Shoot from the back
And take good aim
Make sure I'm dead
Because I'm a rat
Make no mistake
- The Rat - Dead Confederate
He sat slouched in the leather seat, the air in the apartment stuffy and had the strong scent of stale urine. He was mostly used to it now, although still got strong headaches from the lack of fresh air. However, he refused to open the windows. No, he wasn't stupid enough to let his scent out. This spot, a somewhat basement-like apartment was perfect for him. Close enough to the street of shape-shifter houses so that he could receive the signal of the recording droids he sent to snoop around. Far enough away, and hidden, so that even if his smell was recognised out on the street, it would be difficult to trace it back to where he was staying.
Of course, he didn't plan to get recognised, only by the girl, and only when he deemed it appropriate. And, once he had the girl, it didn't matter who knew his true identity. He'd be long gone, with his trained killer, as he should have been days ago. It had all been set up, after all the work he'd done for the past ten years. The connections he'd made, the favours he'd pulled in, the threats he'd delivered. All messed up with bad timing and a group of witches who'd been where they shouldn't have.
He pushed himself up, the ropey muscle in his arm bunching as he lifted himself out of the chair. He was in no way a small man, built over time with his own weights system, he knew he could take on one of those animalistic witches but he wasn't stupid enough to go charging into the street, even if, right now, half of the household in which she was staying were intoxicated. He'd wait for the right moment, work out a flawless plan. He meant to see to it that she would be working for him by the end of the year. It was time for Dizelde Beaumont to start doing what she was made for.
He switched off the screens he'd been watching and breathed quietly as the room went near dark but for the small stream of light coming in from one of the windows, provided by the waning moon. He swiftly trod around scraps of paper and overturned furniture, making his way to his office. His computers were on, humming softly, ready for his knowledge.
"Computer Three, Four, on. Three set up blueprints. Four, show me Notes." His voice was gravelly and deep from lack of use. He grabbed a cup that was filled halfway with a light green liquid and gulped it down. The strong taste and smell of mint filled the senses until the apartment's stench fought its way back.
The two computer screens flashed blue and then began to load. He sat down on the squeaky, swivel chair and waited, his mind going over several ideas, possibilities. He would set himself the deadline of a week to come up with the plan. And a week to fulfil it.