There, a tiny gray rat gazes at him.
Hannes tries to stand, using the banter as a frail sign of recovery. But Alain does not move a muscle.
"Tell me," Alain asks almost fearfully, "why didn't you come in with the second key I left at the reception for you?"
"Second key?"
Just as he speaks, the rat leaps into the air.
While mid-air the tiny animals form contorts, bursting open as if a much bigger animal would explode out of it.
A green haired man now stands on the same place as the rat beforehand, his eyes fixed on alain.
"The lawyer is right," the man says, dashing toward Alain with superhuman speed. "There is definitely a rat among us."
Blood sprays across the floor.