┏━━━༻☆༺━━━┓
𝚁𝚎𝚗
┗━━━༻☆༺━━━┛
𝘛𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯
Lethal shots were some of the most shocking of them all. Perhaps it was the ominous bang the weapon made or the clatter of empty cartridges falling to the dusty, barren ground. Maybe it was the rush of the air, the electric racing of the heart. But no matter what, the euphonious melody of death's longing embrace was Ren Ryker's sweet, twisted reality.
Oh, how he loved it when this essential organ pounded in their chests as he dealt the final blow from afar.
Some liked to kill up close and personal, but he could see their fear for a kilometre as they were sacrificed for the Verita Aser's foolish goals. Today was just another mission to him, taking out a few minor playing pieces on the great board of war.
Ren watched their bodies hit the ground with a thud that he could only imagine he heard. His job was done; it was time to prepare for tonight.
He got down from his post above mighty Big Ben and slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder, climbing down the titanium ladder to a deserted civilian area. There, he slid out a light metal sheet that he had collected a few months back. This was where the fun began.
By the time he had surfed down the hundreds of stairs, the bell was chiming again, as it did every fifteen minutes. He was running out of time. As a seasoned member of the Crimson Syndicate, missing a meeting meant a death drop down the hierarchy ladder, mission or not. Trixcia would quite literally destroy him at the first slip-up, however clingy she was. And with her heels, no less.
A multitude of other Syndicate members would undoubtedly take a grab at his spot in the social stratum as well.
He couldn't fathom why so many people were after his limited success. After shaking his head and subconsciously gripping the handgun attached to his belt, he slinked into a gas station to change for the festivities. Since the war, such establishments weren't used anymore, and Ren could go days undisturbed for the most part.
One of several multi-coloured duffel bags held his change of clothes. Ren retrieved a navy one from behind the counter, grimacing at his only way to shelter his clothes from Trixcia's meddling. Once, in the distant past, Ren was offered one of the limited lodgings at the Syndicate settlement, but before he could blink, all the rooms were filled. Ren found that it was better that way. He couldn't have his secret to be let loose over a round of drinks or a deep conversation at an unholy hour. So, instead, he'd stay at the station until a better opportunity arose.
He shucked off his ammo bandolier, form-fitting leather breastplate, Syndicate jacket, undershirt, and black leather pants. Just to be safe, Ren readjusted the familiar cloth strips that he had swathed around his torso and downed his last reserves of pills.
It was part of his job to ensure that the Crimson Syndicated crushed the Brotherhood of the Verita Aser, even if their top member—in his opinion—had a secret that would give his enemies more fuel for the fires they raised against him.
Ren stopped in his tracks. It was time for his next drug refill rendezvous, and he still had to specify a time and place to his dealer. He knew it would have to wait.
The sniper opted for a more formal and professional approach and redressed in a slightly wrinkled charcoal suit with a few odd spots on it that Ren deemed to be the blood of his enemies.
The ones that had found out the truth.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, brushing his short, bright ruby hair to the edge, his side part on full display and shirt barely buttoned.
Ren couldn't help admiring himself, smirking despite being at odds with his appearance at times. For, at this moment, he liked how he looked. And that was all he needed to get through the day. After applying some cologne and grabbing his sniping gear, he left the building. He dragged his motorcycle out of the parking lot, ripping its makeshift protective cover off with a flourish. It was time to ride.
As he swerved onto the highway, Ren glanced wistfully at the craters in the asphalt. There was a time when he wished to man the massive suits of mechanical armour that his leader's scientists created. To fight on the front lines and make the streets more interesting while demolishing his enemies.
Nevertheless, he had been convinced otherwise. Now, he was fighting the Crimson Syndicate's battles from the shadows. And gladly. He would do anything for his leader, sadism aside. After all, Mitsan was the one who had saved him eight years ago.
Ren pulled over within a few metres of The Shard. It was only a little way away from the Syndicate base entrance, what used to be called London Bridge Station. Now? It was covered in crude, colourful graffiti in shades of neon green, pink and yellow—the perfect place for the Crimson Syndicate headquarters. He took a deep breath and strolled in like he was worth a million bucks, his head held high.
And it was immediately shot down by a walking, stalking holiday after entering one of the base's poorly lit galleries. Ren groaned inwardly the moment he sensed her presence.
"Took you long enough, rookie." It was Trixcia who sneered at him, eyeing him up and down with her shameless feline gaze. "Here I thought Mitsan was the dressy one, but you seem to take the biscuit."
Ren gave her a cool smile that hid his amusement. "Caught you staring, didn't I?"
"And what if you did?" she said, sidling up next to him, her hands trailing up his sides, resting at his shoulders. It sent violent, unwelcome shivers throughout his body, reigniting a memory that was just as unwelcome.
'Why didn't you tell me?' A different version of Trixcia, one twisted by his mind and emotions, screamed at Ren's consciousness. Not quite a memory, but not quite real, either.
Ren, in real time, put some distance between them, pushing her away. "Then you'll have to find another piece of meat to sink your claws into," he said erratically, his voice shaking. Once Trixcia had set her eyes on something—or someone—there was no letting go. Unless she had been deceived by them.
"But there's still ten minutes until the meeting starts... plenty of time, don't you think?" Trixcia twirled a strand of her long hair. The right side was completely white, while the other was an intense orange. It was rather chilling when combined with a wardrobe comprised of two colours and two colours only: black and dusky purple. The perfect Hallows Eve representative, if nothing more than an eyesore.
The Halloween store wasn't giving up. However, Ren forced himself to acknowledge that she looked hot in her shredded black dress and corset. But she wasn't his anymore, so a silent acknowledgement was all she would receive.
His consciousness didn't hesitate to remind him that he was at fault for their fallout.
Ren switched gears, masking his true feelings with a sneer. "Plenty of time to prepare for my imminent promotion." The twist of his lips was anything but merciful.
"You cunning bastard. Just watch. You'll screw up, and you'll stay on Mitsan's outer circle for the rest of your wretched life," Trixcia snarled. Her gaze was as scorching as the crackling fire at the end of the hall.
Just like it was then when it all fell apart.
Now Ren was angry. Whether it was at himself or her, he couldn't tell. The difference between the two was insignificant compared to the power his heightened emotions had over him. His eye twitched, and in an instant, Trixcia's fate was sealed. Out of self-preservation and denial, his emotions chose her to blame.
Ren would not allow himself to be insulted in a terrain he called his own.
Quicker than lightning, he whipped out his handgun, pulling the trigger without a moment's hesitation. The bullet hit its mark, burying itself in Trixcia's leg. The sinister and unforgiving bang that resounded was the perfect warning for that wretch.
Never mess with Ren Ryker of the Crimson Syndicate.
And the scream that followed only proved his point as her crimson blood splayed against the sombre ebony walls.
He was about to finish off any pride she had left but was sorely interrupted by a new arrival.
"Now, now. What a show."
That deep, smooth voice meant that it was Mitsan, without a doubt.
Ren swerved on his heels to face the newcomer, who was clapping their hands slowly and comically. Salt in the wound for Trixcia, if anything.
Their elusive bronze skin was hidden behind strips of silk, choppy dark cocoa hair, and piercing golden eyes akin to a hawk's. It was unmistakably Mitsan, the renowned leader of the Crimson Syndicate. They were dressed in full regalia, with a maroon blazer and dress pants, the blazer embroidered with topaz thread so fine it could sever flesh.
Ren wondered how long they had been watching, unsure of why his leader didn't stop him from shooting Trixcia.
"Ren, Trixcia," Mitsan said, nodding to each member in turn. "Getting into trouble already, I see. The meeting is about to start, and all I see accomplished is spilt blood. Ren, help your comrade clean herself up. And Trixcia, try not to piss off everyone you see, got it?"
Cold calculation and an eye for potential. The main components of Ren's leader, Mitsan Minyaski. The only one Ren wouldn't kill at a moment's notice. The only one Ren respected in this house of hell and hounds.
"Bugger off, Minyaski. I can nurse my own injuries. Without that bastard's help," Trixcia growled through clenched teeth.
Ren furrowed his brow. As far as he knew, Mitsan would never let her get away with a comment like that.
"If you say so. But if you aren't on time, you can't say I didn't warn you. I'll be off to hunt down the rest of the posse, see you both at the meeting," Mitsan said nonchalantly, their grin feral. It was hard to believe that the Syndicate's ruthless leader was Ren's only parental figure. A few years ago, Ren would have found the thought hilarious. But normal was a thing of the past.
Especially now.
Mitsan was... the only one who knew the truth about him. And even so, no one knew the full and honest truth. That was simply too dangerous in a war like this. Secrets were too powerful, too important. And they had a heavy price. Nowadays, if one crucial piece of information slipped, it was over. Truly and utterly over. For the sake of the Crimson Syndicate, he had to succeed.
Ren was prepared to take his secret to his grave—no matter the cost.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫? 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 --->