"...Last night a moth came to my bed,
And filled my tired, weary head,
With horrid tales of you,
I can't believe it's true,
But then the lamp shade smiled at me,
It said believe, it said believe,
I want you to know, it's nothing personal..."
Violin's strummed in the background as the song picked up. The bar was filled with dozens of inscrutable characters and though they chattered on about the devil's deeds the air around them covered their voices from traveling further than the table. It was the atmosphere of St. Michael's Dagger, a bar for higher end lowlife's to conduct their business. Though crime in the city of the Titan's was at a minimum, even they were incapable of ending the drug trafficking and corrupt business deals made behind the scenes. This place was another miserable reminder of who you once were, for not too long ago you were a minor in the mafia-esque syndicates that smoked their cigars and down their scotch whiskey here. Bastards all of them, but they served their purposes.
"Roses are red, violets are blue,
If I'm schizophrenic, then I am too,
What...ever...it takes...to escape,
I hope you understand,
Why I'm forced to take your life,
In my hands, I want you to know,
It's nothing personal..."
Every booth at the bar was had a low hanging light that shined brilliantly. Those lights were also cunning enough to emphasize every shadow upon the face of it's occupants, rendering them unidentifiable to outside observers. The bar was reserved for mercenaries, some superpowered, some not, but each with skills more suited to the shadows than the regular villain. It came with less fame and fortune, though the margin of success was much higher. No one here knew that it was do to you that the bar was emptier than usual... if they did, it could make coming here, problematic. That's when you asked the bartender to show you to the boss, he didn't unload the Automatic Thompson he had stashed under counter into your chest.
Instead, you were escorted to a private room.
"And though we've never met,
I've seen your image in a million waking dreams,
Your eyes they call to me,
Set me free..."
From the bar, you went down a hall, past a locked door with several armed men inside, wielding automatic weapons. They didn't fire, but not one of them took their finger off the trigger, though I had walked past them a thousand times before. Salt of the earth crooks, all business. A camera peered at us from the far end of the room, attached to the high vaulted ceiling. You couldn't see it properly, how it zoomed in and out, focusing its lens on your face.
*Click*
That noise was a sign that the stainless steel door to the next room had unlocked. "Remotely controlled" you thought, they had upgraded since last you came here. That wasn't too many years ago.
"Last night a moth came to my bed,
And filled my tired weary head,
With horrid tales of you,
I can't believe it, I can't believe it's true!
But then the lampshade smiled at me,
It said believe, it said believe....
Another thing you hadn't anticipated, as the door popped open, a rapid sound of pressuration, air flooding into the entrance, could be heard. Excessive safety measures were what had always kept St. Michael's Dagger in business in all these years. You had learned a long time ago that overkill was never enough in eliminated a target. Crossing the threshold, you put your life on the line, just as the song came to an end... and as it goes...
"It's not easy, being the Chosen..."
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