Happy Together

Kill at Will

That evening, Lucius sat in his apartment, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. The TV was on, but the sound was muted; he wasn’t watching it anyway. Spread out before him on the coffee table were his tools—blueprints of DJ’s neighborhood he’d pulled up online, a burner phone, and a small black duffel bag containing the essentials he’d need for what came next.

The satisfaction he felt was palpable. Every detail was coming together. He’d spent the day tailing DJ, confirming his habits and vulnerabilities. DJ was predictable to a fault. He came home from work around 6:30, microwaved a sad dinner, and sat on his couch until he passed out in front of the TV.

Lucius chuckled to himself. "f*****g sad sack of man." he muttered again.

As he double-checked the contents of his bag, his phone buzzed. It was another message from Victoria.

"Just got home. What are you up to tonight?"

For a moment, he hesitated. He could feel Alistair clawing at the edges of his mind, trying to reassert himself. This was Victoria’s way of grounding him, pulling him back into her world of warmth and light.

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he typed back: "Just catching up on some work. I’ll call you later."

He set the phone aside before Alistair could push his way through and derail everything. This wasn’t the time for weakness.

By the time 10:00 rolled around, Lucius was ready. Dressed in black, his bag slung over his shoulder, he moved through the night like a shadow. The streets were quiet as he parked two blocks from DJ’s house. The faint hum of streetlights and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees were the only sounds.

He approached the house carefully, keeping to the shadows. The side gate was still ajar, just as it had been the night before. He slipped through, his movements silent and deliberate.

The backyard was unkempt, the grass overgrown and a few empty beer bottles scattered near a weathered patio set. Lucius’s eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. A sliding glass door at the back of the house led into the living room. Through the curtains, he could see the flickering light of the TV.

DJ was there, slumped on the couch, a half-empty beer in his hand.

Lucius’s pulse quickened. This was it.

He pulled the burner phone from his pocket and dialed a number. On the other end, a voice answered.

"Yeah?"

"It’s time," Lucius said simply.

"You sure?"

"Positive. Move into position. I’ll handle the inside."

The line went dead, and Lucius slipped the phone back into his pocket. He wasn’t alone in this—his old unit was reliable, and they were already nearby, waiting to play their part.

With practiced ease, Lucius reached into his bag and pulled out a lock-picking set. The sliding door’s lock was cheap and gave way in seconds. The door slid open soundlessly, and Lucius stepped inside, closing it behind him.

The air inside the house was stale, a mix of old sweat and beer. DJ didn’t stir, too engrossed in whatever mindless show was playing on the TV. Lucius stood there for a moment, watching him, his mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts.

"Showtime," he whispered to himself, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he stepped forward pulling the balaclava over his head.

Placing himself against the wall he pulled the bottle and rag from the open bag and poured the liquid onto it. Just a matter of minutes Lucius mused as he waited by the kitchen entrance. DJ’s laughter echoed faintly from the living room as he watched the game. The clinking of beer bottles and distant chatter filled the air, masking the faint creak of floorboards as Lucius leaned casually against the kitchen counter, waiting for his moment. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the countertop, his face wearing a carefully neutral expression—just another guest blending into the background.

The opportunity came when DJ got up, stretching lazily before heading toward the kitchen. Lucius’s smile widened slightly as he moved to position himself near the shadows, just out of DJ’s immediate line of sight. DJ strolled into the kitchen, oblivious to the presence behind him, his attention solely on the fridge as he opened it and reached for another beer.

The fridge door swung shut with a soft thud as DJ turned around, bottle in hand. Before he could take a step, Lucius was upon him. The move was quick and practiced. Lucius’s arm snaked around DJ’s shoulders, pressing the rag to his face. The sharp, chemical smell hit DJ’s nostrils immediately. He jerked back, dropping the beer bottle, which shattered against the floor.

“Does this smell like chloroform?” Lucius whispered mockingly into DJ’s ear, his voice low and calm.

DJ thrashed against him, his muffled protests growing weaker with each passing second. His movements slowed, his legs buckling as he slipped into unconsciousness. Lucius eased him down to the floor with care, ensuring the sound of his collapse wouldn’t alert anyone nearby.

Straightening up, Lucius tapped the discreet earbud in his right ear. The tiny device crackled to life, and a cheery British voice answered.

“Simonson’s Delivery Service! How can we assist you today?”

Lucius’s voice was calm and measured as he replied, “Yes, I have a pickup that needs to be made here.”

There was a brief pause before the voice returned, all business now. “We’ll be right there to collect your package.”

The line went dead, and Lucius slipped the phone back into his pocket. He crouched down, grabbing DJ by the wrists and dragging him toward the sliding glass door at the back of the kitchen. The glass reflected Lucius’s calm demeanor as he unlocked the door with one hand and propped it open. The cool night air rushed in, carrying with it the distant hum of an approaching vehicle.

Moments later, a white van rolled silently into the driveway. Its headlights flicked off as two men stepped out, their movements swift and purposeful. One was tall and broad-shouldered, his face partially obscured by a balaclava. The other was leaner, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings as he adjusted his gloves.

Lucius greeted them with a casual salute. “Right on time.”

The taller man, Azazel, nodded silently before stepping past Lucius and kneeling to hoist DJ’s limp body over his shoulder. The leaner man, Asmodeus, turned to Lucius, awaiting further instructions.

“Azazel, you load him into the van,” Lucius ordered, his tone steady. “Asmodeus, take his car. We’ll head to the bunker together. You follow me.”

Asmodeus nodded as Lucius tossed him a set of keys he’d fished from the counter earlier. “Got it mate.”

Lucius watched as Azazel carefully loaded DJ into the van’s rear compartment, securing him with practiced precision. Asmodeus slid into the driver’s seat of DJ’s car, starting the engine with a quiet purr. Satisfied, Lucius walked over to his own car, slipping into the driver’s seat and adjusting his mirrors.

The convoy pulled out of the driveway in formation, the white van sandwiched between Lucius’s car and DJ’s. The suburban streets were eerily quiet, the occasional streetlight casting fleeting shadows across their vehicles. Lucius’s mind raced as he thought ahead to the bunker—the preparations that awaited, the questions that needed answers.

He allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. He turned on his ritual after the mission song “Kill at Will” by Joel Ortiz. He smiled a devilish smile like the cat that ate the canary. Everything was going according to plan. The convoy drove deeper into the forested outskirts, the streetlights giving way to dense, dark trees. The road narrowed, winding through the shadows until they arrived at an unmarked gate. Lucius pulled a small remote from his pocket, pressing a button that caused the gate to creak open, revealing a gravel path leading to the bunker.

The vehicles rolled forward, tires crunching on the gravel. The bunker loomed ahead, a reinforced concrete structure partially concealed by the surrounding foliage. A single dim light above the entrance illuminated the area, casting long shadows across the clearing.

Lucius stepped out of his car and motioned to Azazel and Asmodeus, who quickly moved into action. Azazel unloaded DJ’s unconscious body from the van, carrying him effortlessly toward the heavy steel door. Asmodeus, meanwhile, parked DJ’s car in a makeshift garage to the side, its entrance concealed by camouflage netting.

“Let’s move,” Lucius said, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet night. He entered a code into the keypad beside the door, and it hissed open, revealing a dimly lit corridor lined with industrial piping.

Inside, the air was cool and sterile, the faint hum of machinery filling the space. Azazel carried DJ down the corridor, following Lucius’s lead, while Asmodeus brought up the rear, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings out of habit.

They entered a large room at the end of the corridor, its walls lined with monitors displaying security feeds and data readouts. In the center of the room stood a reinforced metal table surrounded by various tools and equipment.

“Put him there,” Lucius instructed, pointing to the table. Azazel laid DJ down gently, securing his wrists and ankles with heavy-duty restraints. Lucius moved to one of the monitors, typing rapidly as he accessed the bunker’s systems.

“Status?” Asmodeus asked, his voice low.

“Everything’s ready,” Lucius replied, not looking up. “We’ll start as soon as he wakes up. I want his repentance and I want it tonight.”

Azazel crossed his arms, his imposing figure looming in the background. “And if he doesn’t cooperate?”

Lucius finally turned to face them, his expression cold. “He will atone. One way or another.”