A crack in the cycle

“Have you secured the gem?”

Royer spoke into his earpiece, breathing low. “Yes sir. Mission complete.”

“Good,” said Senator Wanho. “Now get out of that safe and head to the nearest Pizzeria. Our man will be there to receive the package.”

Royer stopped in his tracks hesitantly. “And my-”

“Yes, yes very well,” cut in the Senator. “You will also be rewarded appropriately for your work.”

This got him to relax and crawl back up the slim pipe he’d entered through. Working for the Senator was always a tough job, but it paid well enough for him to risk his life for it. Unfortunately, good money did nothing to make up for his declining mental health, that seemed to be stuck in a fastidious loop.

The pipes, were musty but clean. Royer climbed out of it into an alley and tried to shake of the pain in his limbs and the gash across his thigh. He covered the pipe with an artificial wall piece, and then googled his way to the Pizzeria, mind blank.

As he limped to the place, he combed his hands through his hair and fixed his clothes to look as presentable as possible. It didn’t work. Nonetheless, he was satisfied by the fact that there was enough civilian cloth to cover any blood and muck.

There was a tinkle as Royer opened the door to the mini-restaurant, the air rushed out to meet him. He felt slightly icky feeling the blood on his skin slide and cake up, but he quietly seated himself on a secluded corner table. Then after looking about for spies or nosy people, he risked a peek inside the fanny pack he had around his waist. A glint of purple shone through. Royer finally eased up and set his hands on the table, waiting.

The restaurant was lively with chatter, delicious dishes and laughter. People sat in groups and couples as they unburdened the stresses of their unyielding pile of work along with their comrades. The buzz helped Royer calm down further and sink into himself, which must have been the reason why he startled when another person sat down across him.

The man had a black mask covering the lower half of his face and a dark hook to conceal his eyes. His stature was lithe and graceful, like that of a powerful dancer. He kept his gloved hands on the table, unfazed by Royer’s reaction.

Royer’s eyes immediately went to the gloved hands and spotted a familiar ring. He exhaled. He had a job, he reminded himself. Once he got enough money, he would rest. For now, his job came first.

The exchange was done swiftly and away from watchful eyes or prying technology. Just like it had the last time. And the twenty times before that. 

“You are too young to be doing this, aren’t you?” asked the man.

‘He must be new,’ thought Royer before he spoke. “I am too young but I get the job done. And I earn my only money while doing it. I have no family and no talent. This is a job that suits me best. Unfortunately, I’m not sure of what to do from here.”

Every word of it was true. Though Royer didn’t know why he was telling the truth to the stranger, he made no effort to resist the words that slipped away from him. It felt light, to air something out to someone, and not just spilling his heart out to white medical walls or to the carved stone of the dead. Besides, he was counting on the man to assume that he was lying.

Desperate for another morsel for human interaction, Royer slid his eyes to the man and prompted, “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new?”

The man stood up. “I have to go.”

Confused and thrown off by the sudden change in behaviour, Royer moved to placate the man, but in vain.

“Where are you going?”

“…”

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

The man brushed past him and slipped him a note. A secret message. And then the man vanished into the evening crowd.

The senator killed your parents. My name is Wien and I have evidence. You'll find it when the time comes.

A fire sparked.

The cycle cracked.