A luxurious study in a private estate.

Upstate New York.

“THE NOTICES HAVE BEEN SENT, Markus?” asked the suited individual sitting in the high-backed leather chair. It was, as expected, a bespoke outfit. Dark grey. Black was so… yesterday. A large gold ring was on a finger. Instead of a diamond embellishment, it had a round plate made of a reddish metal engraved with a stylized griffin.

“Yes, Master Leo,” replied the large man sitting across the speaker.

“I sense you disagree, moroi,” replied the being called Leo. He knew full well what it meant by refusing to call Markus by his name. And there wasn’t a thing the moroi could do about it.

“It is not my place to agree or disagree, Master,” replied Markus without a trace of emotion.

“Good. You still remember your place. You have failed Darius. You have failed me. And in those shortcomings, have failed House Amulius. Honor, you now have none as far as I am concerned. Unless you do recover your good name,” said the Master.

“But the notices have been sent, Master. How could I do anything now?” commented Markus, voice tinged with despair.

“Then you’d better act faster and better than those who would be interested. And House de Rais had just informed me that we have guests coming. You know what that means.”

“Twenty-five million dollars is bound to attract a lot of flies, Master. But whoever House de Rais sends would still need to scent the prey,” said Markus.

“I know. You have the resources of House Amulius. I would be greatly displeased if we are forced to pay the offered bounty because of another failure on your part,” replied the entity called Leo. “If House de Rais succeeds, then the honor of our House would also be greatly affected. You do understand me, moroi?”

“I do, Master. I won’t fail, that I promise.”

***

High above the Atlantic Ocean.

Onboard a Dassault Falcon 8X private jet.

“What do you think, Benilde?” said a beautiful woman with long black hair and wearing a teal nightgown.

“That rogue? Could be of some strength, I’ll grant that, sister,” answered Benilde, who was lounging in the divan across the speaker, looking out the window of the airplane out into the dark night.

“But this is House Amulius we’re talking about,” spoke a third woman, blonde and gorgeous. “They lack sophistication and foresight. I wonder what our lords see in them?”

“New power, an allied strength? They weren’t so incompetent before, though they needed House de Rais in avoiding their defeat at the hands of House Jaroslav. They had their moments,” said Benilde.

“House Jaroslav. Ah, now that’s royalty. A distaff side of a long-gone bloodline,” commented the blonde.

“We’ll know more when we get to the new continent. Though we do know more than what House Amulius believes,” declared Benilde, continuing to look out the window.

“Yes, and we also have in-house competition,” replied the blonde with distaste.

“You know that’s merely a guarantee and a smokescreen. Though this exciting race does remind me of the old times. Personally, I am looking forward to it,” answered Benilde, concluding the discussion.

“Oh, I do hope he really is manly. Our rogue did look scrumptious. Vengeance is so petty without its perks,” remarked the woman in the teal gown.

***

In a large basement below the 3rd level parking lot of a mall.

Downtown Chicago.

“Hey, Chief! Is this real?” asked a man looking over several active computer monitors.

Another man stood up from the table where he had been busy checking several assault rifles.

“Looks like it, Winslow. Monitor the channel and check the arrangements. If the trust arrangements are legit, then I guess retirement day is near,” the man referred to as Chief answered. His eyes were riveted on the posted figure of twenty-five million dollars.

***

The backroom of a bar.

Los Angeles.

Seven men sat around the table; their eyes focused on a folder placed before them by one of them.

“That’s what’s available. A fuzzy photo and the proposed arrangements. Twenty-five mil once the target is acquired or disposed of. A bonus of three mil if delivered alive. The operating budget of one mil will only be released once we provide the name and particulars of our bounty, subject to verification as usual. Bonafide trust arrangements. Have checked. It’s all legit,” said the man who brought the folder.

“What if they act on the information we obtain? We get one mil, but we lose the rest,” remarked one of the men.

“They forfeit. But we’d be stupid to play it that way. We get the target first before providing anything. But that means we shoulder the cost upfront,” replied the original speaker.

In reply, the men nodded. They knew the risks of a double-cross. The first speaker smiled and opened the folder. A glossy 12x12 picture greeted them. It was blurry and merely showed the half-profile of their target.

“I asked. The picture was from an elevator CCTV. Bad image resolution already, and the target was moving. This was the only clear picture of him. The rest had his back turned to the cam,” he explained.

“What was he doing in that elevator? He was moving, you said, so that meant he was engaged in something,” one of the group asked.

“Apparently, he was busy taking out the guards. Eight in the elevator. All dead. Most eliminated with a bladed weapon.”

“Nasty. Very experienced. Probably spec ops,” remarked another man. “Competition?”

“A lot. Though the identification of the target would be a huge problem for most. But we do have to be ready for the expected crossfire and intentional blue-on-blue,” advised the lead speaker.

Grim smiles appeared on the faces of some of those gathered. For a bounty as large as what was posted, the interested groups would attempt to eliminate the competition along the way. Their own particular team would also do the same, as there won’t be any second chance if one waited to see if another team was friendly or not.

“Complications? Any possible heat from the agencies?” asked one wearing a cap and a green windbreaker.

“None. If any such problems arise, the employer guarantees it will take care of the issue.”

“Nice to know,” said the man with the cap.

One of the men stared at the picture, and then quickly looked at the convenor of their little group.

“So, all in? We’ll take the job?” he asked.

“Let me go over the details one more time, and figure out the tasking, details about the competition, and whatever info I could get,” came the reply. “We’ll meet here, same time, two days from now.”

***

The penthouse of a modern office building.

Downtown San Francisco.

“Gentlemen.”

The speaker was a thick-set man, with slickly-combed hair, and wearing an expensive black suit. Surprisingly, he was wearing a set of dark glasses, even inside the conference room. But the slight French accent gave away the fact that he wasn’t an American.

Before him were three men. Two were wearing casual jackets though one wore a suit. But they all bore the hallmarks of experienced soldiers – faint minor scars, weathered faces, focused and wary eyes, and the ready postures even while seated.

The tall speaker was standing before the three visitors who were gathered around a long, hardwood table. Four similarly attired men flanked the former, two to each side, all with earphones clipped to an ear. He gazed at the three men, and after several seconds, glanced at the door and then back at his audience.

“We seem to be lacking one. A Ralph Delmore, I believe. He could be running late, but such juvenile delinquency does not speak well of his professionalism. Anyway, let us proceed,” said the host whose right hand made a slight movement. One of the suits beside him moved to a small table, opened a briefcase, and took out three sealed folders which he proceeded to place on the table, one each in front of the three men.

“Kindly don’t open the folder yet. Doing so means you accept the job,” the man continued.

Suddenly, one of the men beside the speaker leaned over to him and whispered.

“Ah, I have been informed Mister Delmore is on his way up to join us. Let’s wait for him. It would be… bad manners to start without the presence of an invited guest,” said the man calmly.

The three men didn’t say anything. All had taken seats at the far end of the conference table, backs to the wall, and with a clear view of the door and their front. Subtle yet necessary precautions, helped by a healthy distance from each other. Each kept their right hand close to their bodies, and one with experience in the ways of the professional human predator would probably conclude that a weapon of some sort is hidden somewhere in their attire.

One of the men, Bernard Stockton, wondered about that particular fact - that they were allowed to bring in their own pistols. They were not searched, nor did the guards care when the metal detector shrilly announced its warning. He was met by one of the ubiquitous black-suited guards and escorted to the penthouse. He felt something was off, and it wasn’t only the guard who gave him that curious yet disturbing sense of threat. And he had been in too many covert ops not to be concerned.

It was a different sensation, almost feral in nature, and yet all he could notice was that the guard was armed with a pistol in a shoulder harness. Bernard could quickly disarm and disable the man within a few seconds if he wanted to, but somehow, he felt it wasn’t going to be that easy.

The door opened. A gaudily dressed man, desperately in need of a haircut and a shave, came in. He smiled at everybody and waved to their silent, standing host. Then he took a chair, and unlike the first three visitors, he didn’t care where he sat. His back was to the door, and he was near the other end of the table, close to the waiting speaker.

“Sorry about that. You know, being late and all, but hunting fugitives at night do take its toll on one’s sleep,” the newcomer spoke out loudly. His words were tinged with a sense of haughty pride and self-centered smugness.

Idiot, thought Bernard as he exchanged looks with the men beside him. Nobody said anything.

Their host stared at Ralph without any expression on his face and subsequently addressed the group. One of the silent guards moved forward and placed a folder in front of the new arrival. Ralph made a move to touch the document.

“Mr. Delmore, I suggest you keep your hands off the folder. Opening it, as I told the others, would mean acceptance of the job,” warned the speaker. Ralph immediately drew back from the thin pile of paper.

“Now that everybody is here, let me clear some matters for you. You all came highly recommended by friends in the communities and circles where you practice your valuable yet secretive profession. We know who and what you are. The members of your respective teams, your track record, and more. That said, our company specializes in human genetic engineering, though more on the military applications of the science. We have made considerable progress in our research, and some prototypes had been created. Unfortunately, most of our data and preliminary models have been destroyed by somebody who we believe is working for the competition. We want you to deliver a strong message by eliminating the culprit. The base fee is twenty-five million dollars, plus costs. Details are in the folders. The company will shoulder all equipment expenses and provide intel support,” said the man.

“How many targets?” asked the man beside Bernard.

“One.”

The men at the back exchanged surprised glances again.

“What the fuck? That much money for one target?” exclaimed Ralph. “And you haven’t introduced yourself, you know? I don’t feel comfortable dealing with people with no names.”

Fucking moron, reflected Bernard. This Ralph may be good at what he does, but it's evident that this is a job several levels way above his head. Whoever recommended him is another idiot.

“I am sure you know there’s no need for names for these kinds of tasks, Mr. Delmore,” said the speaker smoothly.

“Nope. I have always dealt with people with names, Mr. Suit. But for that much of a prize, I’ll let that pass,” replied Ralph smugly.

The three other guests now had amused smiles on their faces, wondering how their host would take such behavior. But the speaker didn’t lose his temper or do anything rash over the arrogance of the newcomer. Instead, he addressed the room.

“So, the question remains. Given the extremely brief background, are you willing to take the job? The man obviously has an advanced military background, an expert at what he does, and has no compunctions about killing. Remember, the target has eluded the security group of a sister company, all experienced and trained professionals, and managed to evade the police and cutting-edge security systems.”

“I guess we’re in. A job is a job, and this one pays extremely well. We get to keep the equipment?” asked the man on Bernard’s right side.

“It’s yours as well as any equipment and funds you manage to salvage. The man might have an accomplice who collects valuable archaeological artifacts. Those belong to us,” came the reply.

“With the equipment and possible extra cash bonus, the actual payoff would easily be twice the cash value of the target,” smiled the person who asked the question.

“We’re in too. My colleague in the profession had admirably and concisely presented the argument,” voiced the man who was on the left side of Bernard. “I guess it’s a question of who gets the target first?”

“Indeed. The accomplice will warrant an extra three million, as mentioned in the files before you. Equipment and bonuses belong to the group which finds them. Archaeological items will ensure extra payment based on our assessment. And for the losing teams, five hundred thousand dollars each for your efforts and trouble. You lose personnel, that’s your own lookout.”

The pair who had already agreed to the job wore shitty grins. Bernard had to accept that the terms were more than generous, something which made him wonder who, or what, the target was. He had no illusions about the difficulty – payment was always directly proportional to the trouble involved.

“How about you, Mr. Stockton?”

Bernard grinned and lay back on his chair, extending his legs.

“These gentlemen had summarized what we were all thinking. Quite a substantial return for one, possibly two, targets. You’ve got my team, though I keep on wondering what’s the catch?” answered Bernard.

Ralph first stared at the three and then at their host. Bernard could see the man was conflicted over being offered such a tempting job with so little advance information. He did note that, at least, Ralph had the common sense to be careful about accepting it. Yet it also indicated that the man had little or no experience in wet work and covert intel operations. A mere bounty hunter, Bernard concluded. Finally, the veteran saw Ralph nod his head and agree to take on the task. The bounty and its terms were clearly a lot more generous than any he had ever been offered in his entire life.

“I’ll give you ten minutes to go over the information in the folders. Unfortunately, you can’t take them with you,” announced the speaker. “Remember, you can still withdraw now before those files are opened and examined.”

The four didn’t listen anymore. They had committed themselves and their teams. By the time the three had reached for the files on the table, Ralph had already opened his folder and had quickly skimmed through it.

“Shit!” shouted Ralph. An exclamation which made the three at the rear of the room stop looking through the files. The trio had barely started. Ralph had already stood up and was facing the speaker.

“What kind of fucking freak is this? Inhuman strength, extremely fast reflexes, incredible speed, can see at night? What I only don’t find here is that the bastard can fly!”

“Second thoughts, Mr. Delmore? I told you this task involves human genetic engineering. A serious conflict of business interests. Of course, our competitors would also be in the same line of business,” said their host calmly.

“Of course, I have second thoughts! You need a safari hunt for this kind of job! Maybe even a fucking army! Fuck this, I’m leaving,” exclaimed Ralph. The man turned to the trio. “Good luck getting him. With military training and experience to boot? Fat chance!”

As Ralph turned to leave, he found his way barred by one of the guards. Fury immediately erupted in Ralph’s face, and he glanced at his erstwhile employer.

“What the hell is this?” shouted Ralph.

“I did tell you that once the folders are opened, there’s no turning back. A n’est-ce pas issue, my friend. Are you in or out? Simple really. And it seemed you have made the decision earlier,” said the speaker who now held out his left arm towards the others, palm out, gesturing at them not to get involved.

Ralph made a move to push the guard aside. Immediately after his hand touched the suited man’s shoulder, bedlam erupted. Before Bernard’s horrified eyes, the guard quickly transformed into a humanoid wolf, and even as the change was halfway through, the fanged and hairy head opened wide and bit off Ralph’s head. As the body fell into the floor, two of the guards were already moving to pick it up. Their new employer looked at the three shocked individuals, folders still open in their hands.

“A weapon prototype which survived,” their host explained with a smile. “I trust you wouldn’t, as we say back in the old world, etre dans la galere, or as you Americans so ineloquently put it, get yourself in the same mess. Oh, there will be competition. As I said, other corporations are extremely and dangerously interested. Feel free to eliminate whoever is in your way.”

What in the nine hells have I gotten myself into? thought Bernard as he turned his attention back to the folder in his hands. As he turned the cover page of the file, a grainy photograph greeted him. Only part of the right side of the figure’s face could be seen, but Bernard knew that silhouette well.

Jake?

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