Inside the dimly lit bar, bathed in a red haze, a man with a suitcase pushed through the creaking doors, flanked by four guards. The bass from the old speakers thumped through the floorboards, mingling with the sounds of drunken laughter and the clinking of glasses.
The guards scanned the room one by the counter, another near the exit, while the rest kept a watchful eye on every face that dared to look their way. The man in the tailored suit paid no mind to the chaos, making a beeline for the VIP section tucked away in the back.
They halted at a plush, velvet-lined booth. He placed the black suitcase gently on the table, his fingers lingering on the handle for a moment. Then he took a seat. The guards formed a silent, unyielding barrier around him.
He glanced at his watch. "Late," he muttered under his breath.
The lights flickered briefly, casting a crimson glow across the room before settling back into a dull yellow. Still, there was no sign of the buyer.
Outside, rain softly tapped against the steel railing. Zemin and Taura crouched low, the neon glow from The Hot Swan illuminating their faces in shades of red and violet.
Zemin cracked his knuckles, his eyes fixed on the entrance. "He's inside," Taura whispered, lowering her binoculars. "Four guards with him. They're probably waiting for the buyer."
Zemin nodded slightly. "We should move now before backup arrives."
A sharp, lively grin returned to Taura's face. "Finally!"
She stood, stretching her arms like a predator ready to strike. Zemin's silver eyes glimmered in the rain as he checked his gear.
"Keep it quiet and clean," he instructed.
"Yeah, yeah," Taura replied, preparing herself. "No promises."
With that, both of them melted into the shadows.
Zemin and Taura made their way down from the rooftop, their boots splashing through shallow puddles that mirrored the city's fractured lights. The night air was thick with smoke, perfume, and the distant hum of music.
At the end of the street stood The Hot Swan, its neon sign flickering like a fading heartbeat. It was the perfect spot to blend in and disappear.
"Remember," Taura said, casually sliding her jacket off one shoulder as they got closer. "We're not Sweepers tonight. Just two idiots looking to blow our paychecks."
Zemin shot her a sideways glance. "I've never been to a place like this before."
Taura halted, a smirk spreading across her face. "Wait, seriously? Not even once?"
He shrugged, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Yeah, I've been too busy outside, you know, killing people instead of having fun drinking."
"Figures," she replied, rolling her eyes. "It's a bit sad, but you really don't look like the type who drinks every week."
"Okay, that was a bit harsh, even for you."
Taura flashed him a warm smile.
He brushed off the comment. "So what's the plan? We go in, find the target, and—"
Before he could finish, Taura stepped in closer.
Zemin tensed. "What are you—"
"Chill," she whispered, pressing a hand against his chest. "If we walk in like we're on a mission, everyone's gonna catch on. Act like you just hit on me. Like we're… on a date or some shit."
Zemin blinked, caught between confusion and understanding.
Then a faint smirk appeared on his face. "Not a bad cover."
"Exactly." She linked her arm through his. "Now, smile. Or at least pretend you're not plotting ten different ways to snap someone's neck."
The bass thumped from inside the Hot Swan, vibrating through the ground like a heartbeat as Zemin and Taura approached the entrance. Neon lights splashed across the slick pavement, casting them in ever-changing hues of crimson and blue.
Just as they were about to reach the door, one of the guards in a sharp suit stepped in their way. His hand hovered near his coat pocket, a clear warning that he meant business.
"Hold it," he said, his voice flat. "Private party. What brings you here?"
Zemin kept his mouth shut, his icy gaze darting from the guard's weapon to the radio clipped to his belt. One wrong move, and the rest of the guards outside would be on them in a flash.
Taura, however, quickly shifted gears. Her face transformed into a playful grin as she wrapped her arm around Zemin's shoulder, pulling him in close.
"Oh, come on~" she purred, her voice oozing charm. "We're just here for a drink. My boyfriend here," she said, emphasizing the word while tracing a finger along Zemin's chest, "asked me out. Just look at that baby face how could I say no?"
Zemin blinked once but quickly caught on. "Yeah," he replied smoothly, casually resting a hand on her waist. "You're not going to ruin our first date, are you?"
The guard's brow furrowed, his eyes darting between them. Taura leaned in closer, her grin widening.
"He's going to spoil me tonight. Drinks, dancing the whole shebang. Pretty sexy, right?" She giggled, letting out a low laugh that caught the attention of a few nearby onlookers.
Zemin tilted his head, locking eyes with the guard, his tone calm but with an underlying sharpness.
"Unless you plan on stopping our date…?"
The guard hesitated, taken aback by their boldness. After a moment, he sighed and stepped aside.
"Tch… fine. Go ahead. Just don't cause any trouble."
Taura winked as they walked past. "Thanks, sweetheart."
As soon as they crossed the threshold and stepped into the smoky warmth of the bar, Zemin muttered under his breath, "You really love that, don't you?"
"Acting?" she replied with a grin. "Nah. I just like watching you squirm."
"That's gross even for you."
The Hot Swan was alive and buzzing.
Music pulsed through the walls, the beat reverberating underfoot with every thump. Strobe lights sliced through the haze of cigarette smoke and perfume, sending quick flashes dancing across the crowd. Bodies swayed like waves—drunk, wild, and utterly free.
Taura flashed a grin, her eyes sparkling under the neon glow. "Well damn," she said, almost to herself. "Didn't think the lowlifes would throw down like this."
Zemin's gaze roamed the room, not for fun but with a sharp focus. He took in every exit, every camera, every guy with a hand suspiciously close to his jacket. Nothing slipped past him.
Then his eyes locked onto something.
Upstairs, beyond the velvet rope and tinted glass, in the VIP section, a man with a suitcase lounged comfortably, flanked by his guards. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor. A glass of whiskey rested in his hand, the amber liquid glinting in the light.
"There," Zemin said quietly, his voice slicing through the music.
Taura followed his gaze, her smirk widening as she spotted the man. "Bingo."
He leaned in closer, his voice barely a whisper. "That's our target. Suitcase guy, upper deck, middle booth."
Taura nodded, adjusting her jacket as if she were just fixing her look, but Zemin caught the subtle shift in her tone, that spark of excitement. "Guess it's showtime," she said, her lips curling into a wolfish grin.
Zemin didn't respond. His silver eyes remained fixed on the target, cold and calculating.