Prologue: Retirement (2)

"Hey, hey, hey Vincy. What do you mean retire? You can't retire. You're only twenty-two," Rose blabbered on as she trailed from behind.

In her heels, she dashed a few meters after slamming the car doors shut. Rose tapped his shoulders twice, practically begging for his explanation. But Vincent didn't give any form of response. He walked non-stop impassively and didn't even bother to hold the elevator doors open while she caught her breath.

Rose was sure she squeezed some pounds off just trying to enter the elevator. She cursed him a thousand times. Once or twice she could tolerate his aloft and mightiness, but this? Zero show of courtesy or respect. It was as if he never understood common sense.

Rose gave herself a few moments to calm herself. Her eyes blazed, feeling even more compelled to get to the bottom of everything.

With a hand on his collar, another hand slammed beside his head and a knee to his shins. She felt his bony ribs and winced in the process, almost not believing it. Immediate regret washed over her body after the kadebon.

Rose knew that he'd never have the best of appetite, and that he was a picky eater because of his childhood... but never knew it was to this extent. He was practically skin and bones. Coupled with his soullessness, it seemed as if he was on the verge of death. He was the master of the shadows, but almost ironically, it was as if he too wanted to fade away.

Blue tears of forgiveness filled her eyes, a sharp contrast to her flaming determination earlier. She knew it at once, what she had done. Thousands and thousands of killings, with zero goals in life. It was simple.

He'd simply grew sick of it all.

And that meant she was the major reason of his retirement.

Rose's heart shattered as if a bullet had pierced right through. She was the one that brought this upon herself from that choice alone, all the way back fifteen years ago. It was selfish, and it was regretful. But it wasn't from his mouth. The only thing she could do was lean in closer and close to his ears and whisper for the truth.

"Was the organization not good enough? We've been together for fifteen years, Vincent. Did you grow sick of me? Do you regret letting me save you from the orphanage seven years ago, to this life of crime?"

Silence. It was nothing short of her expectations.

The elevator doors opened. Dozens of curious eyes poured inside. It was only then did sullen Rose realize the position they were in and she'd almost had a heart attack. Again.

This was no time to be mulling over heartbreak. Her advances and feelings have always remained hidden in their line of work, but now, it was all embarrassingly obvious. For the first time, Rose was at a loss of words. She couldn't make a decision. Hell, she couldn't even face her subordinates anymore. They were the same as her Vincent—carefully brought up and trained from a young age, tested for loyalty and retention of skills for three purposes—to devote, to serve, to kill. Down the line, would they grow numb to the organization and choose to desert it all? Or were they already considering that, as they watch her?

Rose knew her usual charisma, eloquence and decisiveness that bode her name as princess wilted in his presence. She was thirty-two—she could at least recognize she was acting like a girl crazy in love. Feelings have no place in her line of work, she repeated again and again. Still, the nagging thought remained in her head—this form of assassination or slow-killing of everyone around her.

"I must be going soft," she mumbled. Once more, she took the heavy gazes around her and opened her mouth.

Rose drew a deep breath and stood properly. Her rosy-red lips, laced with chap-stick somehow still felt dry. Again, she tried—no luck. Words couldn't or wouldn't exit her mouth when suddenly, a indifferent voice spoke out from behind her.

"Disperse," Vincent stated. His eyes were shut and his arms were crossed.

Rose's heart jumped a million decibels at his voice. He'd already stolen her heart, but now, he'd even stole her words. And as the elevator door's chimed into closing, her heart dropped by a billion decibels as he held her by his hands and dragged her out.

'What or how was this roller-coaster of emotions going to end?' Rose wondered.

. . .

"H-hey Vince. Where are you taking me?"

"Vincey, slow down! My heels can't keep up!"

"Vincent, I'll take your silence as yes to my questions earlier."

"Say something! Oww."

When Rose looked up, they were back in the the main office of their underground headquarters. It was only at this familiar sight did she finally regain her senses.

Windows surrounded the wall displayed the nighttime view of the city skyline as though they were in a skyscraper, when in reality however, it was all real-time footage of some fancy-camerawork. A simple wooden conference room table stood in the centre of the room. On the side, a bookcase stored many scattered items—some knifes still bleeding red, some guns, golden coin, a picture frame and lots of documents.

Rose easily wriggled her hand out Vincent's grip and collapsed into her swinging red office chair. Like a child, she spun around a few times, before giving out and splattered herself on the table. The mental exhaustion today was too much, and there still was hundreds of pages of reports for her to go over from all sorts of happenings in the organization. Feeling the many levels of soreness, her temples begged for a quick massage which she gladly gave. Her chest felt so tight she didn't care to ask where Vincent had disappeared to.

Shortly after, an attendant entered the room and handed her a cup of tea and her laptop. Rose took long sip before she shoo'd her off with a wave of her hand.

"Make sure to not let Sicily enter. I've got so many things to work on. That brat will probably be crying and throwing one of his tantrums again—" Rose added quickly, but she was too late.

Sicily ran into the room bawling. "Brother Vincent—waahhh!"

Tears filled his robotic monocle to the brim and stained his white lab coat. Rose wasn't sure how he could see looking like the mess he was, but judging at how he ran into the desk as he entered the room, he really couldn't. Sicily fell on his knees. Down on all fours, the backpack that hung over his shoulders trembled as he wailed.

"Brother Vincent left me without saying goodbye!" he cried. He didn't notice the lights in the break room were turned on.

Rose plugged her ears for some minutes, but grew sick of his wailing. She couldn't concentrate on anything—her work, her heart, and the man in question, especially. Between the matters of his work and his attitude, Rose was sure he wasn't joking with his words about going into retirement, albeit she had zero clue what that meant. Vincent never joked. She thought of Sicily's words and the scene earlier. Did that have something to do in all this?

The sounds from the break room broke her brief stint of paranoia. Knowing him, Rose knew there was a terribly high chance that he would leave without a word. Her laptop slammed shut. Was this his way of rejection?

Rose grabbed the groveling Sicily by his arms and dragged him into the break room.

On the counter was his trademark black mask, a cup of water, and the coffee machine that was running. From the corner of the room, the sounds of water gushing echoed quietly. The glowing ring of light around that door silenced them both.

"It's the dead of the night. What's the coffee even for?" Rose muttered, shooting a glance at the restroom.

Even Sicily realized what was up. His whining stopped and his eyes brightened with excitement; as lively as a puppy. If not the fact that he had no wagging tail, he'd easily be mistaken for one. Sicily stood up and brushed the dust off of himself. He trotted over to the side of the door with a finger placed over his mouth. The sparkles in his eyes blinked with naughtiness.

Rose heaved facepalm, then a sigh. Sicily was a handful to deal with, for them both. His childish antics never changed and... never have worked. And all that his little pranks ever earned was a blank face or sometimes the fake-st smile and always he'd be sent off with two pats on his head.

"Rawrs won't scare him," Rose whispered. Her thorny side was out today—and she wanted to prick him, badly. Perhaps it was an unconscious act to avoid the answer she dreaded. "When he comes out, we both jump at him with these knives. That has to scare him."

"W-what?" Sicily hung his mouth agape. His dumbfounded eyes darted across the room back and forth, and he stammered. "I didn't want to scare Brother Vincent, only to surprise him, Boss..."

Rose gritted her teeth. "Either I'll give you a true scare you, or you'll scare him."

"I'll go, I'll try! I'll scare him, I promise!"

"You'd better." Her glare worked. Sicily was practically whimpering like before. His eyelids drooped and he wouldn't even look up at the door anymore. The fruit knife in his hands slowly raised to up his nose, and it trembled like mad.

"And now, we wait," Rose stated with no remorse. She was out for blood. Would he walk out directly to the exit, and disappear?

The narrow glint in her brows landed from Sicily to the door. Inside, they could hear the toilet flush, followed again by the sounds of water running. And then—

The door creaked open.

—and they jumped.

The experience and training all organization members required to enter showed it's worth. Rose, whom was getting older, and usually dictated the killings from behind the scenes was still fast to react. Even the emotionally and physically immature Sicily had conducted several casual decapitations and crude tortures before.

To their minds, this was nothing different. As soon as they saw a leg step out, a hazy fog smothered their brains—subconsciously targeting the vitals. They tightened their grip and twisted the knife around and around to the familiar sensation of flesh and bones and patiently waited for their groans before pulling away.

That was what played out in Rose's mind.

In actuality, the white haze was an unexpected white shirt that blinded them into nothing less. The vitals they targeted were really the foundation of the door. The so-called 'familiar' sensation of piercing flesh was all but placebo and maybe a few air molecules, and the pulling away... was nothing but them jumping backwards in complete fright.

The fruit knives clattered onto the floor. Both Sicily and Rose could only stare wide-eyed their bodies frozen in place as Vincent stepped out, giving a pause. He shot a glance at the two of them, looking left right before the door finally opened all the way. Stuffed in his pockets were his two hands. He finished his step with a clean and calm step over the knives.

"W-what in the world... what are you wearing?" Rose cried out in horror.

Vincent looked himself up and down. He donned an oversized plain white t-shirt, an old pair of sneakers, and blue jeans that were slipping off. His hair, although ruffled, still showed signs it had been oiled with gel. The doom-and-gloom aura he emitted had disappeared along with the eye-bags and the skin on his face glowed with vitality. He looked every bit like a normal man; though an awfully lanky one.

"Do I look that bad?" There was a trace of hesitation in his voice.

Sicily's gaze was wide with emotion. He praised, "Brother Vincent, you look sooo handsome!"

Vincent turned to Rose and shot her a meaningful glance. "You think so?"

Rose failed to lean on the door and stumbled. Her legs continued to tremble even after they gave away. She too did not dare to meet his gaze and instead choose to stare at the ceiling, shiver, and shake her head back and forth. A scorching flame seem to consume her insides, and then, her entire body was fever hot, as if a boiling pot held her heart—the raised temperature cooking her blood all throughout.

"You look g-good," Rose finally stammered with two dry coughs. "G-great, even."

She stole one more quick peek through the holes of her hands covering her face. Somehow, through that tiny crevice between her fingers, did she feel his gaze fixate on her.

Rose collapsed onto the ground. Little bursts of blood erupted from her nose. In seconds, she was out cold.

"Rose? Rose? Are you good?" Vincent bent down and lent a hand to her. When she didn't response, he turned to Sicily. "Internal bleeding... did one of her organs rupture?"

Vincent didn't notice the phone camera switched on to recording in his hand. He picked her up with one hand on her leg and the another on her arm. With an almost throwing-like motion that made Sicily cringe, he threw her onto a chair. Rose's head slumped down and hung over the backrest.

"Brother Vincent... you're a bit rough with Boss. She was okay earlier, but after that... I dunno anymore."

Sicily placed the fruit knives back on the counter before he ran back. His white lab coat dangled from behind as he climbed into her lap. With a hand around the back of her head, Sicily gave her a tight slap across her face. When she didn't budge an inch except for the micro-action of breathing, Sicily patted himself on the chest and heaved a sigh of relief.

"No worries, Brother Vincent, Boss is a-okay. She's just um—awooused, I think that's what you called it. No worries at all! Boss is having a great time in sleep—err, dreams. You might want to leave the room, though. I can wake her up easily!" he concluded, with a beaming smile that spread from cheek to cheek.

Vincent didn't spare a moment, clearly reassured by his words. Passing Sicily two pats on his head, he nodded in understanding and seconds later, he was out the door. From behind, he called out, "Tell me when she's awake. I have something to say."

"Okay!" Sicily answered, and the sounds of footsteps gradually drew to a pause.

The furrow on his brows twitched and twitched as Sicily continued to observe his boss. While promised it would be an easy treatment, he wasn't sure if it would work. But since his boss was extra mean today and bullied him for seemingly everything he did, Sicily felt compelled to at least try something he would never dare if she was awake.

Sicily didn't hesitate to tap twice on his phone. He re-scrolled the recording back to the perfect time and deleted the other half. Again, he pulled the back of her heads forwards before he leaned in and whispered, "Boss, Brother Vincent was really worried about your well-being. He cares about you!"

As soon as he felt shudders course throughout his boss's body, Sicily jumped and scrambled away to a safe distance. His eyes twinkled in disbelief. He'd really underestimated his boss and her ability to react to anything related to his Brother Vincent.

Rose's eyes sputtered open, all while she gasped for breath. She threw frantic gazes around the room, before finding the opportunity to crack her head and sit herself up comfortably.

"Whew. I just had the weirdest dream—I fell or something, and then we kissed and then we got married somehow and even had a kid. But then—" Her words were cut short as she watched the video play. "But then, we were about to do the thing—and the bastard left, with another woman and daughter he had with her."

Vincent froze in place walking into the room hearing this. Rose did the same, as she looked upwards from the phone in her hands. Her eyes widened in realization. Only when Sicily's light humming sounded did the two snap back into reality. He motioned Sicily out of the room, to which Sicily could only purse his lips and nod begrudgingly.

When the door shut, Vincent immediately made eye contact with Rose, whom was still collecting herself. He was surprisingly patient and understanding of her flustered feelings currently and gave her the time. The tomato-like blush on Rose's cheeks finally grew to a faint pink, as instead, her heart-rate picked up in speed.

"W-what was it?" Rose could only ask under the heaviness of his gaze.

Vincent drew in a deep breath, but spoke clearly. "Big sister Rose. I can't accept your feelings. Assassination just isn't my thing anymore... so maybe, I'll see you around."

With that, a bow, and a salute, Vincent exited the room. He whispered a few words to Sicily before his figure disappeared from the halls. Inside, Rose's face was still in a blank, blank stare⁠—zero blinks and zero signs of breathing. She collapsed.

After a few moments, a few footsteps entered the silent room. Sicily heaved for breaths as he glanced around. He paused, only now realizing the matters that his Brother Vincent had warned him about. Staring down at the floor, a gulp of air passed down his throat.

When Rose didn't respond to his gentle shakes, he propped her up onto the table and chair. And like a diligent guard-dog he watched over her, noticing and tensing at every movement. Relief washed over him as her breathing returned, and eventually, the groggy Rose awoke with a hand on her head.

"Ughn," she groaned, stumbling as she attempted to stand.

Two blinks after, she sprinted out of the room leaving a befuddled and unprepared Sicily speechless. "W-wait, Boss... Brother Vincent! Don't leave me here alone!" he cried.

Sicily crashed into two different walls and four different people on his way to the training grounds. Located at the bottom-most level of their underground base, it was a long and treacherous journey for anyone in a hurry. He'd almost wanted to rewire the entire coding of the elevator when he pushed the bottom and the elevator still wasn't there. And when he was finally inside the compartment, his eyes bubbled at each floor the number on the wall kept changing into.

A bright 'ding' sounded about. Sicily again almost ran into the opening doors, but this time he was a little more careful. His head started to get a tad woozy from all the impacts earlier. Still, that didn't deter him from running at full speed. In no time, he stood in front of a picturesque iron dungeon-like door. He could hear voices inside and the guard-dogs barking, but that was it. Grey mist flowed out from under. It seemed that the atmosphere inside was heavy.

"Whew. It looks like Brother Vincent and Boss are going to have another right," Sicily whispered to himself. "Monocle, should I record this for later?"

"..."

"Yeah. You're right. I think so too. This may be the last time we see Brother Vincent again."

Sicily raised his hand slowly. Two beep-beep's acknowledged his tapping on the side of the monocle. He stood tipsy-toes, on the helm of his shoes, and rattled the doorknob. The door pushed itself open, almost as if it was inviting him in.

Although Sicily tried his best to erase his presence, his footsteps still echoed in the chamber. The shadow of him loomed over the ragged clothes and bodies of the boys and girls inside of what seemed like prison cells that stretched across the wall.

The trek to the end felt like forever and Sicily wished it did, for everything inside the chambers came to a stand-still. Sicily could see everything at his distance—everything he did not want to see. The scene burned into him.

"Brother Vincent—!" he tried crying out, but he was cut short. It was too late.

The little girl that Vincent stood in front and stared down upon jumped into his arms.