Match 2

#50 Nimia Altamirano

vs

#49 André “The Cop” Allard

As far as cafés went, Tous les Mêmes was a decent one. Open and inviting, placed on the corner of two well-maintained streets in a peaceful borough, the pale-green building had a very pleasant air to it.

Nimia could see why the 49 preferred it. Detective Allard seemed to make it a point to always buy from the pleasant place in the mornings and would often relax there in the afternoons. The ones he had off, of course.

She sat in the chair directly across from his, earning a raised eyebrow from the detective, a cup of coffee up to his lips.

Allard was a middle-aged man, a thick black mustache covering his upper lip while the hair on his head was visibly receding. He was wearing a dark blue jacket and matching pants, his buttoned up shirt as black as his shiny shoes.

“Can I help you?” He asked in a tone that implied he had no intention of helping her as he lowered his cup.

“In a sense. I’m the current fifty.”

To his credit, he didn’t bolt. To the civvies’ credit, those that heard immediately started vacating their tables and, in a show of impressive compassion, were kind enough to start whispering it around the shop.

Allard set his cup down on the table, glaring at her. “Bullshit.”

So maybe he wasn’t brave, just stupid. “Why’s that?”

He snorted. “Do you know who the current fifty is? Torakawa’s a hard and brutal bastard. Some random chit wouldn’t take him down, and I doubt you’re smart enough to know what that means for you if you try shit here.”

“Enlighten me.”

His brow furrowed, giving his eyes a dark cast. “You should know how the rankings work.”

“Explain it like I’m a toddler then.”

“Stop fucking around. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” But he didn’t stand.

“Sure, okay. Let me try then. When someone kills a person with a ranking, then that ranking transfers to them. Traditionally, the way to move up in the ranks is to gain a low number and work up from there. Some people do things different, but once you get to, say, fifty and above, the rule becomes more...ironclad.” She smiled. “A rando can’t kill the forty-nine. Not until they kill the fifty. Way I’ve heard it, fate, luck, something, actively conspires to ruin any attempt, and it has to be a real, valid, strong attempt. There are ways around it, but the people who can take that kinda way will go for the higher ranks.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Forty-nine is in a nice enough place where they get ignored by the truly strong and automatically survive the weak. Shame for you though.” Nimia tugged down the collar of her shirt, baring her 50.

Allard went stiff at the sight. “You don’t want to do this.”

“...Oh?”

“You...You understand I’m a detective, right? I’m law enforcement. Rest of the Lemuro Police-”

“Couldn’t do shit. I’m the Fifty. You’re the Forty-Nine. We know how this works.”

He swallowed, pale. “Please. Please, I didn’t–I never even wanted this!”

She raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that mean?”

He lifted his coffee to his lips and took another drink, then set it down and leaned back, sighing deep and heavy. “I didn’t want to join these damn rankings. It was...It was an accident!”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! I...I was on the job, and a suspect had just murdered a woman. Sadistic son of a bitch had made a hobby of it! I...I shot him, and that was that. But then this damn number showed up on my shoulder and suddenly I was in the damn game!”

“Serial, or contract?”

He blinked. “...What?”

“Was it a serial killing, like he was doing it out of some internal drive, or was it for money?”

“...Does it matter?”

“Should. You said it was his hobby?”

“Wh-Yes. Yes, of course it-What are you getting at?”

“I’m asking questions. I wanted to know a little about the previous forty-nine, if they were more...impressive.”

Allard glared at her, rhythmically tapping a finger on the table. “I don’t have to take this.”

“We both know you do, and we both know why you do. See, I can get if he was a serial killer. Maybe that’s what brought you to him. You’re a homicide detective, that’s the kind of person you go after. So you get there, wherever he was, you have an excuse, and you shoot him. By some fluke, some quirk of fate, it works, and boom, you’re the forty-nine.”

“I...It wasn’t a-I hadn’t planned-”

“No, see, I’m sure you did, because of the first fucking rule you goddamn dipshit. ‘An unranked can only enter the rankings by intentionally killing a ranked.’ No accidents. No slips. It has to be premeditated. You can maybe, just fucking maybe, join in a heat of the moment decision, but there has to be the intention to join. Intent matters.

“You made a choice to join the ranks, just like you’re making the choice to point your gun at my gut.”

Allard’s eyes widened. The dumbass thought she hadn’t noticed his hand under the table. She leaned back, and smirked. Her left hand rested on the inside of her jacket.

The barista at the counter was watching, nervous anticipation on her face behind the projected shield. Smart investment. Kept out bullets from would-be robbers and raiders. Or just two dumb bastards about to shoot each other.

A coffee maker beeped. Allard shot first. He had his finger on the trigger, he could shoot, and shoot he did even as Nimia drew her own pistol and fired thrice. Blood and brains painted the wall behind him, two in his forehead and one through his nose as he fell back.

50 -> 49

She smirked, and placed the semi-automatic back in its holster. She stood, patted herself down, and looked at the wall behind her. Four misses. Funny that.

Nimia gave the barista a jaunty salute and walked right out, whistling. She was making some good progress.