They weren’t off to * quite yet, in actuality. They still had an assignment to complete before they could work on their next one, though this one was on their way and slightly less complicated than the other one. Their assignment was to assassinate, and not publicly, a nobleman in the land of Onnola. It was over books; everything in the land of Onnola was. This man had been hoarding books in his library for over twenty years. He would not let anyone else into the library, would not let anybody else even see the books, some of them rare texts of history and others one-of-a-kind, not found anywhere else in the entire land.

It had grown to a boiling point, and since the man showed no signs of dying (he hadn’t even aged a lot in the past ten years), his rivals in study were extremely nervous and anxious to get their hands on the books in his library. As a reward for assassinating this man, the four of them would receive a certain amount of pay as well as two books of their choosing per person from the library, once it was recovered. It was something that they couldn’t resist agreeing to; after all, they had done their research on this man, and not only was he greedy and unwilling to share any knowledge that he came upon with others outside of the family, he was also unwilling to share most things with people within his family as well. His wife had a limited amount of spending money, forced to scrimp and save in order to buy new clothing for herself and their children, while he squandered the money away on books and other scholarly material. This was a common problem with Onnola, unfortunately, though not usually to this degree. People became too focused on their studies to pay attention to their family, to their lives, to their city and country. Onnola, on the outside, was run down in general. The land wasn’t easy to farm, not that most of the residents tried; they relied on the exchanging of knowledge and technology with Valpuria in exchange for food. Some people wondered what would happen if their connection with Valpuria was ever broken; the former country, filled with fields of plenty, wouldn’t suffer in the slightest from a loss in new knowledge – but Onnola would collapse into shambles with their source of food cut off.

The main problem with this assignment was that the nobleman only left his estate once a week, on Tuesdays, to go on a brief walk with his servants around the wooded forest behind his estate. Brief, in that it was only half an hour long, sometimes shorter; he didn’t like the outdoors but his physician had told him that it would be beneficial for his healthy if he actually went outside once in a while. His estate, to the dismay of the four assassins, was extremely secure. There was no chance of bribing the guardsmen (unless they wanted to take a long time to gain their trust and then either bribe them or blackmail them; the guardsmen were very distrustful of people from different kingdoms), no way that they could force an entry in, and no parties or visiting friends to the estate, which made it difficult for them to find a way to sneak in. The only way that they could accomplish this task quickly was during the thirty-minute walk that the nobleman took.

It was Saturday night.

They were certain that they wouldn’t accomplish anything that night and they were too exhausted to make the trip back to their hotel room, so they simply spent the night in the dressing room (a common event, sadly enough; after their concerts, they never felt like doing anything) – with Ace and Lawrence on the couch, leaned up against each other, Cam on the same couch, feet propped up in Lawrence’s lap, and Regina curled up in her own armchair.

/>The next morning, feeling slightly more refreshed after a good night’s sleep and a little more sore due to the way they were sleeping, they took the band’s shek (a streamlined transportation vehicle that ran on airpower, floating above the ground; only the modestly rich people had one of these, the rest of the land either walked or used the Ligrata). It was painted a bright, blinding neon pink color and decorated with the band’s logo and other paintings created by Cam. It wasn’t a way to travel inconspicuously, certainly, but they would later park the shek on the outskirts of the city near an old friend’s house – and also near an infamous strip joint, for no reason that had to do with Ace’s stereotypical behavior and reputation whatsoever – don disguises, and walk the rest of the way into the capital city of Onnola, where the nobleman lived.

It was almost hilarious how much their fans depended on telling physical features to identify them as members of Revelations, as devout as their fans were. When they usually walked down a street in a large city, even in normal attire (which, granted, was similar in style to their concert attire), a large crowd of people always eventually descended upon them asking for their autographs and pictures. Ace was always recognizable because of his frontman status, but Cam and Lawrence’s hair style and color usually helped the identification process. They didn’t mind, most of the time. They liked interacting with their fans, as long as they weren’t in too much of a hurry. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were that famous, where they were a household name and everyone knew what they looked like; that would have made their current occupation extremely difficult. They were, however, extremely popular with teenagers and their concerts in smaller arenas always sold out, at least.

This mission was no different from their other assignments. It called for complete secrecy and a low profile, which meant that they would have to disguise themselves while staking out the estate and the city in general.

Ace wore his black hair up in a hat, along with conservative clothing, which consisted of jeans and a t-shirt. He also tried not to saunter too much (or strut like an egotistical idiot, as Regina called it; she actually did love the entire band, really). Regina didn’t wear an outfit that consisted entirely of black, which was a miracle in and of itself, but she also took off her glasses. Lawrence temporarily dyed his hair brown, its original (and boring, according to him) color, and flattened his mohawk. Cam wore a long blonde wig over her pink hair and – something that actually made her shorter than Regina, which she was – sensible shoes. It wasn’t much of an effort, truth be told. It only took them thirty minutes at most, but as they walked down the street, nobody even gave them a second glance – aside from a few lounging street workers that whistled at Regina and yelled out lewd comments, but who quickly learned that even good-looking girls could be extremely intimidating (and slightly painful) while angry.

-----

After casually asking around town and scoping out the wooded area for the rest of Sunday, most of their current knowledge of the man ascertained, they met with their client on Monday to finalize the details; the nobleman would die of an “accident” while out on his weekly ambulatory stroll. The client, who was involved with the law in Onnola, made sure that the books would be put out on auction. One of the richest people in the town was also a philanthropist; that would make sure that some of the books would go to the town library, at least. Although he could have included himself in the nobleman’s will, the client would have to buy the books like everyone else did, because if he were to include himself in the will, no matter how excellent of a plan he had for doing so, there would have been deep suspicion. The people of Onnola were very far from dumb.

The will, however, the client assured them, stated that the entire estate and all of the nobleman’s funds would go to the widow. They had already agreed to the deal, but that fact made accomplishing this mission that much better of a prospect.

The rest of Monday was spent planning. Ace spoke with important people who were associated with the nobleman, being careful to wear a different disguise each time and speak with subtlety. Lawrence designed the plans, Regina fitted them with local weapons in case the situation became ugly (though they hoped it wouldn’t come to that; they had no real argument with the two guardsmen that escorted the nobleman each week), and Cam’s sole duty was to discover all that she could about the two guardsmen. It was only slightly more than four hours’ work before they created a plan that they believed would work. This was how they were trained to do everything – with speed and precision. Four hours was not a long time and if they were to mess this chance up, they wouldn’t have another chance for an entire week.

And then it was Tuesday.

Every single week, on Tuesday, at two o’clock in the afternoon, a certain nobleman in a certain township in Onnola left his study, called for the two guardsmen who stood outside his front gate at that time, and left the compound for a brisk walk out in the wooded area behind his estate. He took the same path every single time, one that wound up a gently sloping hill, through a copse of deciduous trees, down through a winding and slightly rocky path, and back around the hill to the back door of his estate. Depending on how fast he walked (which was in turn dependent on the weather), it took around half an hour for his walk. This Tuesday was no exception.

Unfortunately for him, aside from the walk, Tuesday also had other plans that didn’t quite coincide with his plan to stay alive and breathing.

At precisely two o’clock, he set out for his walk, but before he could reach the part of the hill that sloped upwards, a woman stepped out of the bushes; the guards raised their guns, but she was a demurely-dressed woman, in plain Onnola robes, with average features and a pleasantly surprised expression. She wasn’t an obvious threat, so the guardsmen lowered their guns. She took a careful step towards one of them. “Bradley? Is that you?”

He gave her a confused look, glancing at the nobleman for his approval to speak to this woman. The nobleman nodded. “Do I know you from somewhere, ma’am?”

“Not directly, no,” she replied, looking shyly at her feet. “I apologize for intruding, but I have come all the way from Valpuria to see your wife and yet, I can find her nowhere.”

“Valpuria—“ A look of comprehension dawned on his face. “Are you her childhood friend, Anne? I’ve seen pictures of the two of you together, somewhere.””

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I was passing through this area of Onnola and I knew that she lived here – we’ve been writing to each other frequently – but when I couldn’t find her in your house, I came here. She had told me that you were a guard here.” She curtsied apologetically towards the nobleman. “I’m sorry to keep you from your walk, sir; this won’t take long at all.”

Bradley furrowed a brow. “She should be home right now. Did you knock?”

“Yes, indeed, I knocked on the door. I even looked through the window. She had left her washing half done, but she wasn’t at home. The front door had been left ajar.”

“Washing half—“ It was clear that with Bradley’s wife, this was a big deal. His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

Anne looked innocently quizzical. “Is there something wrong?”

“She would never leave her housework—“

The nobleman cleared his throat and gave Bradley a slightly annoyed look. This would normally have cowed him, but Bradley’s wife was the sort of person who was absolutely obsessed with completing anything that she started. If she had left her laundry half done (and the front door ajar, at that), this meant that something was horribly, horribly wrong. He bowed to the nobleman. “I apologize, sir, but if I could just accompany this young woman to my home – I assure you, the minute I learn that my wife is not in danger, I will immediately return.”

The nobleman considered it – Bradley was rarely ever worried. He was usually the calm, assured one, while the other guardsman, Anderson, was the overprotective and slightly paranoid one; it was a good balance and they complemented each other in their duties. He nodded. “You may, but your pay will be docked for however long you are gone.”

Bradley paused slightly (he hadn’t expected that), but since other matters were more pressing, he left with “Anne” towards his home. It took five minutes to walk to his home, usually. He would spend three minutes walking, five minutes attempting to track down “Anne”, who had lost her way in the marketplace, two more minutes walking, one minute of assuring that his wife was, indeed, fine and in the middle of doing her washing (and quite irate at how he dared to interrupt her), and five minutes to return to the nobleman’s estate. By the time he returned, his employer was already dead. Luckily, no charges would be pressed against him because he was home at the time of death; many witnesses could testify to this fact. Later, when he asked his wife about Anne, she replied that Anne had died two years ago. Didn’t he remember how she had to leave and attend the funeral? This was passed on in the kingdom of Onnola as a ghost tale, of how a wife’s dead childhood friend appeared as a spirit to her husband in order to warn him of his wife’s imminent danger, and how he returned to their home just in time to save her from mortal peril, only to discover later that the friend was, in fact, dead.

After Bradley left, the nobleman and Anderson continued on their trek up the sloping hill. They didn’t discuss what had just happened because it seemed an ordinary, incidental event; little did they know, it was one of the many events that would lead to the nobleman’s demise.

Just on the rise of the hill, Anderson, who had sharp ears and jumped to conclusions at even the tiniest noise, heard what he thought was the sound of a gun being cocked. He stopped in his path, causing the nobleman to stop as well.

“Hold on, sir. I thought I heard something.”

The nobleman resisted from telling him that he always thought he heard something, because it was certainly better to be safe than sorry; the nobleman knew of the current situation in his town, after all. “What did you hear?”

“It was—“ He began, then waved a hand for silence. After a moment’s pause, “And now I have just heard footsteps in the woods. I’m going to go investigate, sir.”

The nobleman nodded, and Anderson stepped into the woods carefully, making his way towards where he thought the sounds were emanating from. And then, when he was just far away enough so that the nobleman couldn’t see him or hear him, he felt a barrel of a gun being pressed between his shoulderblades.

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” a low voice said, into his ears. “Set your gun down.” He hesitated for a second and the gun jabbed into his back a little harder. “I said, set your gun down now.” He carefully set it down, the gun barrel remaining at his back the entire time.

“What do you want?” He gritted out, upset at being caught, and even more upset at failing his job.

“There’s no need to be rude,” the voice said, slightly amused. “I know who you work for. What do you think I want?”

The voice was so hardened and cold that a normal person, at this time, would have said something akin to “Please don’t kill me”, but Anderson was a seasoned guard – he knew how to handle these situations. “You can have his books,” he replied calmly, his voice not tremulous in the least bit (if there was a hint of it, that was from the exertion of walking, not fear), “...as long as you don’t kill me.”

“A fine guardsmen you are,” the voice snorted. “Willing to give him up so easily. I don’t want his books, though. I don’t even want his money. I want your money – you just got paid today, didn’t you? Hand it over.”

“Why not his?” Anderson asked meekly, emptying out his wallet into the outstretched hand – he noted that the hand had a certain tattoo on it, a very familiar one – ah, yes, he remembered now. It was a mark of a member of an infamous gang of criminals; they were mostly located in *, but they frequented the outskirts of large cities. He had learned about them during his time as a guard.

“You were the one who walked into the woods by yourself, weren’t you? I just need enough money to pay off a quick loan, nothing more. By now he’s probably back at the house already, anyway, and you of all people should know how well-guarded his house is. I didn’t want to make it even more difficult for myself.” Before Anderson had time to reply, the voice continued, in a slightly mocking tone. “By the way, I’m sorry.”

The butt of the gun hit Anderson’s head sharply, and he was out cold. He awoke half an hour later tied to a tree and surrounded by Onnolan officials – it was obvious to the officials that Anderson had not killed the nobleman, if the nobleman had indeed died by murder. Not only was Anderson strapped to a tree, but he had no weapons on him, no money, and his description of the robber’s tattoo marking (and voice) matched another citizen’s description of someone who had stolen an item from his shop.

Obviously, the nobleman had not made it back to the house already. After Anderson left him to walk into the forest and he hadn’t returned or made any sign that he was going to return for a few minutes, the nobleman assumed that he was sneaking a drink, or something smiliar, because Anderson did have a slight drinking problem. It soothed his nerves, he said. The nobleman shook his head slightly (guardsmen; they thought all the time in the world was theirs) and continued along the path without Anderson; after all, it was only a fifteen minute walk back to the house. What could go wrong?

The answer: A lot.

When he reached the top of the hill, he paused for a moment below a naturally rocky embankment. It was a sunny day, and since he was used to sitting in a dark and gloomy studio, he was wearing clothing that was just a little too thick – the embankment provided shade, and he relaxed in it for a while. That was when he heard the low, rumbling noise. It sounded like a rainstorm falling on a roof at first, and then he could pick out single noises that sounded like – it sounded like pebbles dropping down a – oh. There were pebbles dropping down from the embankment, for some reason or another.

Now, Onnolans are stereotypically known for their intelligence, but intelligent people usually don’t have a lot of common sense, especially when they spend most of their time indoors reading and studying. When he heard and saw the pebbles dropping down, his first instinct was not to duck deeper beneath the embankment and wait it out, but to peer up and over the embankment, perhaps even taking a few steps back to gain a better look.

WHAM. He was hit by a large boulder careening down the slope; it skipped off the edge of the embankment, slammed into his chest, and forced him stumbling backwards, perhaps with a few broken ribs. If that wasn’t enough (and it wasn’t; he was still alive), it also pushed him over the edge of the cliff that was behind him. Tumbling over the edge, he slammed into a few ridges and tree roots and landed on a small outcropping that was about ten feet below the edge of the cliff.

Amazingly enough, he was still alive at that point. The fall had broken countless bones, certainly, but if people had found him in time (and they might have, were he not dead at that time), he would have found a good enough doctor to help him recover completely. Unfortunately for him, though he thought it quite fortunate, it was at that moment that he heard a voice from above the edge of the cliff – two voices, in fact.

“He shoots,” the first voice was saying, “and he scores!” He couldn’t hear the second voice as well, but there was the sound of something murmured that sounded like admonishment. He agreed. There he was, lying on the side of a cliff, bleeding, with a lot of books to attend to – and the best that they could do was make jokes?

There was the sound of soft scuffling and someone landed next to him, kicking up some dust. He tried turning his head to see who it was, but his neck didn’t quite bend that far. The voice coming from somewhere above him was female, however. “I’ll give you a chance,” it spoke, “to either die retaining your honor – or not.”

/>“Please help me,” he rasped out.

“That wasn’t one of the options.” There was a slight pause. “Tell me. When is your wife’s birthday? In fact – just give me a month. Any month. You have a one in twelve chance of getting it right; a one in twelve chance of dying quickly and bloodlessly, all thanks to this,” she held up a syringe to his eyes, tapping the barrel that showed the colorless liquid inside, “rather than in an extremely bloody and messy fashion.”

His eyes widened, especially at the syringe. “What-- What is this?”

“Let me put it simply. You’re going to die,” the voice replied, emotionless. “Would you rather die by this syringe or by my bare hands?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but then she stood directly over him and he could see in her eyes that she truly, truly meant this; the assassins had finally got to him. The nobleman thought quickly; she could see that he was trying to frantically remember when they had last celebrated his wife’s birthday. Had he ever known his wife’s birthday? Perhaps before they were married she had mentioned something, but he had taken it for granted that she wouldn’t want to celebrate her birthday (it was such a frivolous holiday, after all), that they never celebrated it. He had to say something; he could feel himself growing faint. If only he could remember, it wouldn’t result in anything much, but he would rather have his body more presentable for a funeral, if he had no choice but to die.

“June,” he replied, firmly. Perhaps she didn’t even know, perhaps she was bluffing and—

Regina firmly grabbed the nobleman’s hair on one side of head and in a swift motion, slammed his head against the sharp edge of a boulder. Whatever life was left in him slowly ebbed out. “Off by three months,” she said, dispassionately. “Good riddance.”

At that moment, Lawrence skidded down the slope to stand next to her. He gave the prone body a onceover, shaking his head a little. “Man, Regina, that was actually kind of harsh. You should consider anger management.”

She let the contents of the syringe out over the cliffside (it had only contained water), capping the syringe and replacing it in her pocket. “I think you’ve forgotten what we do for a living,” she replied, and then walked away.

It took a few calculations, but Lawrence soon determined how to position the body to make it seem like the rockslide was an accident that had knocked into the nobleman, thrown him off a cliff, nailed him in the head, and instantly killed him. The mountainside was actually notable for its rockslides; they hadn’t had to do much to start one, merely shift a few smaller rocks. What made things difficult was Regina’s last action, but after glancing at the crime scene, he knew that only the most astute detective would notice something wrong with it.

Of course, the officials would investigate the matter thoroughly; the nobleman was an important man in the town, and he had a lot of power that would need to be redistributed. Luckily for them, the only two people around had been the body guards and the robber (and the spirit, but who believed that story?). The guards both had relatively sound alibis, and if the robber had done it, why hadn’t he taken the money off of the nobleman’s person afterwards? Besides, there was no evidence of any foul play of any kind. It didn’t take long to determine – the nobleman’s death was an accident, and that was all there was to it.

Ace and Cam joined Regina and Lawrence a little ways away from the crime scene after a short while. Cam pulled the brown wig off her head, sighing in relief. “Oh my god, I felt so – so plain in that. I can’t believe the things they wear! How can they stand this disgusting lack of color?”

Ace, who had really enjoyed his part as ‘bad guy’ a little too much, began to scrub the tattoo off his hand, laughing slightly. “I’m sure it’s because their fashion senses aren’t as astute as yours, Cam.”

Lawrence made one last round of the crime scene before giving them the signal to move out. Nobody spoke to Regina about her last action. That was how it worked, after all; if their plan didn’t kill their intended target, and speed was of the essence, whoever was nearest killed him in a fashion they deemed fitting. Also, nobody wanted to discuss her emotions with her; that always ended in a huge blowout.

They stayed at a hotel for a few days before the case was resolved and they could collect their reward – a small amount of money, and the books that were promised to them. Each of them claimed books that they were certain would be useful in the future – or, at least, one book that they were certain would be useful in the future. Ace claimed two books on foreign languages (there were lands more distant than the four kingdoms, and Ace wasn’t sure what they were called or where they were located, but in some provinces and towns, they spoke in different languages; Ace was very much a people person so that he had to assure that no matter what, he would fully understand anyone he was speaking with). Regina claimed a book on the identification and refurbishment of old and broken-down weapons, as well as another book on various art movements (she didn’t tell anyone about either books, and nobody pried; she sometimes painted to get her frustrations out and was very interested in all types of artwork, but somehow, art didn’t seem tough enough for her – she didn’t wanted to ruin her image).

Lawrence took one book on the practical rewiring of sheks to turn them into literally anything, and another book on poetry. He told the other three about the books that he had chosen and at the mention of the last book, all of them laughed, even Regina. Lawrence? Read poetry? It was unthinkable. Of course, it wasn’t any sort of macho statement. He was above that. He simply hated poetry. If someone wanted to get their feelings out, why did they have to do it in verse or rhyme? He could understand freeform poetry, that had emotion built into the form, but he didn’t understand why people chose to write poetry that was limited to a form. Why couldn’t they have just written in prose? And then the three of them realized that he had a book of the only sort of poetry that he would ever really enjoy reading – extremely dirty, erotic poetry. And lastly, Cameron chose one book on philosophy, a pet subject of hers. Her second book was a smaller one, completely encased in black leather and unlabeled. When the other three questioned her, she dodged the questions expertly and completely refused to tell them, but knowing her, they assumed that it was simply an overly girly book that she didn’t want to get made fun of for (since she was the only girly member of the band, though some claimed that Ace was also quite girly at times), perhaps some steamy and tawdry romance, which was why she wanted to keep it a secret. That was completely fine with them. Every single one of them had at least a few secrets that they kept from each other, some of them quite dark; unlike most brothers and sisters, they actually knew how to respect each others’ privacy.

Their task complete, their reward collected, the four members of Revelations decided that this assignment had been a success. They then focused their sights on *. They didn’t know what they were going to do, how they were going to kill the king, but they did know that they did immensely well when all four of them were accomplishing tasks that involved their strengths, but mostly when all four of them worked together. It was cheesy, but when Cam idly said that as long as they did that, anything was possible, all of them had to agree.