He shifts his attention to Roy and adds, “Bring down your gun, Roy. Let’s start with the hunt.”
Rohan is confused. Roy appearing here is not in their plans. Did he change sides already? Is he afraid of being on the losing end?
Rohan looks back at Tyrianne and he knows that if anything happens to her as well, it is all his fault. He has to think of a way out of this.
Then, Roy slowly puts his gun down and moves toward the other group. “I’m sorry, Hansel. I am specifically ordered by my mistress to allow you to contact me. She needed a survivor, so they will last longer during the hunting.”
“Should I thank you for having Rosalyn killed?” he asks while thinking that what Roy is saying is exactly the reason why they are on the losing end now.
“I hav
Rohan walks towards the main door while Tyrianne is hiding in one of the trees, making sure that she has a clear view of the house. Rohan hasn’t even entered the house when one guard already sees him. “What are you doing here?!” the guard shouts at him. In response, Rohan charges at him with a knife. The guard quickly raises his gun and fires. But it only catches Rohan on the shoulders. Grunting, he attacks the guard, slashing at his neck and spraying blood on the floor. The guard falls, and Rohan watches him die. Really, killing another person. He will never get used to it. Maybe he should just wound them? No! His mind screams. He can’t afford to do that! There’s another gunshot, and he realizes that Tyrianne had just saved him from another skulking guard. He purses his lips. These kinds of indecisions will kill him! And besides, did they ever feel guilty when Rosalyn and Roy died?! ‘They didn’t,’ he answers himself. And so, Rohan shuts off his heart. He charges to the next guar
“He’s here,” Tyrianne informs. “Are you ready?”“More than ready,” Rohan answers.The two of them watch as the ex-governor is escorted into the house. Using Alston’s phone, they sent a message to the jail warden and ask for the ex-governor to visit the mansion. They said they have a surprise celebration for him.So when the ex-governor rings the doorbell, Rohan walks to the door and opens it. “Where are my children?” the ex-governor asks.“They are in their room, sir,” he answers.“Alone?!”“Yes.”He groans. “Those idiots! I told them! Multiple times!”“Hm, sir?” Rohan asks, interrupting the ex-governor’s tirade. “How about him, sir?” he asks, referring to the warden who is still standing silently beside him.“Ask him to return by evening. And don’t forget to give him some reward.”“Understood, sir,” he answers.Rohan moves towards the warden and places money in his hands. “For the trouble,” he says.The warden nods appreciatively and walks away from the mansion. However, the instant
“What is it?” Rohan insists.“This young lady here is my hitman when she was very young. So, she was my quiet accomplice while I was raping women.”“I said to shut up!”Tyrianne is about to pull the trigger when Rohan places his hand against hers. She was trembling. Is that why she knew how to use a gun? Is this why she was too involved with their plan? Is that the reason she is staying as a director in an orphanage, given that her talents don’t match at all? Is it her way of repenting?“Tyrianne, it’s okay,” Rohan whispers. Somehow, he feels like he needs to say it. He pushes down Tyrianne’s gun as her trembling continues. “Careful now...”Tyrianne tightens her hold on the gun, but her shivers start to die down.“Did you kill every guard here, my dear hitman?” Terence asks.“You—”“I did,” Rohan says.“Ha! Another man taking credit for a woman’s work. Just like Alston.”And being compared to Alston… It somehow feels calming, as if it places everything into perspective. “We are going
The bustling city pulses like a living organism, its veins congested with honking cars and shoving pedestrians. Rohan and Tyrianne run through the throngs of people. The cacophony of voices blend into the background, punctuated by the shrill cries of street vendors hawking their wares. A pungent miasma of sweat assaults their senses, mingling with the aromas of sizzling meats and spices from nearby food stalls. “This is the second time!” Rohan complains, his eyes scanning every face, searching for any hint. Another note has been sent to them, warning them of their not-good-strategy to defeat the elites, saying it won’t work soon and they will pay with their lives. The note was left by a street child, but the instant he saw them, he ran away. “We need to be careful, Hansel,” Tyrianne says, who is still using his other name for safety. “Someone good is definitely watching our move.” “From the Twelve Elites?” “Most probably.” “Your lover?” “If you are referring to Clint, then he wo
“We need to train,” Rohan blurts out the instant he opens the door and sees Tyrianne in the gardens, stooping over all the flowers she’s taking care of.“Mr. Rugge!” she exclaims, as her eyes go to the orphanage kids, who are also tending the gardens. “Kids, leave me and Mr. Rugge alone for a while,” she adds.“You should tell your kids that we are friends,” he proposes when all the orphanage kids are out of the greenhouse.“You know kids these days. They will think that something is happening between us.”“But it’s the truth, there is—”“The romantic kind, Hansel,” she cuts him off.“Oh,” he mumbles.“So? What are you saying earlier?”Rohan clears his throat. “The last time, we failed to run after a kid who left us a message. Do you remember?”“Is that why you are suggesting for us to train?” she asks, her arms across her chest.“I’ve done combat before, but I think I am getting rusty. And you?”“You know what I was before.”They pause and look at each other. After a while, Rohan say
A cold wind swept through the dark alleyways, biting at Rohan’s face as he and Tyrianne look for any clues that connect the warning note to the sender. Rohan’s fingers tighten around the handle of his pistol, feeling the weight of it as he looks around the streets. “Rohan, you’re too tense,” Tyrianne whispers. “You need to stay clear-headed if we are going to find this person.” “Easy for you to say,” he mutters. Now that they have one clue to knowing who is sending the letters, he can’t help but get agitated. “Look,” Tyrianne says, pointing to a torn scrap of paper wedged between two cobblestones. It bears the same symbol that matches the one they had found on the back of the warning note. “That’s the same notes they used to send us warnings,” she adds. A street child told them where to find the same type of notes that are used for the message. The child added that he knows someone who received a huge sum of money just to deliver the notes. So, as they turn a corner, they discover
Finally, Rohan spots the abandoned train tracks and takes a turn onto a dirt road. The sun is setting. It’s about time for workers to leave the factory. He parks the car a safe distance away, grabs his gun, and watches the entrance. There are still lights flickering inside, even if most of the employees have gone home. “I hope this place is just a paper mill,” Tyrianne comments. They both step out of the car and approach the entrance cautiously. Tyrianne checks her gun, and Rohan also pulls out a small knife from his pocket. As they move closer, they can hear machinery whirring inside. Rohan motions for Tyrianne to stay back as he approaches the door. He listens carefully, trying to hear any movement inside. “Ready?” he asks, and she nods. He pushes the door open. The moment they step inside, they are immediately hit by the acrid smell of paper chemicals. The factory floor is dimly lit, with only a few overhead lights illuminating the area. Rohan moves stealthily, avoiding piles
Rohan’s next destination is the docks. As they reach it, they find a small crowd of people singing and dancing. He looks for a man with the description given by the boss. From the crowd, there is only one that fits Pablo’s description—a man in his thirties with black, messy hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He is on one of the tables, watching the dancers while drinking beer. Rohan glances at Tyrianne in the distance. This time, she agrees to be a lookout. She’s not far from the docks. With her with him, things always turn bloody. And Rohan doesn’t want violence when he’s amidst a crowd of people. Approaching Pablo, Rohan sits on the chair across from him and smiles. “Good evening, Pablo.” He snorts. “Why do you even know my name?” “Gertrude Mendoza,” Rohan states and, based on the smirk that plays on Pablo’s face, he already knows why he’s here. “We need to ask a few questions.” “Damn, even during my rest time, I am still going to be asked about my work?” he complains. He places a c