Gaining consciousness instead of my usual expectations after waking up in bed and my alarm clock going off found myself weirdly restrained. Thinking that I had been forced into the biggest drug trip of all time as there was no way whatever was supposedly yesterday happened. I however was brought out of my somewhat fuzzy mindset when a voice to my right spoke.
"Awake yet sleepyhead?" The person? No bartender asked before muttering. "As much as I love meeting new people this has gotta be the worst part of the job."
Before I could say anything however he got up from his, frankly uncomfortable-looking, stool and walked in front of me. He started to undo the straps from the now dubbed and probably used as torture chair.
"Sorry about strapping you back in as unfortunately, even the most hardened individuals have a rude awakening after gaining the mark." The Bartender explained with the words coming out lifeless and systematic.
Now free I noticed an oddity with the fact that my stuff was missing. The Bartender answered my question before I could even ask it.
"Your things are in your storage. As compensation for your troubles, you will receive our organization's welcome package. However, we will go over what it means to be involved within the Yevrox." The tone the Bartender used went from a professional yet approachable air to a bland, serious and demanding one.
"1. All disputes are to be settled in Yevrox's provided methods, or through supervision of an employee. Failure to comply may result in but is not limited to, torture, execution and seizing of assets for compensation.
2. All matters outside of the confines of Yevrox are to stay that way. Breaching this rule forfeits the offending member's membership and ends any protection provided by Yevrox.
3. Failure to uphold a member's responsibilities will be met with a strike on the account of two strikes your membership with be forfeited. Along with having to pay the price of initiation by double. Failure to do so will result in termination."
The Bartender finishing his recition handed me a piece of paper with the rules on it then said. "You may wonder what responsibilities are expected. They are rather simple. If you are called upon you answer, no matter what you may be entangled in. The rules are vague and are made to be so, to clarify, any actions taken against the organization and its members are strictly forbidden."
"You are provided with some degree of protection through the use of manipulating reports regarding your work. However, Yevrox will not, cannot, get you out of being branded a terrorist and hunted like a dog. Those who do well in this business know that patience and stealth are essential. If you kick down a door and kill a politician expect to have your membership revoked for bringing unnecessary attention."
"We are the middlemen, contractors if you will. Unfortunately for everyone involved in the business people, especially those in power, don't like to have assassins operating within their country. We're running a business and if you're a liability you will find yourself cut off. Quite literally too. You were brought in by a good friend of mine so I'll give you one last word of advice."
"Work alone as despite the rules many have made their business out of betrayal."
The Bartender then undid the straps placed some papers a card and some gloves before giving some less worrying advice. "Ask the fine gentlemen up top to show you "the storage" They'll know when you show them the card. When you're ready for some work ask me or any other Bartender. The gloves are to hide the mark. Just because we're hidden doesn't mean no one knows about us."
He got up and left through the door I came in. Taking a moment to simmer and let it all sink in I now realized what I had, unintentionally, and frankly against my will, gotten myself into. Looking over the mark on my hand it was weirdly professional for such an intricate design made by what seemed to be something along the lines of a blowtorch. My hand exhibited a circle outside as an outline as the image of a generic spider from the top down was shown. The loose wavy strings converged from the outermost border of the circle with the strings becoming closer and seemingly providing a platform for the spider to stand.
To say it was a work of art was an insult, but despite the Bartender's artistic mastery, it was still done using a blowtorch making it even more impressive. Which in afterthought was frankly even more terrifying to think about and brought a new light to their seemingly friendly nature. As I finished admiring my impromptu flesh carving I focused more on my jacket the Bartender had placed on the stool he sat on. After I put some pressure on my hand to stand up from the torture chair my right hand flared up in pain.
It however was weird as only some parts of my hand felt painful. And I noticed a sort of lag when it came to making movements. Moreover, I felt my hand wouldn't even be able to push me up the whole way forcing myself to lean more onto my left. Realizing just how fucked I was in my right hand both lagged behind my movements and didn't have the same strength I came to a new conclusion. I would have to either figure out a way to heal it or just become ambidextrous.
Although a tattoo burned into my skin was cool I however did not like what came with it. And remembering that my hand had just been burnt to shit. Noticing a lack of any form of preventing an infection I quickly moved to a very blood-stained sink and ran tap water overtop a surprisingly clean rag. Holding the rag down on the top of my hand I grabbed my jacket, the Bartender hadn't removed my gun from it, and slipped the card into my pocket.
Putting on the gloves given to me they were a quite stylish sleek pair of what resembled leather gloves with a buckle nearing the wrist. Despite this, however, they seemed to not reflect the light as you would expect from such a smooth leathery material. Almost as if the material itself refrained from making contact with the light. Putting on my newfound gloves overtop my drenched rag and jacket over my shoulders I walked out of the torture chamber.
Upon my exit my priorities were to get some burn cream, take a look at any available jobs, and considering there wasn't a better time, learn to use stuff with my left hand. If I wanted my right hand to heal as fast as possible would be my best course of action. Decided that at most a minute stop at the man whose name I still didn't know wouldn't hurt.
Upon reaching him he looked at me and the rag placed on my hand and said. "Welcome to the club we got murder, contract killings and so much backstabbing you could make an unstable government blush." He then pulled out a small container and said. "Decided to get something for your mark. Turns out you're a dumbass however and decided to have it done on your hand. Why in the fuck would you do that?"
"I get practically kidnapped, dragged into a torture room. Then I'm strapped into a chair and have a Bartender burn into my hand with a blowtorch a "mark" whatever that is." I was exasperated and was frankly overloaded so being belittled certainly didn't help. Even though I quite literally asking for this, there's a difference between learning to swim and chucking your baby in the deep end.
The man looked at me took another sip of his drink, placed down a medically labelled container-looking thing, looked at me and said,
"Fair enough." He looked at the burn cream container now placed on the counter and slid it over to me saying. "That right there's burn cream might need to see someone about that hand though. Nerve damage is a nasty thing especially since it seems your right one your dominant one."
"I have recommendations if you wanna get some surgery got their card right here. A good friend of mine show them this and they'll get you on the priority list." He stuffed a card that when the light hit it emitted a slight silver shimmer.
"Now when you feel like you can do any jobs or want to freshen up your skills go check out the board over there. Make sure to do one before the end of the month though. The place has a sort of requirement to make sure you don't just laze around." He said while pointing to a massive board with an abundance of papers pinned on it before continuing. "Arenas always a good way to make some quick cash just know that murder isn't above anyone here. Personally never went in there too dangerous for my liking. Now I'm gonna get back to my drink."
Remembering how I still needed some actual weapons besides a pistol I finished applying the cream and slipped my new gloves on. Walking to the board to check out what they were about I was met with an abundance of contracts mostly relating to violence with some general destruction and terrorism sprinkled in.
Assasination, Reward: 10,000$
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Preston Turner,
Commonly wears an orange sweater with blue jeans. Drives a Ford Cotina, liscense plate AKI-PMN. Address: Detroit, Downtown, 187 ST, 19267
The reward will be granted at Yevrox upon proof of kill or after the public announcement of their death.
Out of everything here, this was the most straightforward one with a sizeable reward. What I was most worried about however was hidden factors as one didn't pay this much money for a random schmuck. What was more worrying was that there was no information as to why they wanted them dead. But it made sense since why would you use an intermediary if not to shift attention away from yourself?
I however needed cash as I did not doubt that the high-end gear I was hoping to get would cost me at least 75% of the money I gained. I wasn't skimping out especially when it came to such a dangerous profession. Nor was I going to be an idiot and get something along the lines of a minigun or armour so bulky it could take a tank shell. I was looking for something custom-made for the amount of money I was willing to spend. After all, 100,000$ is something I could live off of for 15 years.
Making my way up the stairs I came down I flashed the guards my newly acquired card and asked them to direct me to storage. Instead of answering me they rung a bell and a much more skinny man came around the corner. Spotting me he said, "right this way sir." Before he started to walk away only stopping to make sure I followed.
Making our way to a rather inconspicuous looking room nearing what seemed to be the kitchen. My guide took out a set off keys fumbling with them before I heard the sound of a rather audible thunk and the door opened by itself. It wasn't a thick steel door, but it would take quite a bit. Making our way inside my guide flicked a switch before asking. "Your card sir?" Providing my card he stared at the ceiling.
Looking at the ceiling myself all I saw were some scratches etched upon it. After a little while he gave me back my card and walked down a random hallway, and only now did I notice the rooms expansiveness. The room seemed to have rather dim lighting making it hard to navigate the complex. The little glow provided by the lights only made differentiating the shelves filled with items clear, and the floor like looking for a shadow in the dark.
I kept following the guide not by his figure, but the sound his shoes made as he walked. I was beginning to wonder where we had gone as at one point the floor sloped slightly. Eventually we came upon a rather ordinary looking locker. My guide took out a key, not that I could see it, but by the glint it made through little light provided. Upon opening the locker I believed he walked into the locker as I soon heard the soft bang of stepping on hollowed metal.
I only found the entrance to the locker by rubbing my hands on the walls to find its entrance. Upon entry I found myself in a rather well illuminated room. Taking a moment to get used to what felt like being in the centre of the sun I examined this rather well hidden space. It was claustrophobic yet somehow held more space inside then should be avaliable.
Shelves lined the sides with only enough space to walk in the middle. Feeling creeped out I located my possesions and decided not to store anything in here. They seemed to have security down, but the eerie feelings and the weirdness that came with it made my instincts start bugging me. I didn't feel safe in the so called "storage room" and I didn't feel like using their service. Besides if anything it would decrease my dependency on Yevrox if I decided to leave the organization as a whole. Whether or not they would want me to.
The few items I came with were stored away away in my jacket. So we made our way out weaving through the shelves and storage containers littering the way back. While doing so I almost lost my guide a couple times. Yet they seemed to always know when I was losing sight of them as they slowed down.