It had been years since Rubin had spent time alone in his childhood home. Memories of the first time his parents had let him stay home alone danced around in his mind as he walked along the upstairs hallway, a box of wooden blocks in his hands, Nigel’s old colored pencils scattered throughout them. When he reached the top of the stairs he stopped and listened closely to the familiar emptiness of the house. The silence used to create haunting thoughts of criminals peering through windows or sneaking through an unlocked door in his naive little mind. Now, it was nothing more than a disheartening sign of loneliness and betrayal; mistakes.
Across from the staircase, high up on the wall, was a window that his mother never bothered to put blinds on. She claimed it was because a tree stood directly in front of it, its branches hiding the window from the outside world. But Rubin and Nigel always suspected it was too much of a task for her to climb up high enough to cover them. The window was the type of detail that slowly fades into the background of an environment a person knows too well to study closely. But as he stood there, staring at the swaying branches outside, he saw something staring back; a figure dressed in black, blending in with the darkness around it. It didn’t move a muscle as it stared at Rubin intently, seemingly gauging if its prey may run in fear. That, or hoping that Rubin didn’t actually notice the onlooker. There was a noise above him. In the attic. Soft and quiet. Well timed. To someone less fiendish than Rubin, it may seem innocent, but he knew it was coordinated with the ongoing staredown. When he looked back out the window, the figure was gone. He turned his head slowly to check the hallway for others, looking in his peripheral as best he could. Nothing. No one. Silence everywhere.
His weight brought forth a creaking sound as he stepped onto the first stair. Another on the second. They were controlled sounds, like the slow drag of a bow’s hair across a violin’s untuned strings. There was a matching sound downstairs. Near the living room. Has Ace returned? He thought not. He positioned the box of blocks in one arm and took one with his free hand. The grainy texture of the wood was all too familiar. Years of helping his father on various projects, poorly crafted projects, had left him quite used to the feeling of wood. He tossed the block down the stairs to frighten any intruders, hoping they’d run like skittish cats. It bounced and tumbled all the way down, clanging and banging loudly until it came to a stop. No one reacted. Professionals then.
At the bottom of the stairs, Rubin found himself alone. No signs of intrusion anywhere. However, as he walked down the hallway on his way back to the dining room a movement behind him made him stop in his tracks. Calmly, he said, “I’m going to go about my evening as planned. When you’re ready to show yourself, please join me in the dining room.” There was no answer. He proceeded with caution.
The corpses of his dinner guests remain motionless and bloody where he had left them. He paid them little attention as he walked toward the adjacent living room, noticing little more than the large oblong rug lying on the floor in the middle of the room. The rug he loved to play with these exact blocks on after dinner so regularly. He sat the box at his feet, the muscles in his calves straining as he bent. His hairy toes and feet sent a wave of embarrassment through him that he would not have felt if not for these uninvited guests lurking in the shadows. He glanced into the dining room and let out a relatable sigh at the sight of the corpses coping with their own unexpected predicaments. A figure dressed in black was crouching by one of the bodies, checking for a pulse. The featureless black mask of a tactical suit stared at Rubin like a mannequin in a dress store. There was no exchange of words. No panic from either party, just a shared understanding that when both were ready, one of their lives may end.
Rubin turned his focus back to the box of blocks. He groaned from just barely tolerable agony as he lowered himself to his knees, then to his ass, his legs folding across one another like they used to when he would sit on the floor at school. Before dumping the box of blocks out, he searched them for a very specific colored pencil. Sky blue. The blocks tumbled across the floor loudly. He looked up quickly to see if he had startled his friend in black. No one was there. No one but his dead family. He half-expected his mother to scold him for making such a ruckus. Nothing. Relief washed over him.
The shapes and sizes of the blocks varied minimally, but there was enough distinction for him to find four unique blocks and stand them side by side in a small huddle. He named them as he did so. “Father,” he said as he stood the tallest block upright. “Then mother.” He found the slimmest block he could and smiled, knowing she would appreciate that. He looked at the dead blonde in the dining room and held up the block. “Skinny. Like you, ma.” He smiled again. It was easier not to look like a crazed fool now that he was alone. Well, mostly alone. His smile faded when there was no response from the other room. A hint of regret built in his chest and behind his eyes. He turned back to the blocks quickly. “You’ll go here. By father.” He imagined his wooden parents holding hands like they would on the banks of the lake the family would visit outside of town.
Then Nigel. Angry Nigel. He found a block that was slightly shorter than his father’s but taller than his mother’s. He took the sky blue colored pencil and began drawing his brother’s distinctly beautiful eyes. When he was done he smiled. Briefly. Then frowned. Then scowled. His brother’s eyes weren’t so light blue and beautiful. Beautiful as any eyes he’d ever seen, yes. But not this beautiful. Damn you, Nigel! Why?! Why, dammit?! He squeezed the block tightly in anger then threw it toward the dining room where it smashed into a wall before hitting the ground hard. It came to a stop, lying flat like a dead man. “Yes, die,” Rubin whispered. “Like you always do.” Even he found confusion crawling around in his mind as he heard his own words. It was shooed away quickly by a sudden concern for what he was hearing; soft footsteps moving across the dining room.
A black figure appeared again. It picked up the block and rolled it around in its fingers. Then turned to Rubin. “Rubin,” said the figure. Its voice sounded male but it was hard to tell due to the odd alterations being made to it as it crawled its way through the black mask. Rubin didn’t speak. He simply pulled the knife from his pants. “It’s time to go, Rubin.” It glanced at the knife. “No need for that. We’re just doing our jobs.”
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Rubin could now tell that he had seen the all-black tactical suit before. Several times, in fact. Three layered metal pads down the front like scales on a reptile, armored sleeves made of flexible OnuTech, a utility belt strapped to the nines with gadgets and weapons, black OnuTech pants made for protecting lower-body extremities from any sort of damage, and a helmet with a pitch-black visor. On the side of the helmet was a name, Alpha Dog, painted in silver, printed perfectly as if done by a masterful artist. The Tacticians. Haven’t seen these lads in a bit. “What are you four doing here?” he asked.
The Tacticians were a small group of mercenaries that did anything for anyone as long as there was a payday to be had. Rubin had encountered more imposing combatants in his time, but these men were nothing to scoff at. Truthfully though, if they were here, it meant anything but death for Rubin.
The figure reached for his utility belt. “Your presence has been requested elsewhere. We’re here to deliver you to your suitor. Safely. Unharmed.” He emphasized that part. “You know how it goes.”
Rubin rolled his eyes. “I do.” Not a day went by when someone didn’t demand he be somewhere other than where he wanted to be. “Who is this time?”
Alpha Dog stepped forward. A pair of energy restraints in his hand, extended as if Rubin intended to go quietly. Even if he wanted to go with the mercenaries, he would never go quietly. Not when his captors were being paid to deliver him somewhere alive. That gave him a huge leg up in any confrontation. He glanced at the knife. Its red blade began to glow. Rubin thought long and hard about what the knife had to say. No. Not even these scumbags deserve that fate. He tucked it back into the waistline of his pants and looked at the mercenary silently, listening for any signs of where the other three Tacticians may be located in the house. Nothing. He shrugged. Then took off, straight at Alpha Dog.
The mercenary steadied himself briefly then launched his weight at Rubin. They caught one another’s arms like two wrestlers grappling for the upperhand. Rubin knew better than to punch or kick the armor-clad tactical suit. He had seen impressives feats accomplished by the suits in past encounters. Instead, he did everything he could to get his hands on one or more of the gadgets on the man’s belt. He tried tipping the mercenary over by bending at the waist, growling like a wild animal as he did. When the other man didn’t move, Rubin yanked his arms away hard. Only one came free. The Tactician made a fist, raised it high, swung. Rubin stopped the punch with an open palm. Winced in pain. Squeezed tight, scraping his long fingernails against the metal plate that covered the other man’s hand. Their interlocked hands waved above their heads now. Out of control. Violently. Like some poorly choreographed dance. More growling and cursing from both.
“No one wants to hurt you, Rubin. Just come with us peacefully.” Alpha Dog spoke in short, choppy fragments as they struggled.
“I have things to do here.” Rubin let go of Alpha Dog’s fist, unwillingly. Simultaneously, he yanked his other arm free. For a second, he considered surrendering. You know you enjoy meeting with people once you’re there. Just let them have you. He turned to run but the mercenary was too quick. His arms wrapped around Rubin’s waist and they went down in a frenzied heap. They rolled around, jockeying for the dominant position. Rubin ended up on his back, Alpha Dog had mounted him.
Rubin’s hand was sliding beneath his back, reaching for the knife, when it was pinned to the floor firmly by a stronger one. He swung his other fist, his knuckles collided with the rock-solid helmet. He screamed in pain and anger, calling the mercenary every name he could think of. “You fucking cunts better not hurt my friends. I’ll-” A second set of hands grabbed Rubin’s throbbing hand and locked an energy restraint about his wrist. The blue energy shrank instantly to fit him. His whole body was convulsing and squirming now.
“Rubin. Rubin!” Alpha Dog screamed. “We have no interest in your friends. We’re simply delivering you to Martalou.” Chief Martalou. I’ve been needing to speak with that bastard.
Rubin stopped squirming. Looked at the emotionless mask staring down at him. “Martalou?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Rubin let his arms go limp.
“You didn’t give me a chance, now did you?”
“Must we use the cuffs?” Rubin asked. Alpha Dog cocked his head to the side. Rubin brought his hands closer together. He looked at the other mercenary positioned by his head. “You know, the local talent charges quite a bit to play with restraints. You could be making your money in a far less risky fashion. A pleasurable one.” This brought a chuckle from the two Tacticians standing across the room that had not engaged with Rubin’s antics.
He was on his feet and being escorted out the back door of the house moments later. The night was breezy and cool. The neighborhood was mostly quiet, just the sound of leaves rustling in the wind gave the environment its life. The surrounding houses were nothing more than shadowy silhouettes, their lights turned off hours before. An armored truck like those used to transport large sums of cash sat in the back driveway. The only difference was that this truck was unmarked and the windows were tinted a dark black. Alpha Dog walked a few steps ahead of the rest of them. Another mercenary with the name Charlie 1 2 on his helmet pushed Rubin along gently with his hand on the small of the captive’s back. The gender of the other mercenaries was disguised beneath the black tactical suits but Charlie 1 2’s build was simply too large for a female physique. At least not in any woman Rubin had ever seen.
Alpha Dog went straight to the driver’s side door and knocked on the tinted window. Charlie 1 2 led Rubin and the others to the back of the armored truck where a mercenary named Bravo X opened the back door cautiously, glancing inside carefully, then at the world around them. The inside of the truck was simple and unimpressive. Uncomfortable metal benches protruded from either side. Nothing more, nothing less.
Once Rubin was seated he said, “I must say fellas, it seems you’re going to incredible lengths to accomplish this task professionally.”
The last merc, Delta Ray, said, “Can’t take any chances with you. You’re a wanted man.” Oddly, all Rubin felt was flattery. He was still giggling to himself quietly when Alpha Dog climbed into the truck and slammed the door shut. The engine started and created a rhythmic vibration on Rubin’s ass as the truck was set in motion.