Chapter One - Hassan

If I had to choose a starting point for our story, it would be that day on a mountain deep in the southern reaches of Savoirrie—a quiet district tucked away in the southeastern region of Frankland, a place best known for its worm-infested cheese and bread as hard as stone. In other words, our story began in the middle of nowhere.

***

“Is the quality alright?” I asked my dear colleague.

“I… I think,” he replied leaning into the camera with a not so reassuring expression on his face.

“I think?” I echoed, walking over to his side. “How is that an answer?” Leaning in, I checked the camera. “The video isn't going to be taken in the dark. We’re under a midday sun. There is nothing we would need so much—you know what let me do this myself.” Annoyed, I decided to adjust the camera settings myself.

“You should've changed the contrast. The sun is right above us, dude.”

I was annoyed, but honestly, I also was fine with this. I always preferred doing things myself. But there’s just time in life where you’re forced to work with people.

“I want at least a decent quality for the people that will get this video. There you go. Now look,” I declared moving to the side for him to behold the sight.

“Ah, it looks clearer now,” my colleague commented, sounding genuinely impressed.

“See?”

“Yes,” he nodded, his height making him tower above me.

“Now all that's left is to hit 'record,' and we're good to go,” I said, starting the camera recording. “Perfect. Now we can finally get down to business.”

“You're really good at all that technology stuff, Hassan,” he suddenly complimented.

It was indeed a compliment, one I might have appreciated under different circumstances. But not today, not now, and definitely not in front of a rolling camera.

Through the eye-hole of the balaclava I was wearing, I locked my eyes with him.“Are you dense or something?” I barked, taking off my Balaclava. “The camera is already recording. Why did you use my real name?"

In that moment, from the expression seeping through the balaclava, the guy finally understood his mistake. “Sigh… seriously? Now we have to redo this,” I complained before leaning into the camera, deleting the previous recording.

“Sorry bro,” my colleague apologised, sounding once again very genuine, like he very often, making me wonder at times how this guy wound up in this particular line of work.

“You can save your apologies. And just so you know, it's not 'bro'.”

“Huh?”

“Did you forget everything about what we talked about? For this mission, I'm Pedsi, and you're Cola-Coco,” I reminded him, exasperated.

“Oh, right. My bad, Pedsi,” he stammered, finally remembering the briefing we had no earlier than 15 minutes ago.

I rolled my eyes, a small sigh escaping. “Yeah, yeah, just get it right this time.”

“I will. But I have to ask, why Pedsi and Cola-Coco?”

“Huh?”

“Why am I Cola-Coco and you're Pedsi, when I don't even like Cola-Coco, and as far as I'm aware, you don't like Pedsi? Or any canned-beverage.”

“I get that part, you didn’t have to voice your question differently for me. What I’m asking here is why are you even asking me that? Those are just code names I came up with on the spot.”

Ignoring what I just explained, he continued, sounding more thoughtful than usual, “I’ve been thinking about these code names, and I figured there’s probably only one way they make sense. Is it ‘Cola-Coco’ because I’m black? And ‘Pedsi’ because you’re white?”

“No,” I quickly denied, even though the truth was that it was because he was black “and” also had red permed hair.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I lied. “I swear to god.”

Cola-Coco gave me a skeptical look before saying, "So, you won't have a problem if I switch and become Pedsi, and you take on Cola-Coco?"

"Put your balaclava on," I instructed, securing mine. "I'm still Pedsi, and you're still Cola-Coco, unless you'd prefer Molester.”

“Can’t it be something else? Why does it have to always be a drink’s name?”

“It has to. That's the 'rule.'"

“Whose rule is that?” he questioned, nonetheless putting his hood on.

“My rules. And you know it bothers me when they’re changed for no good reason. Anyway, remember what we talked about? Try to change your voice a bit. It'll make editing easier for me. Okay? I'm starting the recording now. Let's not mess this up... 3, 2, 1, and we're rolling," I announced, racking my throat to make my voice deeper.

Cola-Coco still had reservations about his code name, but he followed me to what we were actually filming.

“Alright, folks, sorry for the delay. The cameras are rolling now, so let's get started,” I announced to the seven people we were filming. There were two women and five men, all on their knees, with their limbs tied and bags covering their heads.

With a signal from me, Cola Coco stepped forward and pulled the bag from the head of the first person in line. As the rough fabric was yanked away, they blinked rapidly, their eyes squeezing shut for a moment against the sudden onslaught of sunlight.

A few disoriented breaths passed before their vision adjusted—only then did true fear set in. Their gaze darted around frantically, taking in their surroundings, their predicament, and then us. A muffled cry strained against the cloth gag tightly secured around their mouth as they twisted against their restraints, but the muscles in their jaw, stiff from tension, allowed only the faintest whimper to escape.

Cola Coco moved methodically down the line, pulling the bags from each captive’s head one by one. Each time, the reaction was the same—a wince, a brief moment of disorientation as their eyes struggled to adjust to the harsh sunlight, then the creeping realization of their predicament. Terror and confusion played across their faces, their gazes darting from one another in silent desperation. Though gagged and unable to speak, their fear was unmistakable, conveyed in the frantic flicker of their eyes and the rigid tension in their bodies.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, once again, bonjour,” I began with my deepest voice, “I believe some of you might already know what's going on, why did we abduct you and why did we bring you here, but I know some of you are also very confused about everything so allow me to explain what’s going on.”

I reached out for my tablet, and began fiddling to open up a powerpoint presentation titled “Peace and Order.pptx.”

“Let's start from the beginning,” I stated, flipping to the first slide. “Two months back, Ferdinand Denouveau, a young, innocent—well, relatively innocent—guy, who happened to be the second son of Johan Denouveau died very tragically. Now, Johan? Who is he? You must wonder. Well, he's the top dog at Blackcrown, one of the most influential not-so underground organizations around in the southern provinces. Anyways, poor Ferdinand met his unfortunate end in a real fireworks show, compliments of an 'explosive accident.' But mind you, that 'accident' wasn't exactly accidental—it was all thanks to a certain Mister Sergei Gustav. And wouldn't you know it, Sergei is the leader of the Avian Vipers, making him one of the other big shots in this not-so-friendly sphere that Mister Johan belongs to.”

“I'm pretty sure you can connect the dots on what unfolded next. So, let's fast-forward past the nitty-gritty of who did what to whom and spare the dramatic details. Instead, I'll lay it out plain and simple: the aftermath of that intense two-month tango.”

“Civilians caught in the crossfire: 7. Lives lost in the Blackcrown ranks: 54. Avians Vipers: 47. Okay, sure, when spoken like that, it might not sound like much, but trust me, it's a small mountain of corpses that we've got here.”

“I'm here to prevent that pile of bodies from getting taller, so let me introduce ourselves. You can just call us Pedsi and Cola-Coco. I'm Pedsi, he's Cola-Coco. We wear many hats, but mostly we're folks who do the dirty work—hitting marks and chasing bounties, that sorta thing.”

“Now I’m sure now, knowing who we are and who you are, you most likely figured what’s going to happen next,” I quipped, setting my tablet aside and reaching for my handgun. "But just in case you missed the memo, let me lay it out for you. This time around, we aren't exactly the run-of-the-mill bounty hunters or mercenaries. Nah, we've taken up a rather special gig, best described as the living embodiment of the 'tit for tat' principle.”

“You see, the whole mafia war thing? It hit a point where both sides were realizing it's like trying to fit an elephant through a keyhole—just not working out. Yet, they couldn't quite shake hands and call it a day, 'cause one side felt they'd lost more than the other. And that's where we waltz in,” I continued with a grimace.

“We've been summoned, my friends, as something like the 'Equilibrium Enforcers' of the situation. Our task? To bring back that delicate balance that's been tossed into the wind. The war couldn't keep doing its thing without spiraling into a whole new level of chaos. So here we are, the referees of the grand showdown. Summoned to make sure everyone's singing the same tune again.”

“Now comes the interesting part," I continued, a sly smile curling on my lips. “This is where you all step into the spotlight. You might be wondering how you got picked for this peculiar dance. Well, let me tell you, we didn't just throw darts at a board or consult a crystal ball. No, no. Calculations were made—yes, thorough calculations.”

I paused for a moment, allowing the weight of the revelation to sink in. Their eyes darted around nervously, the tension in the air palpable. I was an asshole for that, even the “me” back then knew that.

“And these calculations,” I said, drawing out the suspense, “they revealed to me, in all their glorious mathiness, that the seven of you are the missing puzzle pieces. The crucial cogs in this intricate machinery that's going to bring both camps to an even ground.”

I could practically see their thoughts racing, trying to evade the obvious answer to the puzzle I was presenting to them. The unprecedented fear painted a vivid portrait on their faces.

With a sigh, I stepped forward, my fingers curling around the grip of my handgun. The cold metal pressed against my palm. “You see, sometimes, it's the cruelest choices that bring that so pursued thing that is peace.

I raised the handgun, its ominous click echoing in the room.

“I would like all seven of you to know. This isn't about revenge or glory; it's about ending the cycle.”

I aimed the gun at one, but didn’t squeeze the trigger, instead I held up my other hand, signaling for a moment's reprieve. “But I'm not without a sliver of humanity left in me. You've all got families, I imagine. People you care about. People who will wonder where you've gone.”My gaze shifted from one person to another; before offering, “so, I'm granting you a moment. A chance to have your say. Final words, if you will. I won't deny you that.”

I took a step back, giving them space and allowing them to think about what to say next. I gave them approximately three minutes.

These three minutes quickly passed prompting me to begin what Cola-Coco and I were there for.

After dealing with the most annoying part of that mission, I headed to the van to retrieve a chair and little table I set up for myself and my laptop. I quickly opened PhotoStall and began preparing for the third and final part of our operation after the abductions and the executions.

"What are you doing, Pedsi?" Cola-Coco asked.

"Editing our footage," I replied. "And you can call me by my name now if you want, Andy."

During their farewell, some of our stubborn hostages said things that shouldn't have been said. It amazed me how some people's logic worked. While some begged to be spared, which I could understand, others went as far as to beg to be avenged. It left me perplexed and made me question the sanity of some people.

Like seriously, you were screwed from the beginning, I could understand begging for one’s life but come on asking to be avenged, that’s like literally asking for things to get worse than they already are.

Like be a minimum mindful of others

Anyway, to avoid making the situation messier than it already was, editing the footage was essential before sending it to our clients.

As I was deeply engrossed in my video editing, Cola-Coco finished bagging the corpse and approached me with noticeable awkwardness in his demeanor.

"Hey, Hassan," Andy began tentatively, "are you used to this kind of mission?"

I didn't look up from my screen and replied with a nonchalant tone, "No."

Andy seemed surprised by this response. He glanced at his trembling hand and then back at me, asking, "Then how were you able to do it so…casually?"

I continued editing the video, my voice calm and disinterested. "Let's see... isn't this like the same as the usual man-hunting and bounty-hunting activities?" I muttered, as I reminisced about our few shared missions.

"It's not," Andy replied vigorously, clearly disgusted at the mere comparison.

Lifting my eyes from the laptop, I probed further, "How so?"

"It's not the same, it's different..." Andy struggled to find the right words.

I leaned back slightly in my chair, intrigued. "Which is why I'm asking, how so? We're paid to hunt and kill people in both cases."

Andy hesitated for a moment, prompting me to answer for him. "Yes, but... let me guess? They're fighting back, so it's more honorable."

He shyly nodded, his eyes downcast.

I couldn't resist a mocking tone. "Oh, Andy, always the sensitive soul." My jest fell flat, and Andy retreated into a depressed corner.

Trying to lift his spirits, I said, "Look, if it at least can make you feel better, what we've done here today will not only bring us a fortune, but it'll also bring peace to a stupid war that's been prolonged for far too long. Think of all the good stuff that’ll come with this, instead of focusing on the negative. That's how you do it."

He was silent for a while then muttered, "perhaps you were really born for this."

I raised an eyebrow. "And you’re not, perhaps?"

He shook his head vehemently. "No, I'm not an unfeeling perfectionist."

I shrugged with barely any reaction. "Rude. Then why are you doing this with me, if you're not a psycho yourself?"

"I'm doing this... I'm doing this because I need money."

"For your family?" I ventured as a guess.

He nodded. "Yes, I want what's best for them, which is why I'm doing it. I doubt that's something you can understand."

I leaned back in my chair, contemplating his words. "Not at all. I'm doing this for my family too."

"You have a family?" Andy frowned.

I chuckled. "Not yet, but once I'm wealthy enough, I plan to marry a 1.75m blonde woman who will give me four children: a boy and three girls. Two boys and two girls would be acceptable too, but no more than that."

Andy gave me an incredulous look, but before he could respond, my phone rang, abruptly interrupting our conversation.

Even though I stared at an unfamiliar number on my phone, I instantly recognized the caller. I exchanged a quick look with Andy before answering.

"So, is it done?" an old, deep and familiar voice inquired from the other end.

"Yes, it's done, Sir," I replied.

"Any issues?"

"No issues at all, Sir."

"I see, as expected of you, Hassan, or should I say Pedsi?" he chuckled.

"Either name works, Sir," I replied.

He chuckled. "You say that, but I know how much being misnamed annoys you."

"You know me well, Sir."

"Of course, I didn't raise you for nothing. Anyway, I'm sure you're occupied, so I'll let you go. I'll be waiting for the footage."

"I'll send it as I’m done wrapping everything up."

"Good, I'll be eagerly awaiting it."

With that, the call ended, and I couldn't help but recall Andy's earlier words, about him being born for such a lifestyle. The truth was, he genuinely thinks that no one is, not even him. It’s just that sometimes, you just find yourself thrust into it, and the best course of action is to accept it for what it is. Otherwise, it'll gradually consume you until there's nothing left.

Yes, I'm an unarguably terrible person, and I'm okay with it. Despite the reprehensible nature of my line of work, there's occasional purpose in it, and it's a rather comfortable existence.

With renewed determination, I edited the unnecessary part of the video, and soon enough, I finished. I sent it to the Master, who would then pass it on to our clients, putting an end to the ongoing hostilities between the two groups and our mission.

I closed my laptop, a satisfied smile on my face from a job well done, and went to stow it in the van. Before heading to the back of the van to retrieve the shovels, I noticed something missing.

"Andy, where's the other shovel?" I asked.

"The other shovel? Wasn't it in the back, next to your bazooka?" Andy responded.

"I only see one shovel," I complained, stepping out of the van and inviting him to check for himself.

"Hmm, that's strange," he mumbled as he entered the van. "I'm pretty sure I put it in there."

"Well, I only see one, so..."

As Andy continued his search for the missing shovel, I suddenly heard a noise that made me back off. It was a sound like a car engine revving, which seemed out of place considering the ridiculous remoteness of this location. I furrowed my brow, realizing that it was indeed the sound of a motor.

At that moment, the source of the noise came into view as a black Cadillac with tinted windows appeared on the dusty mountainous road. The car came to a halt several dozen meters away from us, and for a moment, it felt like a tense standoff was about to unfold.

"Andy," I called out, my hand reaching for my handgun, signaling to Andy that trouble was on the horizon.

"Mm?" Andy replied, still preoccupied with searching for the missing shovel inside the van.

"I think we've got a problem," I muttered lowly.

Suddenly, men emerged from the black Cadillac, brandishing guns.

"What the—"

The sound of rapid gunfire, "papapapa," filled the air, and I instinctively took cover.

"Crouch! We're under attack," I shouted to Andy as I tried to assess the situation and formulate a plan to survive this unexpected threat.

Amidst the chaos of bullets flying and the Cadillac's occupants taking cover, we somehow managed to avoid getting hit by the initial salvo. As the gunfire momentarily came to a halt, I turned to Andy, alias Andy, and asked, "Alive?"

"I'm fine," he replied, but as he crawled out of the van, it became evident that he was not unscathed. Blood trickled down from his ear, apparently grazed by a bullet. He retrieved an assault rifle from a stash in the back of the van and tossed it over to me before grabbing one for himself. "What the hell is going on?"

We both retaliated with shots toward the direction of the Cadillac, causing the men to take cover behind their vehicle.

"I was asking myself the same question," I replied, continuing to fire. The men behind the Cadillac returned sporadic gunfire, but the real shock came when a second Cadillac appeared, soon followed by a third, parking beside the first.

“Tsk!”

"What the fuck?" Andy muttered.

More heavily armed men poured out of the Cadillacs, and Andy and I were forced to seek cover.

"What the hell is going on?" Andy whined, frustration mounting.

"This isn't supposed to happen," I muttered, agitated as rarely as I've ever been.

"I guess not all things go according to your plan," Andy retorted.

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me in the middle of all this?" I shot back, unable to restrain my irritation.

"Nope, I was just pointing out the obvious," he calmly replied. Andy reached inside the van, retrieving something that left me stunned. "Can I use this big boy?" he asked with a maniacal smile.

Upon hearing his question, I bit my lip, then reluctantly nodded. "I didn't plan on using it today, but... tsk, do it."

"Yessir," Andy declared, exchanging his assault rifle for the massive bazooka.

The situation had escalated beyond anything we had anticipated, and it was clear that drastic measures were now necessary to survive.

Andy hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder, a fierce determination in his eyes. With a wicked grin, he muttered, "Time to make some noise," before coming out of cover and unleashing the massive weapon.

The rocket roared to life with a deafening whoosh, leaving a trail of smoke and fire in its wake. It streaked across the distance and struck the lead Cadillac dead center with an earth-shattering explosion. The force of the blast sent shockwaves rippling through the air, flipping the cars over in a fiery burst of metal and flames.

Most of the men who had been surrounding the Cadillac were instantly incinerated; the surviving ones letting out screams, cries, and groans were silenced in an instant, and while they survived, the explosion left the miserable wounded, if not, at best, heavily disoriented.

Wasting no time, I took advantage of the chaos and resumed gunfire, picking off the remaining assailants who stood disoriented within sight.

With the few survivors of the attack still groaning and writhing in pain, I fired a few shots in their direction, creating cover fire to give Andy a chance to get behind the wheel of the van.

"Get behind the wheel! We're leaving!"

Andy, swift to react, crawled over to the driver's seat. He glanced back at the carnage and then at me, his eyes filled with concern.

"What about the bodies we were supposed to bury? Are we leaving them here?"

I fired another round towards the surviving attackers to keep them at bay. "Things have gone south, and they can only get further south from here.Hit the gas and get us out of here. We'll worry about this mess later." I shouted, my patience running thin.

There was so much more I wanted to say to vent my frustration, but for now, I needed to focus on the immediate threat. I continued to fire at the survivors, making sure they stayed down.

In no time, Andy got the van started. He turned it around and picked me up as I scrambled into the back, and we sped down the road that the Cadillac had taken, desperate to put as much distance as possible between us and the chaos we had unwittingly stumbled into.

As we passed by the wrecked Cadillac, several bullets were fired in our direction, but miraculously, none found their mark, and we made it through safely. The adrenaline that had initially kept Andy seemingly nonchalant about the situation had begun to wear off, and his voice trembled as he finally voiced his thoughts.

"What the hell was that?!"

I stared out the window, my mind racing. "Don't ask me. I have no answer to that question."

"These guys were..." Andy's voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words.

"So you've noticed as well," I replied, confirming his thoughts.

Andy nodded, his lips pressed together in a tight line. The realization had hit us both—our attackers were no ordinary assaillants.

"Blackcrowns," I said, naming one of the groups that had initially hired us for this job.

At that moment, I reached for my phone to make a call. This situation was far from what we had expected. We were not prepared for this level of violence. I certainly hadn't planned on getting shot at today. I was about to dial the number when I suddenly came to a halt, my brow furrowing as I saw two more Cadillacs approaching us on the road ahead.

As the two Cadillacs sped toward us with a clear intent to crash into our van, Andy's reflexes kicked in with lightning-fast precision. "Oh shit!" he exclaimed, and with a deft maneuver, he swerved our van out of the path of the oncoming vehicles.

The van careened wildly, zigzagging across the narrow mountain road as Andy fought to regain control. I held onto the seat and dashboard, my knuckles white from the tension, praying to a god I didn’t even believe in that we wouldn't plunge off the mountainside.

After what felt like an eternity, Andy managed to stabilize the van, and we continued hurtling down the winding road, the two Cadillacs falling behind. As I checked them through the side-mirror, a surge of frustration and anger coursed through me.

"Damn it!" I cursed under my breath, my adrenaline pumping.

I knew we weren’t just going to outrun these bastards. We had to fight back. I rushed to the back of the van, grabbing one of the assault rifles that lay there, and opened one of the rear doors.

With the wind whipping around me, I braced myself and opened fire at the two Cadillacs still coming at us. Sharp staccato of gunshots rang out, echoing through the mountainous terrain as I tried to fend off our pursuers.

As I continued to fire at one of the Cadillacs, my shots found their mark, causing the vehicle to veer off the road and crash into a rocky outcrop. It didn’t burst into flames like in movies, but nonetheless I felt an unrestrained surge of satisfaction.

“Yes!!! Die! Fuckers!!!”

However, much to my annoyance the second Cadillac persisted, and the people inside began sticking their heads out, firing wildly at me from their moving vehicle. I desperately tried to return fire, but it wasn't long before I realized that my magazine was empty.

I quickly took cover on the other door that I had yet to open, cursing under my breath. Just as I was about to reload, my eyes fell upon a box in an upper compartment at the back of the van. Remembering its contents, the smile that had momentarily vanished at the sight of the other cadillac persisting reappeared on my face.

Swiftly, I retrieved the box and opened it, revealing grenades. The thought of revealing myself to throw a grenade sounded too risky, so I pulled the pin and after a moment let go. I repeated the process till it achieved what the outcome I was looking for. After 6 loosed grenades, I noticed one exploding stronger than the other. I took a cautious peek just in time to witness the second Cadillac erupt into flames and skid to a halt.

Relieved that we had lost our immediate pursuers, I sighed in relief and began to move toward the front part of the van, but my heart sank as I saw what lay ahead on the road.

A massive barricade had been set up, consisting of a large truck blocking the road, surrounded by several Cadillacs and heavily armed men.

“Good god!”

Without hesitation, they opened fire on us, bullets tearing into our van.

Bullets tore through the air, shattering metal and glass as Andy and I ducked, exchanging panicked glances. The van swerved wildly under Andy’s frantic grip, the ruined wheel dragging us off course. The road beneath us crumbled where the gunfire had struck, and with a sickening lurch, the van skidded sideways. Tires screeched against loose gravel, but it was too late—momentum carried us over the edge. For a brief, weightless moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, gravity took hold, and we plummeted into the abyss below.