Trusting the Darkness

Chapter 1 Redscar

“So… you going to tell me vhat I vant to know now?” I ask, leaning forward, my dagger tapping rhythmically against the metal chair. The man tied to it flinches at every click.

“C-come on, man… I don’t know anything,” he whines, voice cracking.

“Ja, sicher,” I say with a sharp laugh. “Of course you don’t. Listen… I enjoy torturing people, I really do. But you?” I tilt my head. “You’re just annoying. So either you tell me vhat I vant… or I take your eyeball. Okay?”

He starts shaking violently. “F–fuck, okay! The person who hired me to stalk you—he goes by the name Rio! That’s all I know, I swear!”

“So… quick question,” I say, leaning in, smiling faintly. “Did you think it vas a good idea… to stalk me?”

“Redscar, please—I’m sorry, I—”

“Nein.” I cut him off, my voice flattening. “I’m not famous. Because everyone who knows my name… is dead.” He barely has time to gasp.

“So,” I whisper, “auf Wiedersehen.”

I drive the dagger straight through his eye. His scream dies instantly when I put a bullet through his skull. Silence fills the room, followed by the familiar ringing in my ears—always the same after a kill.

I drag his limp body across the concrete to the furnace, toss him in, and watch the flames swallow what’s left. Then I start wiping blood off the floor, the chair, my hands.

“Scheiße… I hate people,” I mutter.

Once the room is spotless, I sit at my computer and start digging—cross-checking every Rio I can find, gang records, contracts, everything.

Nothing.

“Verdammt… verdammt… VERDAMMT!” I slam my fist onto the desk. “Vhen I find this bastard—” My phone rings.

“Ja?” I answer.

“Yo, Redscar, I got a job for you.”

“What is it?” I say, leaning back.

“Your target—if you accept—is José Loccs. And I know you know who that is.”

“Ja, I know him. Vhat’s the pay?”

“Forty G.”

I give a half-laugh. “Scheiße… I vould kill that guy for ten.”

“So you’re really gonna walk into his territory—his whole gang—just to kill him for 40 G?”

“Yep,” I say. “Easy.”

“No, Kai. It won’t be easy. You’ll get yourself killed.” “I’m always putting myself into situations vhere I could get killed,” I reply. “And I’m still here. I accept.”

“Alright. I’ll send you the details. Good luck.”

I hang up.

“Forty G,” I mutter. “Vell… time to get to work.”

I grab my coat, head to the elevator, and leave the safehouse behind. My helicopter waits in the clearing outside. I climb in, strap up, and take off—rotors ripping through the cold German air.

It’s a long flight to the United States—my first time going there, actually. Not exactly a vacation, but money is money.

Hours later, I land in New York, at a temporary base one of my contacts rented for me.

The apartment is disgusting.

The moment I open the door, I grimace. “Scheiße… Americans really live like this?” I mutter. Still, I unload my gear—my finest knives, my custom pistols, flashbangs, smoke grenades. Everything goes onto the table. Then I set up my computer and start digging for information.

José Loccs.
His operations.
His gang.
Weapons.
Territory maps.
Internal rivalries.
Weak points.

After a few hours, I find an interesting detail: he has a daughter. Paula. High school student.

I lean back in my chair.

“I could kidnap her,” I mutter. “Force him to come to me… then kill him.”

A grim smile spreads across my face.

“That vill work nicely.” But that’s for tomorrow. Even I need sleep sometimes.

I stand, stretch, and look around at the crappy apartment one last time.

“Gute Nacht,” I tell the empty room.

Then I go to bed, already planning how José Loccs is going to die.