Hostile Labyrinth [R]

[Rated for possible presence of blood and gore and sensitive subjects/material within.]

Bitter wind of the night flowed between the tall buildings and into the undergrounds, blowing past the few people who were the only standing at this late hour. The homeless, the thugs, the drunkards and the unconscious. The white orb, stagnant in the raven clouds and deep ocean sky, was a sure sign of a cities' hostility during these times. One had to be either very idiotic or just unaware of the dangers which lurk in the city during this time of the day. Groups of people, or maybe even a crazy cardriver. One couldn't know until it hit them - literally.
Such as the group of thieves who were about to bust into a bank. Their vehicle had already stopped by the side, and three men stepped out. They all dispersed to different places of the bank, their faces hidden by masks. One shot a hook and began climbing along the walls. They infiltrated the bank with complex machinery, and their guards were always up, for there was maybe a policeman right around the corner. They exchanged a few words as they moved deeper into the bank.
"Red, keep watch up there," one whispered into a walkie-talkie, "police may already be coming."
"In that case, quicken the pace," he answered before flicking off the button. Red, also commonly known under the name of Reggie Foxfire, was a husband and father of two children. Although the enterprise in which he worked had shut down recently, throwing him outside with no job whatsoever. The family couldn't live without the incomes of the two parents, and Reggie knew that they'd have to do illegal acts in order to survive sooner or later. When you were in the lower part of society, one had to man up and take the decisions. Although what he was doing wasn't completely bothering him - he was actually slightly thrilled. He had always been the good boy in his family, and had never done something which seemed as wrong as this. But he was doing this for his family.
Time passed, and the act went further. Soon enough, they managed to blow the lock of the door and cash in. The police were still nowhere to be seen. They ran out, carrying filled bags, throwing them into the van before darting off. They each exclaimed in the vehicle, smacking each others' hands. Obviously, they felt enthusiastic of this first achievement. 'First' being 'recidivist' for one person, Mark. He was basically the brains of this whole operation, and his reasons for doing so were much different. He couldn't of done this alone, though. He hopped onto the driver's seat, and when everybody was inside (or partially, still on the doorstep) he roared off.
"Hey, guys," Josh murmured in the back, slightly hesitant, "what about the freak?"
"Hah, that guy?" Mark laughed, "We won't run into him. He doesn't care about us. We're just trying to help each other out, and try to live in this world filled with violence."
"Yeah, but still... Didn't you hear what he did to those people on the news?" Reggie asked, trying not to seem worried, although he was betrayed by his voice.
"Hah, everything's exaggerated by the media in order to scare the villains, eh," Mark exclaimed, "there's no possible chance that we run into him. And, anyways, if we did, what's the worst he could do?! We have guns, hah!"
"Hey, the Hell is that?" Reggie uttered, narrowing his eyes at the road.
"The Hell is what."
"Mark, DUCK!"
Mark wasn't able to react in time, for the main reason that he hesitated between braking or actually ducking as his comrade had ordered. Mark only saw what was going to happen a few seconds before it did. A thick wire had been shot, at one meter above the road, perpendicular to the vehicle's path. The vehicle smashed into the wire, cutting the whole superior half from the car, letting it fall onto the ground. The van screeched on the road, leaving dark tyre marks. Seconds passed, without any sound, any movement.
A figure landed at the vehicle's side. It stayed crouched for a few more seconds before standing up and calmly walking to the half-destroyed vehicle. Its bright red sweater shone in the light of the lamppost as he stepped beside the wreckage. He bent over, and stared at the two men up front, glaring with a passionate red eye.
Reggie was shivering, crouched into a ball as he horrifically stared at the man above them. He recognized him. He had always been on the news recently. And everything about him was sinister as the media had described him to be. Would his actions also be as cruel as what he was depicted as?
The man stared at Reggie, stretching out a clawed hand to his face. He grasped the mask and pulled it off swiftly, throwing it onto the ground. Reggie's horrified face was crunched in terror, but he felt a huge relieving sensation as the man stretched further to prod Mark's body. Reggie turned his head and noticed that Mark had a huge gash open in his arm, blood flowing freely. As soon as the Subtleman touched Mark, he pulled out a gun with his free hand and aimed. But his speed wasn't enough, as when he pulled the trigger, nothing happened. For the main reason that his index wasn't there anymore. It fell to the ground with a cold thud as Mark cried from pain, writhing on the seat.
The Subtleman grabbed Mark by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up before throwing him harshly on the ground. He walked over to him, looming above him.
"What do you want from me?!" Mark yelled, breathing erratically.
"Marcius Evan Leen, you are convicted of multiple murders, thievery, and helping corrupt men establish their power in this world for the sake of satisfying your greed. if I had not appeared, you would've also committed treachery by calling the cops on the comrades who helped you get inside the bank. The punishment I choose for you, taking each committed action and planned action is... Death."
The Subtleman reached down, pulling him by the back of his shirt back to the van. The Subtleman grabbed a thin rope right next to Josh, moving to the lamppost afterwards. Mark cried for help. "What are you doing?!" he pleaded, "Don't kill me! That's... That's against the law! You can't kill me!"
"I never said that I lived to be bound by some pitiful rules that we always break," he snapped back, "I have my own rules. I decide what happens to you next, maggot. And by decision, I say thumbs down."
The Subtleman wound the rope around Mark's neck and tightened the knot behind him. Josh gulped and reached for his gun, stretching his arm out. The Subtleman, with his right hand, grabbed a gun from the inside of his sweater and pointed it at Josh. "I have decided to let you live. Don't make me change my mind."
Without any further ado, the Subtleman turned back to Mark, who was still blubbering incomprehensible words at what would happen to him in a few seconds. "Can't I even have last words?!" he yelled.
The Subtleman grabbed the end of the rope, glaring down at him with one red eye. "You should've repented this morning whilst you still had the time. Too late." He threw the rope over the angle of the lamppost, before pulling violently and lifting Mark off his feet. Tying a knot, he left him to be, to slowly die of asphyxiation. The Subtleman slowly turned around, and began walking away. Reggie and Josh both stared at his disappearing figure, which soon faded away. They turned their heads back to Mark, and then back at each other.
"We need to get out of here."
"Yes, let's."
Reggie rammed in the gas pedal and darted away, leaving Mark's body to dangle from the post. His feet twitched gently as his the flame of his life slowly died out, his body only to be a resting shell of bone and flesh swaying gently with the cold breeze, to be found next morning.
The Subtleman stepped on the roof of another tall building. He stepped to the edge, before sitting down, legs crossed. His breath croaked underneath his mask, which glared whitely into the darkness of the city below. He stood there, unmoving, calm... Restless. A modern statue constantly watching, and punishing what he deemed to be the wrong.

"Subtleman... Did you come up with that yourself? I don't intend to diminish with my question, you understand. It's a good name. It's good," the voice belonged to man, at least in his fifties if not his sixties, and had a sort of lightly gravelly aspect to it. This aspect was explained and accentuated at once by the sound of a cigarette lighter being flicked open. It was made that heavy, metallic clunking sound followed by a smaller click as it was ignited. He chuckled to himself as he brought his hand up to protect the joint from the cool night air. The glow from the flame lit up a face which looked a bit wrinkled and possessed a liver spot or two. The cigarette took to the flame and he snapped the lighter closed again. As he stepped forward, a wreath of smoke quited his mouth and chugged its merry way about his head, lingering in a cloud behind him. He continued his previous statement in a somewhat sardonic manner, "But I'm sure that you can appreciate the irony of naming a person such as yourself subtle?" He blew out a breath of smoke, like a train might release a fountain of steam, pursing his lips around it as he might if he intended to make love to the noxious fumes. Evidently the questions were rhetorical because he kept on going without waiting for answers. "You're not easy to find," he smiled, the cigarette end glowed in the dark night, giving a skewed and deeply shadowed image of his face, of the glint in his eyes, "I like that. I like that a lot. It's a challenge, something I haven't had in years. But I didn't put the effort in for the sport of it, I'm getting to old for the thrill to be enough to get past the grog that this swills up." He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth to knock some of the ashes off of it. Holding it there for a moment, he breathed out another ream of smoke and took in a breath of tainted night air. "No, I've come looking for you because you have something I want, something everyone wants but doesn't have the power to take," he smiled, "Justice." From underneath his shirt, he produced a worn folder which he threw down on the ground. "I'm not telling you to do it. I'm not asking you to do it. But as a mutually caring individual, I think that you'll find this bit as interesting as I did. Who knows, maybe you'll actually be able to do something about it!" The remainder of the cigarette hit the building's roof and as he stepped down on it, a small burst of flame came up from underneath his shoe. He just chuckled darkly and turned on the ball of his foot towards the stairwell.

The Subtleman had not jumped at the sudden sound of a voice coming from behind him - no, he was merely too used to worse cases that he had had learned to not really give a damn about things which did not interest him whatsoever. The only word that managed to break his thoughts was 'justice'. Creakily humming under his breath, the Subtleman turned his head ever so slightly, the barrel of a concealed gun clenched within his fingers. With puppet-like movement, he rolled back into a standing image, cracking leg and back joints. A wheeze of air let cold smoke emanate from his mouth, coiling like a serpent shriveling in the cold night air. Before the yet unknown man could flee or take too many steps back, the Subtleman turned his head, eyes glaring white, before speaking to him. "You speak of mutual caring and interest." He growled lowly, "The fact that you're standing behind me shows that you do not believe I would immediately kill you, and you are correct. The fact that you're standing behind me means that you are also self-confident, and believe that this interest will persuade me to aid you. The fact that you threw the file on the ground means that you do not trust me, and that I should not trust you." The Subtleman cackled under his mask. If it weren't for his covered face, he'd be most obviously grinning. "With that, I know that you've been watching me from where I cannot see you. And I cannot deny the fact that you may know what I really am." The Subtleman took a menacing step forward, slowly breathing. "This is an all too recognizable situation." He took another step, before bending down and picking the folder by the extremities of his index and thumb blades. "Sir. I do not take checks, nor papers." The Subtleman tossed the folder aside, dismissing it almost immediately afterwards. He took another large step towards the dark figure. "The only way to be properly understood is to speak. And to return something of deemed equal value of the service demanded."

He snorted, and a breath of what looked suspiciously like residual smoke exhaust puffed from his mouth, and perhaps it was, for it did not dissipate as fast as the mist of a general breath would. It's inky blot remained upon the air even as he turned his head to look back over his shoulder, halted in his footsteps by the other's comments. "I don't take kindly to being insulted, and assuming that I would stoop either to trying to pay you off or blackmail you are two suppositions that I find very insulting," the hackles rose in his voice, "Now, while I have made a derogatory statement concerning your choice in nomenclature, I have no more assaulted your character, and if this conversation is to continue in a civil manner, I should thank you to keep such remarks at bay." He turned, inhaling deeply from the well of cool night air. His nostrils narrowed then, as a look of disgust came over his face and spit off to the side after hocking up the mucous lining the esophagus immediately posterior to his tongue. Reaching into his jacket, an action some might have found to be inappropriate in such a circumstance, he removed a pack of cigarettes, strangely devoid of any brand name or symbol to indicate their origin. He bummed himself one of the cancerous little nicotine sticks and lit up again. A sigh escaped with the first round of smoke. "Alright, you want to deal," the agitation had found its way out of his voice again, "Let's deal. If you don't mind." He cocked his head and pointed with the his right hand, which had just removed the cigarette from his mouth towards the folder lying about a meter away. Without awaiting permission, he walked over to pick it up. "Not checks, and I think you'll find a different kind of paper than you expected," he chuckled to himself through the joint which had found its way back into his mouth. Giving it a good long draw, he used the added light of the glowing butt of his smoke to view a few of the pages within as he flipped through the contents of the folder. "It's a set of building schematics for a high-rise office complex along with a few of the people working for the resident company," this time he proffered the set of documents directly, holding them out towards the Subtleman's bladed reach, "No key players mind you, nor any doors into the place, just a frame for the window, so to speak. A little peak just to wet your curiosity, see if you might really be interested enough to look into this business." His little halo of smoke lit up red again as he breathed in and then grew in volume as he exhaled. It swirled about him, almost alive, mischievously tracking his movements in an infantile game of follow the leader. "But before we continue, being as how I've laid my cards on the table," He smiled, holding the folder back a moment, "What is that you think I can give you in return?"

The Subtleman's chest expanded as he inhaled, the slow whirring of mechanics right behind the vent upon his mouth nudging each other discreetly. He extended fully his right arm, grabbing the papers the man held before him, although not damaging them in any way other than the slight fold where his fingers curled. White eyes glaring at white paper, he carefully read and checked the important words of the paper. Maps, designs and schemes of a peculiar building which rang a bell ever so slightly had been meticulously drawn by an experienced hand. Maybe the man's own. Seeing as how the man disliked any comments made by him, he decided that it would be best if he shut his mouth for merely a moment and appear interested in what this person had to offer. Identity photos and papers of certain workers of said office had also been given to him, and he studied the faces in a very detailed manner. The Subtleman placed his hand on the side of his head, pressing on his right temple. A small whir of gears buzzed, before his right eye blinked and snapped. He did the same action for every other photo. The Subtleman lifted his head to the man who had been staying there since the beginning. "What you could give me in return, hm." The Subtleman calmly lifted his hand and placed two fingers within a pocket, gently picking a small frame out of it. It was a photo as well, about the size of an identity photo, maybe a little larger. He handed the photo to the man, barely centimeters away from the halo of his cigarette pinched between his lips. On the photo was the form of a small man, walking through a rather crowded street. He had short black hair, and wore a dark blue waistcoat and a pair of light trousers. He held a bag by one shoulder, letting it nonchalantly flop against his left side. "This man," he croaked, "find him. Find out what is his name, where he lives, his social security number, and even his hairdresser's name if you find the chance." The Subtleman pulled the photo back, between middle and index fingers, at the side of his head. "... Only once this meeting is adjourned. Move onto the terms and conditions of what I would need to do for you, if you please."

Disengaging the ashes from his cigarette with what was an obviously practiced motion of his hand, the man smiled slightly, and then more widely, almost maniacally. "Let's just call this a good faith maneuver on my part. You can take the time to look into Sieve a little bit. Get a feel for them, and then you can tell me if you're still interested," he licked his lips in a strangely shallow manner before placing the cigarette back between them, "Meanwhile, I'll find your man for you. I can have the information for you within three days. That should be more than enough time for you to do all the poking about your heart desires." He made an action as if to say, "You don't mind?" before he plucked up the folder and tossed it to the roof just below him. The cigarette fell from his mouth then, spiraling slowly to meet the folder and as he stepped on it again, it burst in flames, reducing to ashes in mere moments. He seemed unconcerned about the fire which licked about his feet. Smoke rose all around him, making him fade against the night, a silhouette flickering in the spare glow from the flames as they pounced about on the remains of information, licking it up hungrily. He offered his hand, through what amounted to a veritable wall of smoke. "So, then," his voice sounded a bit like he needed to cough, "Do we have a deal?"

Behind the mask, a small smirk curled the calloused lips of the Subtleman. This smile wasn't only of satisfaction of having found a good deal, but he knew that this man would be getting into some trouble in order to merely catch a glimpse of this fellow in the photo that the Subtleman placed between middle and index, handing it over to the other. "Bring him to me alive," the Subtleman growled, "dead meat ain't worth nothing. I don't care how you get him back, whether it be by dragging or some other cruel manipulation, but he needs to be perfectly capable of speaking physically." The Subtleman's head tilted ever so slightly against his right shoulder, his eyes glinting blindingly. One eye snapped red, scowling at the man's face, a dull whirring whispering in the mask, before a click ceased it. "You have three days, as you told me, sir. Although I shall not need three days in order to study this building of yours. Only one day. Beginning from now, when the 24th hour beats, we shall meet here again. You, with one step slightly closer to that man, and me, with my newly acquired knowledge. If I accept your proposition, then you continue your researches for him, and I shall do whatever you bid me to within the length of the two left days. At the end of both of our missions, we bring back what we have decided, right here, 72 hours from now. You, with this man, me, with whatever you wish... That is, if you accept."

Through the dense wall of smoke, somehow it was possible to see the old, wrinkled face carved into a toothy smile. He gently reached out and took a hold on the photograph. A dark sort of chuckle jangled about, swirling the smoke into cascading waves. "Twenty-Four hours then," his voice was like a hissing whisper of a sudden, "Don't get yourself killed." At that, he ground his foot once more into the ashes, a small flash and a cascade of smoke lifted upwards. Had one been wearing enhanced optical sensors equipped with heat vision. They would have been temporarily blinded. However, had that person not been so, they would have seen the form of the man, strangely loosing heat, until his body vanished into the miasma of foul smelling smoke. An ominous sort of throaty laughter could be heard for a moment. It was all a bit theatrical, until the smoke blew clear away in a sudden wind, and just like that, all trace of the man and his detrimental habits were gone, flown away into the night sky to haunt some other individual or perhaps just ruin a little piece of nature. That is to say, all remnants but one had disappeared. There, lying on the ground, presumably in the same spot where he had incinerated the folder was a piece of very old, very yellow parchment. Upon it in large, flowing black script read the words, "Be wary of the doG."

The Subtleman closely stepped up to the leftover paper, bending down smoothly in order to pinch its far edge between two blades. He pulled it up to his shining eyes, before crushing it into his metallic palm. He looked up at where the steps of the man had mysteriously and supernaturally vanished. This person wasn't like another, no. Which meant that this deal might be far more interesting than what he had previously conceived. Sieve, he repeated in his mind. The name rang a distant bell, chiming in the utter depths of a mind tormented with now new thoughts concerning this man, and the task he had assigned him to. The Subtleman held up the distorted paper in his fingers, before lacerating it far beyond recognition, only leaving flakes fall from his hand onto the ground, which would be blown away by the slightest gust of wind the very next instant. And, with that, the Subtleman also vanished from what could've been any observer's sight, getting readied for the studies he'd have to make upon the building, and how he could infiltrate it if ever infiltration was in the man's plan, which had a high possibility within the Subtleman's mind.

Wispy fumes swirled up into the dark room. Low light scored its mark upon the smoke, the walls, and cabinets which were full of files. It was a cramped space, the dimly shaded bulb which hung from the ceiling looked more dead than alive. A single face hovered in the shadows within the range of visibility. It belonged to a young man. His dark hair and dark eyes added to the general effect of shadows which played across his features. He was speaking, very casually with an older gentleman whose face was obscured. This only because his cigarette was burning away in an ash tray, across the room, sitting on one of the cabinets. Why he chose to rifle through his files in the darkest corner of the room was anybody's guess, although he kept fiddling with his lighter. It might have been for the light, or just some nervous habit. The topic of their discussion was evidently of some amusement to the younger fellow. He smiled wickedly where he leaned against a desk absolutely covered in documents and photographs and what looked like an archaic and inactive computer. Gaunt cheeks pulled into that grotesque image was strange, for he seemed to be otherwise quite good looking. Of course, in this atmosphere, he might as well have been a demon.

But the conversation seemed then to end, and the young man turned to leave, closing a flimsy door behind him as he exited into an equally dim corridor. Some of the miasma escaped with him. what was left was churned into a storm by the wind from the door's closing. The cigarette lighter made another revolution, catching a snatch of light, refracting it into his eyes. The shone in that brief moment like fire. A tight smile pressed his thin lips up into a wrinkled face. Clunking open, the lighter burst to life, revealing a folder open before him, a folder which contained a photograph which the reader will only recognize as that which belonged to man that was very unpleasantly wanted by an individual known only as the Subtleman. It was a pleasant photo in which the man wore a very pleasant smile. He would not be wearing such an expression when first he met the individual looking at the image of him at that moment.

The building of which the man had spoken to the Subtleman wasn't very small, and stuck out more obviously amongst most of the other buildings, as any other big corporation would. But the Subtleman already knew one rule: if it was easier to find, it would be much, much harder to get inside. Only a mere glance through the mirror-like glass walls by a fine eye would perceive that this building was infested with cameras, ten of which were on the outside - six on the bottom, scouting every one of its corners, and four on the top, sweeping the roof. There was surely a reason for such a secure system. The cameras would be easy to take care of - an SMS-activated laser hack made by his mere hands. He would just need to point, and voilà, no more screen in the surveillance room. It wasn't the cameras which really got his attention - any little ratsy person could be able to get past those. No, it was why the hell would someone want to get into there. The Subtleman only saw innocent little people, seeming like ants from where he stood, walk inside and out the building, going on with their little lives, doubting every now and then but never really doing anything about it.
Hm.
It did interest him. A lot. And, for some reason, he felt this little surge of excitement swell up into his chest, something he had not felt since a long time. He calculated the height of the building and snapped a picture of it under every angle. From where he was, at one place or another, he ensured that nobody could ever see him. Once he was finished, he disappeared, to work on every single weak point he could point out of this building, and find holes in which a cat could push itself through. If a cat could, he could as well. Once all his plans and preparations were finished, and once he deemed that he had collected enough information as to satisfy nearly any demand the man asked concerning this building, he then brought himself to the previous rooftop, where they had had their first conversation, and where they were supposed to meet. He lingered in the shadows of the small walls, obscurity coiling around his feet, in a patient wait for his own sire to be present, as to continue with the task given.

The tiny crackling sound that was shortly proceeded by a thin wisp of smoke coiling through the air just in front of the Subtleman came from the shadows immediately around that hidden figure. A human breath escaping slowly heralded the arrival of more of the pungent smelling odor which wafted along in the form of a cloud. "You are incredibly prompt," the voice grated upon the chill night air, whether it was steam or smoke that accompanied it on its merry jaunt into the unnatural light from the streets below was anyone's guess, "I didn't expect you for at least another four minutes at least." A creaky hinge squeaked a bit as an old pocket watch clasp was brought to a close. Leaning up out of the dark, where he had evidently been sitting, in a spot that he hadn't been a moment before, was an older man. He was a wonderful visage, cigarette clenched between two fingers, and a sweater over top of his nice looking shirt. He might have been an old Irishmen of perhaps those lines in his face were a bit more Hungarian. He had a refined look, it might have even been royal somewhere along the lines. Even his own posture might have had a remnant of that blood in it, but his manner had declined to a level where he was no different from anyone else on the underside of the middle class. The man hadn't shaved in a bit, because there was a layer of scruff along his jaw.

He walked out to the edge of the building, back to his subtle companion, and leaned out over to look at the street below. It seemed as if he was waiting for something specific to happen, someone to walk by or the like. Off hand he asked, "So, what did you think of Sieve? You ready to buy some stock?" He chuckled, blowing a puff of dirty colored fumes.

The Subtleman nodded once, abruptly and silently, at the man's remark of his promptness. He didn't wish to waste any minute of this, for the mere plan was getting more dangerous by the second - and danger is what he liked. He hoped that it was what he was going to get. The Subtleman took two steps closer to the man, remaining behind his form, speaking to him lowly. "Sieve is, visually, like any other kind of office building, where people come and go every day, non-stop." His red eye appeared, before flickering and whirring. It changed back to white as the Subtleman boldly took another step forwards. "Like any other building, except for the fact that its security isn't as pitiful. And then again, thoughts could vary." The smirked under the mask, turning his head ever so mechanically to the other. "There must be a catch," he uttered, "one wouldn't dare to approach me without the good reasons, except if it were to mock me. I hope for you the next words that are going to escape your lips are what I deem to be important. Because when I get interested, I get curious. When I get curious, I become cautious. And when I become cautious, then there's something to worry about, for the person on who I have my eyes locked upon. What's the exact task?"

The older gentleman turned slowly, looking over his shoulder at the strange and surreal visage of this Subtleman. The look in his eyes was not unlike that of a predator realizing that its prey had come just within grasp of long extended claws. He squinted down those thoughts, portrayed across the almost shining cornea of his eyes, exhaling a breath like a smoke screen. The dance and play of the hideous vapor seemed to animate a myriad intentions and possible lies or contortions of the truth. Then, with a flick of his hand, he cast them aside, so that they whorled and reeled from the force of his ever so light blow. Playing the cigarette about in his one hand, he took only a moment more before it appeared that he had decided upon his course of action, or at the very least, had contented himself with speech. "The catch is that all that security you see, all the activity, all the normality and even the abnormality of the building that I sent you to specifically out of all the Sieve corporation's extended holdings is that it is all a farce," he blew out a long breath of fumes through his mouth and nostrils before wearing that deliciously sardonic look that could probably rile the temper of a calm man simply by virtue of its presence, "Even that more complex security system outside doesn't match the one you'll find waiting for you inside, and that network is but a pretense because what I am about to ask you to do will make it appear even obsolete. The folder I gave you contained a list of names. I told you they weren't key players in the company. That is true. Infiltration of Sieve wouldn't come through them, but I don't want you to infiltrate Sieve. If that's what I wanted, I could have collected the information myself."

He turned completely now, casually lounging against the banister as if he was just out for a smoke break with a coworker. "Believe me when I say that I don't doubt your ability to fight, but when you find these people your life may be in jeopardy. They're more dangerous than you could possibly imagine, for reasons that I won't stretch my own credibility to explain," he smiled. His teeth weren't sharp by any stretch, nor were they in the best of shape, but somehow, it wasn't hard to imagine them clamping down on you and tearing you to shreds. "I wouldn't ask you to do something as simple as data collection, after all, you're the Subtleman. No, that would be insulting at best. What I'm asking is a bit more... audacious. See, under some pretense of corporate espionage or sub-legal contrivance of griefs, I am sending you into the lions' den, hoping that you might get mauled or perhaps just frightened, and that either way your dander will rise. Maybe, if you come back alive, I'll even tell you why." He stood, languidly stretching up to his full height, which was a sight impressive in all truth. As he ascended, his voice continued in its low tones, an effect not at all like whispering, as though his voice just weren't meant to be loud, and always with that infuriatingly sardonic edge. "For now, we'll say that you're looking for some kind of in, to get closer to the company's more important infrastructure. Using the connections of the people low down and to the side, maybe you'll find a more hidden way up the ladder, so as getting caught will be harder. Satisfied?" He brought the cigarette up and took a hissing drag upon the burning concoction of plant-matter, never once removing his eyes from the expressionless faceplate.

The Subtleman mumbled under his breath, something sounding like a rather aggressive curse or some other inaudible insulting sequence of words destined to the man, but without any intention of his ears really receiving it. He straightened his neck and opened up his arms warmly, his fingers slowly uncurling from clenched fists into hands worthy of Mona Lisa were place at his sides, resting ever so calmly as he bowed down very slightly. "Know this, sir," he spoke carefully, articulating minutely, "that when I bow to someone, it is not for the sake of letting you know you are superior in any way, have control over me or anything with any resemblance to that, no." The Subtleman sharply lifted his head, both eyes flashing a vivid red color, scowling at him. "No, when I bow, it just means that I accept your task." The Subtleman straightened, slowly pacing over behind the man, tilting his head to the side in a teasing way. "You know the good proverb... 'A fake friend will stab you in the back'. By your situation and rather competent caution, sir, I believe you must have heard that already quite a few times to be bothered by it, if not completely annoyed." His spine twisted slightly as to glare at the man straight into his eyes, the fumes of his mouth pouring onto the man's face before coldly disappearing into nothingness. "Sir. A real friend will look at you straight in the eyes and stab you up front." A low laugh escaped the leather mask as the Subtleman slowly stood upright, placing one clawed hand on his chest. "I am neither a fake or true friend, sir. But if ever I deem you to be a nuisance, despite everything you do or have tried to do... I might just become one." The Subtleman turned around, and he walked away. He placed one foot on the banister of the roof, feeling the wind blow past his limbs and body as he turned his head around. "I shall see what I can do. But do not ever doubt me." With that, the Subtleman stood on the edge, turning around to face the man. Placing both arms cleanly perpendicular to his sides, he fell backwards, disappearing in a whip of clothing.

The old man allowed his posture to slouch again, leaning back once more against the banister. A gout of cigarette smoke vented into the night air, looking for someone with whom it might share a second hand experience of exultation. He smiled slightly, not the wide grin, but a more personal and meaningful smile, pressing the end of the cigarette to his lips as he did so. He breathed in deeply, drawing every ounce he could from the little contrivance of addiction. The action caused the paper to burn all that much faster, winding down the life of the doomed device of pleasure. As he breathed out his smile seeped into the voice that he spoke into the relative emptiness of the rooftop, "It's been so long since I had a friend."

It was almost too cliché, with the bare bulb swinging back and forth, flickering, the single wooden chair lined up beneath it, the only visible item in the small room, and the man tied to the chair not by any visible bonds, but by his own pain and exhaustion. The smoke permeating the atmosphere was obviously an irritant to the man, because despite his inability to function very much at all, he still managed to give out these weak coughs. Beaten, bruised and swollen, even a little bloody, he sat there staring into the dark outside of the ring of light. His vision guided only by the burning end of the cigarette. "I'm really terribly sorry that my colleague would go so far as to harm you in the way that he did," the voice emanating from the shadows was just a bit gravelly, too many cigarettes do that to a person, and despite the menace of the situation, was disconcertingly friendly, "He rather enjoys his business, and being that the only requirement was that you retain the physical capability of speech... well... Let's just say it is good that I added the part about mental facilitation. Otherwise, my overzealous friend might have found the loophole a little too inviting. Now, I only have one question for you. It may take a little while to answer, but that's okay, because we have plenty of time." The man stepped out of the shadows, but as he came into the light, it played strangely across his face, obscuring the details and adding such a dark overcast to it as to make it rather difficult to distinguish any real defining features. Until he leaned in close, so that his cigarette's gleam was enough to fill the murky air with an almost hellish visage. "Why would the Subtleman want you?"

The Last Prophet opens the door to the room, and stands in the frame with no real emotion or expression for a moment or two. Eventually, he realizes he has the wrong room by far, mumbles a quick "You're not Sarah...", and leaves.

"Afraid not," a dark look passed across his face as the old man allowed a puff of smoke escaped his lips, "You know a Sarah?" He looked down upon the face of the man beside him exhaling yet another noxious breath into stinging wounds where they lay open. The man replied in a whimper. "Too bad..." he looked back the way that the strange man had gone, "Where were we again?"