Helena Beaudoin didn’t know where Thomas was. After realizing that Thomas’s arrest would mean an almost definitive spilling of the beans about her identity and operation, she had a challenging choice to make. She also knew that Thomas had lied about killing Robert Engels and that he hadn’t met anybody else there who could identify him. While she knew that Thomas was ultimately an incompetent employee, she wasn’t sure if she had the stomach to kill him, despite it being what she needed to do. Helena sat at the mahogany desk in her office, a long darkly coloured hallway that led from a doorway towards her desk. She had decided that this particular arrangement would be the most dramatic when it came to speaking with clients and employees, and the many animal skins that decorated the walk of shame towards her dimly lit desk reflected this theme of intimidation.

Helena needed loyalty. She needed people who she could count on—people who wouldn’t betray her or lie to her. There were things she needed to protect. Things that people would take if they knew what she knew about. She opened her Unit and examined a photograph. Helena was a short, dark-skinned woman in her early fifties. Except she looked as though she had aged beyond her years. In the photo she was looking at, she was in her forties, only the wear and tear of age hadn’t affected her face as much as it did now. She was smiling brightly and had her arms wrapped around two children. One was smaller and being lifted up by a tall, pale man—her ex-husband—while the other was at her side, looking about eight and fifteen respectively. Helena looked at another photograph. In this one, she wasn’t the subject. Instead, the photo was of her older son, grown up with short buzzed hair that made him look like a man. He was standing next to a man slightly taller than him but the same age. He had dark purple bags under his eyes, but he carried a smile on his face. His hair had flown down in five points over his face. Only one of them was still alive today, and she had ordered him to be put to death.

Celine Krokodil walked into Helena’s office. “You wanted to see me, Helena?” she asked, stepping inside, beginning the long walk to her desk before standing in front of it.

“Please, sit,” she said, motioning to the chair in front of her. Celine did. “Let’s cut to the chase: is Thomas Finn alive or dead?”

“I’m not sure,” Celine answered. “He and one of his friends managed to briefly kill me until my sisters arrived a few minutes later. But they were gone when I woke up. Personally, I think he survived. But I’ve seen no confirmation of it.”

“I went to his apartment yesterday. He wasn’t there, and I’m guessing he hasn’t returned there since. Celine I’d like you to call off your search for Thomas. As far as I’m concerned, killing him is no longer necessary. You’ll receive payment soon.”

“Oh, I’m afraid we aren’t done searching for him.”

Helena paused. “I beg your pardon?”

Celine stood up. “Under my partnership with you, I will cease my attempt to assassinate Thomas Finn. However, killing him is now of interest to the Krokodil Crime Family. And we’ll see that goal to the end.”

“You’re making a mistake. I’ve seen what Thomas is capable of.”

“Oh, as I have I, and trust me when I say I’m unperturbed.”

A young boy, about fourteen years old, peeked his head in through the door. “Mom, can you sign my report card for school? I got straight As!” he shouted, waving a piece of paper in the air. “Oh, you’re in a meeting. I’ll come back later. Why do they still use paper for these anyways?” he said, walking away.

“Straight As, huh?” Celine smiled, looking at the space where Helena’s son was standing. She leaned in towards Helena. “Don’t forget who we are, Helena Beaudoin. And don’t forget that we have the power to end all of this. Is that why you do this? To protect him from what happened to your first son?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“That’s enough.” Celine leaned back. Thomas had a loud mouth, which was something she knew all too well. She had sent for his death only because she needed to protect herself and her family. It wasn’t a decision she took lightly, but it was one she needed to make. But now Thomas was out of her hair, and he hadn’t ruined her life yet. She didn’t need him dead, and so she didn’t want him dead either. “What if he could be of use to you?”

Celine paused. “How could he be of use to us?”

“He has a problem with secrecy and the more . . . ethically ambiguous aspects of the job. But he’s talented, and if there’s somebody evil you need killed, he can do it easily. I seem to recall he did a rather effective job against you?” Helena smirked slightly at her wit.

Celine scowled. “I will consider this possibility. But don’t misattribute my consideration for generosity,” Celine said, turning to walk away. “Straight As, hmm, Helena? I’d hate to see that intelligence go to waste.”

* * *

Thomas had been staying at Blair’s apartment for the past week or so. He had suspected the Krokodil Crime Family knew where he lived, and so he had been in hiding at Blair’s, staying indoors and avoiding public transit as much as possible. Aside from the occasional indulgence in the form of a “date with Dominic”. Thomas was mainly relegated to spending his days watching movies and drinking Chorus, reliving the occasional memory with his parents while Blair was out at work as an electrician. “Did you bring me my drugs?” Thomas asked, sitting under a blanket and petting a cat as Blair came in the door carrying bags of groceries.

“Where’s Piotr?” Blair asked as she stepped inside.

“Said he had some stuff to do on the outside. He might be going to see his child, but I don’t know for sure. Did you bring me my drugs?”

“No, I didn’t bring you your drugs. I’m not your dealer,” Blair responded, exasperated, as she placed the groceries, which consisted of mostly cat food, on the kitchen table.

“But you got your cats’ food!”

“Yeah, they’re cats, they can’t go shopping!”

“I can’t go shopping either! Don’t forget I lost like almost all of my blood. I’m still recovering. And I have a murderous crime family hunting me down! Your cats don’t have those problems!”

“Fair point. But do you really need Chorus?”

“Yeah, I just ran out.”

“No, in your life. It seems like it hasn’t been affecting you very well. What do you even remember with it?”

“My parents, mostly. Sometimes I’ll remember a really good battle I had or a date I went on. Maybe winning a competition. It depends on my mood.”

“Can’t you just . . . I don’t know . . . remember?”

“Chorus hurts your ability to recall the events you use it to remember. So, no, I can’t. I mean I still have a lot of memories of my parents and another person, but there are some things now that I need Chorus to remember.”

“This seems like another point in the ‘stop doing drugs’ column. I’m not judging. It’s a cool substance and it isn’t physically harmful, but it’s not healthy either.”

“Agree to disagree,” Thomas answered, returning to petting the cat in front of him. Well, she has a point. It is starting to affect me. It’s all I’ve done for the past few days. But it’s not that bad, is it? Thomas pondered.

“So, Thomas, I’m willing to help you take down the Krokodil Crime Family. But if I’m going to be working with you, there are some things I need to know,” Blair said, sitting down in a tacky leather chair that was also covered in cat fur. “Are you an assassin?”

Thomas stopped petting. “I . . .” He had to be very careful about what he said. Blair had a very defined sense of morality, and phrasing his life in a way that was confined to that would be an important part of their friendship. “. . . was. I was. After Engels, I started to feel worse about my occupation. Actually, I’ve felt worse since I started doing it a year ago. The past few days have firmly cemented that this isn’t the career for me. Meeting you and Piotr, I think that’s part of what changed my mind. And I thank you for that.”

“If you didn’t like doing it, why’d you start in the first place?”

“Um . . . that’s . . . confidential. I started having bad financial troubles, and I was offered a job with good hours and enough pay to survive. And I’d been a vigilante since before then, but something happened that made that unviable, and from there, I saw being a hitman as the next best thing.”

Blair seemed satisfied with that. “It sounds like something traumatic happened to you. It’s okay if you can’t talk about it, but like it or not now, Thomas . . .” Blair stood up and extended a hand to Thomas. Thomas shook it with minor hesitation. “We’re friends now. And you can count on me.” Blair smiled, walking away to finish unpacking the groceries.

Thomas couldn’t help but smile at the concept of having friends again. The past year had been deeply lonely, for more reasons than one. And it was nice being out of that rut, that deep, dark pit that just a few weeks ago he felt trapped in.

“Also, Thomas . . .”

“Yeah?”

“We’re friends, but I’m not made of money. You’re going to need to get a job if you want to keep living here.”

After that ultimatum was dropped on Thomas, the two got to discussing plans to advance their war on the Krokodil Crime Family. They owned a club in the lower part of the city—The Snapping Jaws, it was called. Blair and Thomas were going to investigate it that night, dressed in fancy disguises and posing as alter egos “Renzo North and Maud Dixon”. Blair wasn’t entirely confident about their plan, since it hinged on Thomas being an intelligent liar, but she didn’t see another way to get inside. Thomas thought that the best idea was to “just fuck ’em up,” but Blair was unconvinced and decided that gathering a steady stream of intel across multiple weeks and then disrupting their organization with well-placed sabotage would be a more effective strategy. Thomas thought Blair was just trying to delay the job’s completion so she could get more rent out of him. But regardless, the plan was set in stone.