New Eden: Live to Play, Play to Live

Chapter 921  A Snake In The Henhouse

As the evening dawned on the east coast of North America, plenty of New Eden players were once again unsure of what to do with their new spare time.

But one player wasn't in this boat. He had lost everything.

With no more guild, no more sponsor, and now, no more game to purge his anger on, Damien Grimm could think of nothing better to do than cause problems for others.

Even with the debts he had to repay to the sponsors he lost, Damien had no shits to give and was spending his money like it was his last day on earth.

'With the shit life I had, might as well go out with a bang, right?' he thought.

So, after drinking his liver into the gutter, he took the keys to his brand new Porsche, and drove away onto the highway, paying no heed whatsoever to the speed limits.

Piss drunk, and barely able to see straight, it was a miracle Damien was even able to make it to the highway without wrapping himself around a telephone pole. But the burning rage inside his mind kept him lucid enough not to kill himself just yet.

As soon as he stopped thinking about the beautiful women around him, and the booze in his mouth, memories of his father beating him to an inch of his death came back, haunting his mind.

He couldn't get the image of his father's face out of his mind.

There was no rage in his eyes, as he had beaten him—no hatred in his gaze.

No.

The man instead looked like he was enjoying beating him up. Like it was something he relished in doing.

Something he fantasized about and could finally do.

Damien was too intoxicated and angry to hear it, but his teeth had begun grinding against each other, as he gripped his steering wheel increasingly hard.

The metal ring in his hand was whining as the metal was bending in his hands.

Looking at the signs on the side of the road, Damien finally snapped out of his anger.

A creepy smile crept up his lips.

"At least I'll be able to enact one revenge soon enough," he grinned, as he read the highway sign.

*Montreal: 147km*

***

Back in Montreal, in a hotel across the street from Alex's building, a man was having a glass of wine on an open terrace, facing the building that towered higher than the hotel across the street.

In his right hand, he swirled the glass of wine around, taking in the light aroma of the red wine as it spun in his glass. In his left hand, he held a pair of binoculars, which were resting on his lap.

"It took me weeks to find out where you lived. I can't believe that spoiled brat was willing to pay so much money just to find you. What a waste of my talents. I could have been taking down at least two marks at the same time…" the man complained in a suave voice.

He put the binoculars on the table before him and looked at the crackling fireplace inside his room, which was only a cheap imitation of a proper fire.

"If only a better hotel had been closer to this condo complex… This place might be a four-star, but it's nothing compared to my normal lodgings. Urgh, what a waste of my time…"

The man then glanced down at his left hand, which was now empty, and smiled as he made the hand go invisible, on and off, thinking about all the possibilities of this newfound talent.

"Who would have thought that a game I picked up as a pass-time would yield such marvellous boons? Ah, all the things I can do with a skill like this. Infiltrating facilities, shadowing marks, disappearing into crowds after an easy hit.

"So many options, so little time to explore them all. And yet, here I am. Wasting most of my precious off-time on a simple find-and-observe task from a rich, pompous piece of human trash…" he complained, his face going sombre.

After putting the glass of wine on the terrace table, the man walked into the lounge of his hotel suite and pulled out a long suitcase, lovingly sliding his hand on the cover.

"Ah, my sweet Marlene… How I long to feel the light caress of your recoil as I take down a target from a kilometre away…" he murmured, opening the case slowly and gazing upon a golden-plated rifle.

He slid his hand on the rifle, almost like it was his wife, and shivered in pleasure.

"Ah, the visions you bring me through that scope of yours… Brains flying, blood splattering, people falling to the deadly embrace of your .338 calibre rounds… The soft song of your ejection mechanism, as I pull your bolt back, and the bullet casing goes flying…"

The man started rubbing his crotch as he lovingly rubbed his rifle, making love with the object through his gaze. Any person seeing this would assume this man had a few screws loose, and they wouldn't be wrong.

"I knew you were insane, but I didn't think you were 'Romance a gun while shafting, insane, Gregory," a voice came from the balcony.

Gregory quickly grabbed his rifle, which always had a bullet in the chamber, and spun toward the balcony. With his dick still half-hard, and pants almost entirely unbuttoned, he looked for the source of the voice, but couldn't find it. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"I never thought I'd see you again. To think I was afraid of such a nut job in my last life. Pathetic, really," the voice echoed again, this time coming from inside the room.

Gregory spun on himself, looking for the person talking, but couldn't see him.

What he did notice, though, was the dying fire. The light from it slowly staggered before snuffing out entirely, casting shadows in the room.

"Who are you? How did you get in here without my noticing?" Gregory asked, his voice acidic, but his tone calm.

"What, did you think you were the only one who could play around in the shadows? How foolish of you," the voice echoed.

"If you know who I am, then you should know better than to mess with me, whoever you are," Gregory threatened.

But the voice chuckled, as it echoed inside the room, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.

"To think once upon a time that threat would have had me on my knees, begging for forgiveness. How low I had fallen. Or rather, how low had your little boss dragged me, and so many others."

Gregory was starting to sweat. The pressure he was feeling was all too real, making him question his unwanted guest's identity.

Very few people on this Earth could make him feel like he was a lesser being. It was most unpleasant to be put in a situation where he could tell the person inside the room with him was toying with him.

Especially since he was usually the one doing the toying.

"Tell me what you want and be on your way. Or I can become serious, and we find out which one of us hides better until one of us dies," he grinned.

But his grin was cut short, as he felt two sharp spokes push into his back ever so slightly.

"I would love to play with you, Gregory. But I don't have that kind of time to waste. You see, I don't give a shit about you. You work for money, and can be bought. Which means you can still be useful in the grand scheme of things," the man behind him said, suddenly becoming tangible.

In the reflection of his scope glass, Gregory could see a man, judging by his traits, around his thirties, with a golden bident in his hands.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked.

"That is irrelevant to the situation. What is, though, is when your boss gets here."

Gregory huffed.

"You know I can't sell out my clients. What kind of reputation do you think that would give me? As a fellow hitman, don't you have that common courtesy?"

David, who was having fun with the man's despair, suddenly frowned.

"A fellow hitman? Do you think I'm scummy like you? I would never waste my time killing for money. I'm not a lowlife like yourself," he spat.

"Then how did you get the drop on me?" Gregory asked, confused.

"I have my ways. But, like I said. Irrelevant. Tell me when Damien gets here, or get your heart pierced through your back without a chance to fight back," David threatened, pushing his bident harder into his back.

The truth was, he couldn't keep this weapon manifested for long yet, and he was on a clock, which was why he was being so pushy.

"You think threats will get me to talk? You may think I'm scummy, but I'm not a sellout. I guess we'll have to find out who the better hide-and-seek player is, after all," Gregory said, grinning widely.

The next moment, he vanished from before David, who thrust forward with his bident, only to hit the air.

'Shit. I knew he was slippery, but this is next level,' he thought, as he melted back into the room's shadows.

The room became deathly silent as shadows flickered under the rising moonlight.

It was on.