Aamedeus Fence had always been first in line in his kindergarten class, and he never forgot this sense of superiority. Always first, his father drilled into him. From kindergarten, to elementary, to higher learning, and his apprenticeship.

“Always first,” he mumbled to himself between panting breaths. Mumbled to himself, and the fresh corpse in his office.

Those two words were so attached to his psyche that he had to say them to keep his sanity. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost his mind. He looked down at his murder victim and scoffed. The corpse had been looking out for number one when he came into Fence's office after hours. Tried to blackmail him with autopsy reports. Of course when two number ones come into conflict, one simply has to subtract the other.

Fence was sweating from the exertion, the old doctor barber had been a lot stronger than he seemed. He took out the whiskey from his desk. Alcohol wouldn’t quench his thirst, but it would calm his nerves.

“Sloppy,” came a voice from the window.

Fence nearly choked on his whiskey. It was his…intern, as he liked to think of them. The assassin strode over the doctor’s body and plunked down into the guest chair.

“Why even have me on retainer if you’re just going to do my job for me? Doesn’t feel professionally fair.”

They were covered from head to toe in black, with a mask and matching hood that made their face unreadable. Fence had long figured out who was beneath all those layers of black leather and morbid sarcasm. But once you knew an assassin’s identity, you magically transformed into a loose end.

“It was a spur of the moment thing,” he murmured through his drink.

“Clearly,” said the shadow. “Good thing it was the doctor, otherwise people would start asking why he had a Dovici belt shaped bruise on his neck.”

Fence cursed himself for his expensive tastes. He swallowed his whiskey and said, “I do have other tasks for you.”

“Those wizards asking for the will I presume?”

“How did you-?” Fence stopped himself from asking the obvious. Of course they knew already, it was their job to know, which made him angry because it was his job to know first.

“You burned it?” he asked

“To the last rune,” they said.

“And it wasn’t trapped or anything? No curses or secret letters revealed by fire?”

“Not even a flash of multicolored light.”

Fence stared into the assassin’s lack of a face. He had a hard time picturing that the person he knew was just below who could quip so nonchalantly.

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“Yes, those wizards, but not before you clean this up,” he gestured to the body.

“Not exactly my area of expertise, but I’’l cut you a deal. Do you want the ‘clearly explainable accident’ package, or the ‘I want to send a message’ deal?”

“T-The first one!” he sputtered. “How can you possibly be so casual with murder?!”

“I don’t know,” shrugged the assassin. “You tell me,” they said, waving a gloved hand towards the doctor.

Fence walked right into that one. “Just deal with it!” he ordered.

The assassin picked up the body with what seemed to be little difficulty. This made him question if who he suspected really was under there. No matter, he thought, best to keep his distance either way.

The assassin was just about to ease the doctor out of the window when Fence turned to them.

“Wait,” he asked. The assassin turned slightly. “How did you manage to make the whole Cornsilk thing look like a heart attack?”

They chuckled and spoke in a mock dangerous voice, “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” With that, the assassin and corpse disappeared into darkness.

Fence massaged his temples. If this assassin could make any death look like a heart attack, he’d have to watch everything.

He sat in his office for a while, nursing his whiskey and puzzling over his options. Master would not like these interlopers, much less this assassin who seemed to be a bit too savvy. He felt his back grow hot. It was getting uncomfortably easy to summon the master, now just thinking about him made the coal in his fireplace spontaneously ignite.

“Master, I did not expect you at this hour,” said Fence, face hot with the growing heat.

The flames licked at the stones. “Keep thy voice quiet, fool. Even now the assassin listens at thy window.”

Fence whirled towards his window. He couldn’t see anything but darkness, and that’s what worried him.

“I could deal with the assassin, my lord,” he whispered to the fire. “I know who-”

“No.”

“But my lord-”

“No. I sense that the assassin still has a part to play. And thou, Aamedeus Fence, First before First, have thine own part. Keep to the course, all is as it should be.”

“Yes, lord.”

The flames were quiet for a while.

“You may speak one thing out loud,” said the voice.

“Anything my lord.”

“Speak my name, let the assassin know who exactly they are dealing with.”

Fence smiled at that. You could only trust your interns as much as they feared you.

“Yes, Lord Muudrach,” said Fence, clearly and proudly.

So that was the kind of patron he was, thought the assassin as they perched next to the window. The kind who heard voices in their heads telling them about a ‘greater good and destiny and don’t you look like the perfect person to realize these plans’. That was alright, the assassin had dealt with patrons like him. Though they made a mental note to start packing their bags. It was only a matter of time before some idiot with a magic sword heroically kicked down the door. And they didn’t want to be mistaken for a sub-boss.

They made their way quietly to the ground next to the doctor’s well hidden body. For now, they had a job to do. They picked up an old board from a trash heap.

“Sorry doc,” the assassin apologized. You didn’t really have to apologize to a dead body, but manners maketh murderer and all that.

They slammed the board into his body, making sure the corners left deep welts. They hauled him onto their shoulders and took off.

As they stuck to the shadows as much as possible, some questions boiled to the top of their mind. Why did the name Muudrach sound so familiar? When was the perfect time to break things off with your partner in crime? And where would they find women’s shoes at this hour?