When Daniels gave details about this mission, he described Persona as the agent of a thousand faces, accenting her skill in disguise and a barrier even I didn't precisely crack. As I see her work, though, I realize it's not their acting which garnered their elusive title. Instead, it was a misdirection, just like how I hid my presence and threw people's attention. Persona only gives you the image you want to see, even if the image gets crafted by other people.

Using his connections, I saw Persona pull the strings of an entire city in real-time with the dexterity and precision of a puppeteer. A rogue rumor from a snitch in disguise, a crazy theory from a loud enough crackpot, and every gang underneath the Messenger's boot soon figured out about a grand treaty happening after hours in a soup kitchen.

When I walked in and prepared for my grand entrance, I couldn't help but see that every word from Daniel's and Persona's reports rang true through here. The entire kitchen, alongside every building around it, looked as hollowed out as a corpse. Each looked like they were barely hanging on by a thread as cracked windows, busted walls, and frayed wiring were their only "decorations." Which made me all angrier as I saw little by little every horrid "sod," "wanker" and "tosser" trickle into the complex. Unfortunately, our great success started turning sour as tension rose.

"Oi, who's the barmy twit who gathered us all here?!" said a man in a neon green tracksuit.

"Eh, don't play coy with me, arsehole, Don't act all innocent when we all know you're the one who set this up. Like how you Southside bums ratted us out for the Messenger to find us. You want to try and finish what he started?" said another man with gold teeth.

From there, whatever peaceful discussion faded away at a rumbling quake of dissonant insults. Once pistols started getting cocked, Persona finally decided to make her appearance.

"Останавливаться! Pointing fingers at each other will do you no good. Not when I called you here."

In an instant, the entire room shifted, the men's horrid looks serving as all the spotlight Persona needed as they showed off their full garb. Her expert use of makeup made her already light skin now look more pale and frigid, contrasting perfectly with the gold rings on her middle and index fingers. Their rose gold earring seemed to bob well beneath the shoulder-length blonde wig and pink tips.

Combined all with the icy white fur coat and hazel contacts, Persona screamed money, respect, and attention—something which the gang members instantly challenged. The insults from before now devolved into harsh whispers as the tracksuited man decided to speak for them.

"And you are?"

"Angelina Golubev. Professional businesswoman for people of our respective "ilk," including a former associate who seems to be a current thorn in all our sides," she said with a Russian accent sharpened to perfection.

Angered murmurs broke out again, quickly broke out, each holding their own story with the Messenger as Goldteeth spoke out in aggression again.

"Sorry, lass, but if you seriously think I'm going to play ring around a Rosie with these posers, then you're as deluded as they come," he said while walking away.

A mistake that might as well have been fatal as Persona reeled in her bait.

"Good, 'cause I'm not asking you to," she said as the bass in her voice dropped harder than a grenade, "In fact, it wouldn't even surprise me if you all went back to slaughtering each other after his whole mess was over. Dragging you all here was merely an old Bratva courtesy while I offer you an equalizer. Something far better than any weapon."

Like any good storyteller, whatever resistance was stamped out like a smoldered campfire as they hung on Persona's every word. Her diction was powerful, potent, and most of all, charismatic as she played the group of gangsters like a fiddler. They murmured amongst themselves, trying their best to hide peaking desperation as malformed theories pilfered around them.

"What is it then?"

"Bet it's an RPG."

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"You freaking knob, she just said it wasn't a weapon. Probably got an army or something."

"Psh, you need one to deal with that right prick, Messenger."

Once Angelina let them have their fun, she brought back the crowd as I started to stretch my limber limbs.

"When I was a girl, my grandmother told me it was best to играть в огонь с огнем. Play fire with fire. Me though? I always played to win through a hotter flame, so I'm offering a former associate of mine. A woman whose name strikes fear in every triad in China. The ghost who painted Beijing in Black. An urban legend known throughout the Underworld: The Paladin."

Using cat-like grace, I descended from on high like a raindrop. Through my red contacts, I gave a glare that froze out any conversation, pulling in every piece of goodwill Angelina generated for me. Then, matching my razor-sharp stance, Angelina scanned the crowd, still keeping their attention.

"For a selected price, not only do I offer you the Paladin's protection, but also retribution. So great that it'll have this Messenger's head for all to see."

Another storm of conversations took place, genuinely considering the offer while the naysayers grew stronger, till Tracksuit decided to speak out for them.

"You expect us to put our stock in some overblown Loch Ness. I'm not trusting some myth. "

Before he even got another word out, I blitzed the poor man, getting right up in his face and saying.

"Oh, trust me, I'm the real deal, and if you gangsters want proof, then all you need to do is give me a name. And I'll have them here when night falls again, kicking and screaming."

After I shook the tree hard enough, I got a name: Kinsely Jones, a greedy pig which practically gift-wrapped himself in Messenger's criminal empire. As soon as the ball started rolling, Kinsely Jones immediately let the wealth get to his head as he spent his ill-gotten gains on his nightclub. A place seemingly serves as a hub/rest stop for their entire operation.

Persona's other Sleeper operatives have tried their best to influence more police intervention, but under Messenger's rule, they've been stop gapped by bribes, legal jargon, and potential blackmail. Leaving it to "us" to finally put them in the light and uphold "our" promise to the other gangs.

Compared to the damn near the urban graveyard of the soup kitchen earlier, the nightclub felt like a gaudy neon hellscape of thrown-together colors. Before entering, I felt the pulsating 808s rumble beneath my feet like a tremor. Despite my utter hatred for the sensory deprivation, though, it did serve its unique purpose as I slipped in without issue amongst the dozens of bodyguards and dancers.

Even for my expertise, an operation like this would generally be a pain, but with Persona's resources, I swam through the dizzying rave like it was a lake. He did account for everything. Whether he was finally meshing with me or I was with him remained to be seen as he watched from on high like a bird of prey, clad in silver starched shorts and a white leopard shirt, as I called Wiz, while continuing to my target.

"Wiz, have all the smoke bombs been set?"

"Yeap, everything is online and ready to go, Paladin."

Persona then interjected.

"If they work half as well as these tranq darts, then we should be in for a show. We cleared out this place between you and Sarah in record time."

"Oh, thank you, Persona; it's a pleasure working with you."

"Same here. You've got three minutes to rendezvous before the guards check in with each other."

"I only need one," I say as I enter the nightclub's center.

Kinsely's rap sheet was already bad enough to make my skin crawl. But, knowing he spent his nights indulging in a place he calls his "Pleasure Palace" made me want it to ignite. Brought back too many bad memories. As I approached the bodyguard, I tried hiding my armaments and rage through the large trench coat. Then, with an almost robotic position, he stated.

"Password?"

Through a faux smile, I tried putting up the most fake Valley girl accent possible.

"Um, let me think."

Persona then once again tinkered through my ear.

"Jack's Gambit."

"Jack's Gambit," I say with apparent certainty.

The exact amount of apathy coated the guard's frame as he let me go like a leaf in the wind. Part of the old me couldn't help but resurface, wishing to tear the man apart as I entered the Pleasure Palace's tinted glass dome. The technicolor nightmare from outside got replaced with a more moody color palette amidst a luxurious lobby.

Everyone there was some form of high or drunk as Kinsley, other associates, and bodyguards enjoyed their 5-on-1 harem of gals and girls in undress. Despite their smiles and the horrid cash that littered the crusted-over rug, I knew they were strained. I was all too familiar with how touched-up bruises look. Still, I kept on going as I happened upon my target.

If Stan was a pig in sheep's clothing, then Kinsley was an eel-given human skin. He was a tall but incredibly lanky man with dark freckles and a curly afro dyed dark blue. His sickening smile made every muscle of mine fold like origami as he finally took his arms off the twin girls he fondled to address me.

"My, my, I haven't seen you around here before. You must be new."

"I guess you can say that."

"Well then, if that's the case, you must be an ambitious little thing, coming over to see the King like this."

The wretched comment alone nearly made me break his jaw, but I kept the role going.

"I guess you can say that as well."

"Well, if that's the case, then. By all means. Show me what you got."

I then broke out into a sadistic smile of my own.

"Gladly."

Like the quickdraw of a pistol, I exploded out of my trench coat, revealing my whole arsenal as I roundhouse kicked him in the solar plexus. Kinsely spiraled out of his chair, huffing for breath. Every sex worker there immediately scurried away like panicked mice as Kinsely's other associates tried seizing me. But their movements were so slurred I picked them all off my revolver before any were the wiser.

The blaring music from outside was the perfect cover (especially when I put Wiz on the sound) as their horrid screams faded to the background and made sure every shot from me was nonlethal, though. I wanted to make sure they had a captive audience for this. The world crawled towards nanoseconds as I saw Kinsely realize his garden of Eden got dragged into Dante's Inferno.

Sweat seeped out his slippery and slicked-back skin as I put on my mask. Once I did, the neon lights grew darker, painting us both in shadow. I then got in his face, making sure he wouldn't dare misinterpret me while he squirmed underneath like a mouse under the dissection table where I started poking and prodding.

"I've got a little letter to send to your Messenger. Tell him that there's a new queen in town: The Paladin. And she's here to take his crown, even if I have to bring down his empire to do it."

I then gave Wiz's signal, bursting forth thick clouds of smoke. The whole nightclub descended into chaos. Let's see the police try to ignore this. Because either way, London's underworld won't dare turn their backs against my declaration of war.