CMS

Chapter 10

The lights of the underground bar flickered, casting colors over the patrons. In his usual spot, Cedrick lounged with an air of untouchable ease, the two women by his side mere ornaments to his imposing presence.

Diana, unrecognizable in her disguise, navigated through the crowd with a grace that belied her tension. Her blonde bob swayed with each step, and her artificial grey eyes, usually sharp with intelligence, now shimmered with feigned distress.

She approached Cedrick, her voice a delicate blend of desperation and madness. "I need your help," she began, spinning her tale of woe. "My husband... he's been taken by one of the crime families. They're... they will torture him!"

Cedrick's gaze hardened, his voice a cold rebuff. "I don't take requests directly. I have people for that—fixers. You're wasting your time."

But Diana was undeterred. She leaned closer, the scent of her perfume enveloping him, her voice a whisper laced with urgency and a hint of flirtation. "But you're the only one who can do this. I trust you."

He tried to look away, but there was something about her—the way her eyes pleaded and the subtle yet deliberate touch of her hand on his crotch. "I can pay you. 500,000 credits. It's generous, I know. But I need this done."

Cedrick's resolve wavered as the allure of the offer and the woman herself began to seep into his defenses. With a reluctant nod, he accepted, intrigued by the job's peculiar nature and the woman who presented it.

Diana slid a piece of paper across the table, her fingers brushing his. "They're keeping him here," she whispered, pointing to the address scribbled on the note. "Paper Street, in the basement of an old church."

As she retreated into the shadows of the bar, Cedrick couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for the mysterious blonde. Little did he know, he was stepping into a carefully laid trap, one that would lead him straight into the hands of those he least expected.

Elijah, clad in his full suit, exuded elegance with white hair and blue square-framed glasses—not too shabby disguise. He entered the hotel known to be a front for one of Neo-Tokyo's crime families and approached the receptionist. "Sempra," he said quietly, the keyword that signaled his intentions.

Without a word, the receptionist nodded and gestured for him to follow. They bypassed the bustling lobby, heading towards a secluded part of the hotel that opened up to a luxury restaurant. The atmosphere was thick with power.

These men and women, draped in tailored suits and luxurious dresses, were the unseen hands guiding the city's pulse. Their conversations consisted of whispered promises and veiled threats.Their eyes, sharp and calculating, missed nothing—each glance carried the weight of years spent navigating the treacherous waters of their trade. Yet they were oblivious to the true nature of the world they are desperately trying to control.

Elijah's heart skipped a beat as he laid eyes on Seraphina sitting opposite of him. He had braced himself to meet a subordinate, a mere messenger in the grand scheme of the crime family's hierarchy. But there she was, her elegance was accentuated by a hat adorned with a sheer draping cloth and a fan that concealed more than it revealed. Elijah caught a glimpse of the familiar needles hidden within the fan's folds, the same ones she wielded in battle against Sarina. A bead of sweat traced his temple, betraying his composure.

"Excuse me, could you repeat that?" Elijah asked, his focus momentarily slipping.

Seraphina's gaze was sharp, her impatience thinly veiled as she probed for information. "The target," she demanded, her voice low and controlled. "I want specifics. Height, distinguishing marks, habits, and vulnerabilities. Leave no detail to chance."