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The hawks of justice, an organization that rids society of scum that others will not. Among them is a man known as the legendary assassin, a man who had innumerable individuals turn on him. When an up-and-coming assassin is given an opportunity to eliminate a kingpin of Kanto's underworld who eluded hawk and police alike for decades, he insists on joining her. To take revenge!
This was spawned from @kintsugi shitposting on the Discord and suggesting a contest where we write Ash Betrayal fics for April Fools. I wrote a paragraph and actually went through with it, despite the contest of course not actually happening. Went for a different spin on things for this one shot, trying to make a cohesive yet crazy parodist story.
Beware mentions of death, minor blood, mild language, adult themes and references, over-the-top dialogue, your favorite characters acting way out of character before they die, quoting the Bible, and Canadian/British spellings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
A cloaked woman with platinum blonde hair skulked through the sub-basement, the sound of her heels quietly clapping on the floor. The building she was in used to be a school, renovated to be a centre for many businesses. Yet beneath it, a different and darker kind of business went on.
It was rare to be personally summoned. It was not only proof her talents were recognized, but that it was a critical task. She soon stepped into a room divided into halves. On one side there was nothing but the floor, which was one giant trap door. Normally, but today there was also a box. Behind a protective transparent wall made of the toughest materials was an office. A man sat at his mahogany desk on the other side. There was his computer. Piles of filing cabinets. A lamp. It was not her place to question how to enter or leave the room from that end. She knelt down.
“Lady,” said her boss. He kept all of his features hidden. He wore a full body-suit that was the darkest black, and concealed his face behind a nondescript bird mask that obfuscated his voice. They were the hawks of justice. Those who dealt with the scorn of society the law could not – or would not.
“My mission?” the lady whispered, her voice monotonous and quiet.
“There.” He gestured toward the box. The lady walked over and retrieved the dossier from it. The name on the paper jumped out at her.
“B-Slapp. Kanto's biggest pimp,” she mused. Her fists lightly clenched. He had been untraceable by them and the authorities alike for two decades. Yet they had a lead. Even if they were to tip off the latter, there was no guarantee they had anything on him or that they would actually take action.
“Aye,” the boss said, with bombast. “We have one shot to rid the world of him. I handpicked you as our best chance.”
The lady nodded. “I will succeed.”
“Though I should say, you shall be working with another on this mission.”
“This is unusual.” She was handpicked, and yet, there would be another?
“It is, but he insisted upon this one.”
She nodded. Strange as it was, there would be little difference. “May ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind and in the same judgement,” she recited. The quote fit. For whomever it may be, they had the same goal. Justice.
#####
Pewter City. The lady had only visited once in the past, on another mission. A corrupt Jenny. Kanto was never her favourite place. The cities had little to see.
She wore a modest dress – a dark blue, much like the night sky – alongside a habit. A nostalgic, yet practical choice for this mission. She was to meet her contact and partner on this mission in the Pokemon Centre. Whoever it was would be wearing a bird accessory, much like her beak-shaped pendant. It was one of the ways the hawks identified one another.
The lady scanned the lobby upon entering. Her eyes fell upon a man in his 50s. Greying hair, blue jeans, a tattered and grimy vest, and an old official League cap – one of the original designs. Even without the lapel made from the plumage of countless birds, she recognized him at once.
The legendary assassin. Said to have been a former champion from decades past. The best the hawks had, yet also very particular about the jobs he took.
She approached him and bowed. “Hello.”
The man looked up, his unkempt moustache twitching. “Oh, a nun? Who might you be?”
“Before I say, I would have your name.”
He smirked. “Ames Plover.”
“Erma.” Both false names. The elderly man frowned for a moment, until she asked, “Do you know of a place that serves wings at this hour?”
He snickered at her question. “Our fair city has one, but it may be seedy,” he returned the verbal handshake with a clever bit of avian-related wordplay.
“Demons lurk everywhere. It doesn't matter.” There was far more evil in the world than most knew. “Can you point out the way? I'm new in town.”
Her contact stood, silently motioning to follow.
#####
The two assassins stalked through the night. To the unknowing eye, which was all of them, they might look nothing more than a father and daughter on a late night stroll. The way they wanted it to be.
“So you are the one they call the Lady Killer…” the man mused, in their cant. To the undiscerning ear, they were speaking a foreign language. “You may simply refer to me as AK.”
“AK?” She had not heard his codename before, repeating it aloud with a measure of surprise. She shook off her initial thought and asked, “After the gun?”
He snorted, and for a moment, it seemed he was laughing. If so, it was mirthless. He reached for his belt and unsheathed a curved dagger, nearly twenty centimetres long. “Take it from me. There's nothing like a good knife. Even a gun can betray you, but a knife? You take care of it, and it'll never let you down when you need it.”
“Your weapon of choice.” She could not say she fully agreed. Fearing a gun's betrayal bordered on paranoia. She placed a hand on her concealed pistol. One of her many weapons. Silenced. She maintained it well. It had never misfired as a result.
“But I suppose any tool is far better than anything living.” He chuckled, more filled with sorrow than anything.
“To business,” she said. “He will be meeting his client at that restaurant.”
“And he'll be heading to the museum to complete the transaction,” AK answered, without a beat.
The lady paused. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
They walked another block. She had been formulating a plan to deal with B-Slapp. “We'll check in,” she started to say.
“And seduce him?” AK cut in. He shook his head with derision. “He knows women, perhaps better than anyone. He'll see right through an attempt at deception, no matter how great you think your talents are.”
“What would you suggest?” She would defer to the legendary assassin, particularly if he knew the target.
“We do things my way. We ambush him at the museum.”
The lady nodded. “I trust your judgement, then.”
A scoff. “Trust?” he asked. “What a quaint word. A word that may have had meaning to me at some point, but those days are long gone. You, too, would do well to cast the notion of it aside. You will live a far longer life, a more stress-free life.”
“You diminish trust.”
“Diminish?!” AK repeated as he broke out into mad cackling, uncaring of whom he might disturb or alert. “I have a little something for you. A little hypothetical based on a fun little fact, as it were. Though there are two of us, there is but one fee to be split between us. Did you know that?”
She stared blankly at him, expression neutral as always. She shook her head, no. It was news to her. But it was never about payment for her.
“Tell me,” asked AK. He was calmer, yet no more composed. He placed a hand on his blade's hilt. “Do you trust me not to quite literally stab you in the back? I could kill you and that treacherous bastard and take all the money for myself, leaving the hawks none the wiser. What do you have to say to that, Lady Killer? Do you still trust me?”
“I do,” she replied simply, unwavering in the face of his threat. “For the hawks kill for justice. If money was your motivation, you would not be with us, nor would you be so selective in your targets.”
He chuckled, satisfied by her answer. “One more.”
“Excuse me?”
The man rolled up his sleeves. He bent his elbows and twisted his wrists. The lady took pause. There was intricate scarring across each forearm. It could not have been caused in any sort of fight. No, this appeared ritualistic.
AK traced a finger across his arm's length. “These marks you see here represent each of my targets. Those who betrayed me. The ones I have longed to see dead. And these marks,” he said, motioning to those which made all but a single one in the shape of a cross. “These represent those who have died by my hand. There is but one more.”
“Your chosen targets…those you have past connection with.” Curious that one man could be subject to so many who turned on him. It was not the lady's place to question their motives in doing so or AK's history. But his motives had been laid bare. Many had fallen away and betrayed him. It felt almost unnatural. But she would not judge, either. At the moment they had a mutual goal, that was all that mattered.
AK once more drew his weapon, lightly pressing his finger to the tip. “This blade has tasted the blood of all who have ever betrayed me. A tool that has served faithful at my side for decades. And tonight, it will take one last draught.”
“Will you retire after?”
His head jerked toward her. “Tell me, Lady. Why is it that you have chosen to take the lives of others for a living? You, whose scripture speaks to not kill?”
“It is God's will.” She paused, preferring not to get into specifics, even with the legendary assassin who had laid his soul bare to her. If her sins could make the world a better place, she was willing to bear them.
For a moment, the elderly assassin's expression changed. The lady was uncertain of what it could mean. “It is uncommon to see one who calls Him by that name, and not Arceus,” came his intrigued response. Not what she was expecting.
It wasn't rare, either. She replied simply. “God has many names. Arceus is but one.”
They went quiet. They walked for another two blocks before AK spoke again.
“One more thing.” They were approaching the museum. “He's mine. This is personal. You have no stake in this, so back off.”
Her lip curled. “You assume it's impersonal to me.”
The elderly assassin glared. “And what did he do to you?”
“People in his profession disgust me. Let's leave it there.”
AK stared her down, meeting her empty gaze with hostility. Soon, he shook his head. “He's mine…” he repeated.
The lady gave a conceding nod. “So long as it does not compromise the mission.”
#####
The lady pondered why the target would be heading here of all places or how AK came to know this information, but it was not her place to ask questions. It was all too simple to disable the security of the building remotely. AK picked open the emergency exit on the second floor – or rather, their entrance.
She had been to museums before. But not this one. It was dedicated to archaeology. They entered into a wide-open room with many fossils. Eight of them lined up across the sides of the room, with a ninth in the centre. Two doors, not including where they entered. The room was illuminated only by dim auxiliary lighting.
“Any guards?” she whispered.
“Not today.”
She nodded. “Let's find positions.”
“The museum is closed, you know,” came a haughty voice.
Detection. The worst thing for an assassin. The lady's eyes went to the doors as she took out a stun bomb. No guards at either of them. Whoever had addressed them was already in the room when they entered, or had entered through some other means.
“Brock,” AK growled, none too concerned about it.
At once, it all made sense to the lady. How did B-Slapp elude detection for so long? How did the police not find him? He was not underground. He was a devil in plain sight. A retired Gym Leader and doctor.
The pimp burst into laughter. “It's been a while since I've heard someone so intimately familiar with me call me by that name. And…” He paused, and though still not visible, the lady felt his gaze cast over her. “I recognize you as well.”
“You knew we were coming,” she mused.
“I have my eye in the night sky to thank for that.” An owl. Or possibly a bat.
“You're dead all the same…” AK said. “You will pay for your betrayal.”
“Oh, you haven't changed a bit. You're the same immature hothead as always. But me?” B-Slapp laughed once more. It was difficult to tell where he was from the sound of his voice, and he was evidently taking cover in or behind a fossil. “Remember when I used to hit on any woman I met? Just for the slightest chance of love? Might've even worked, if not for those cockblocks getting in my way every single time I tried. Every. Single. Time! And yet, look at me now without them holding me back! Surrounded by more beautiful women than I can count! And making bank off poor desperate saps like I used to be.”
AK was not impressed. “Your rise came at her expense.”
“You poor little thing.” The pimp's voice seemed to echo through the entire room. “You misremember. She willingly gave her body to me. Heh, such a shame too. She was my best whore, before the overdose.”
“Oh, I will kill you. I will enjoy the feeling of your blood on my hands as it courses forth from your body.”
As the two were waxing poetic, the lady was attempting to find the target. She could not see him, but it was clear from his next words his eyes were upon her.
“And how about you, babe? Wanna work for me? Might be your only chance to have your cherry popped for a Christmas cake–”
She spotted him in the giant tortoise fossil and pulled the trigger. A muffed blast marked the bullet screaming forth. Her aim was perfect and would have ended it there, if not for the large turret-like bagworm that intervened. The round could not pierce its metal body.
Suddenly, the lady was tackled to the ground. She kept a firm grip on her handgun, able to bash the end of it into her assailant. AK stood and gave her a light kick. “HE'S MINE!” he screamed, loud enough to alert anyone in the building.
B-Slapp stepped into view at last. He wore a cream-coloured scarf sewn from fine pelt, heart-shaped sunglasses on his forehead, an open fur coat with no undershirt, and dangerously tight black leather pants that outlined his nether regions. On each of his fingers was a different ring, sometimes multiple on the same finger. The lady had seen many things in the past six years, but none came closer to instilling fear in her than this man's face. His twisted grin full of gold teeth was nothing special, nor were his misshapen ears. Then there were his eyes. They were squinted shut, completely closed, and yet it felt as if they could see every motion one made.
“Ooo, tough break, kids,” B-Slapp mocked. The lady got to her feet at once, although AK and the pimp's sentry dissuaded her from firing another round. “Quite the lover's quarrel you two are having. And now your little ambush has been turned around on you.”
At once, two guards entered from either door. One was tall and gangly, wearing thick lenses. Another was short and stout. The repulsive scent of these men who evidently never knew showers reached their nostrils from across the room. B-Slapp took that moment to dart away.
“Kill them,” barked AK. “I'm going after this traitor. To take his life myself!”
The lady nodded. Reckless, but wise, that he wouldn't escape. “I'll be with you shortly,” she promised.
“Stop right…gah!” The short goon fell over dodging AK's knife swing. The elderly assassin made no attempt to follow through, simply continuing to pursue B-Slapp.
“Never mind him, the boss can handle that one,” said the other goon, sending out one of Kanto's three starters, the grass one. Now that the lady got a better look, she realized he couldn't have been more than fifteen years. Perhaps a failed trainer. Or as B-Slapp implied, someone he lured in with promises of women. “Let's have some fun with her before we kill her!”
“Maybe we can have some fun with her after, too!” cackled the other as he stood. A little older. He brought out a small blue round thing with leaves on its head. “If you know what I mean! Powder her, Weed!”
“You too!”
Her lip curled, restraining her repulsion. Was this their normal attitude, or was it twisted by their boss? Whatever the case, this was going to be too easy. Even with B-Slapp's own joining in the battle. She reached for one of her own companions and whispered, “Uriel…purging fire.”
The lady kept a watchful eye on the trainers as the floating ghost emerged in a flash of white light. He ignited the candles on his many arms, spewing a torrent of flame across their attackers.
The Grass-types fell instantly, and the bagworm took a lot of damage as well. The fortress of steel started spinning and tried to tackle Uriel with the momentum, but passed through him ineffectually. Another Flamethrower was all it took to put the Bug and Steel type down for the count as well.
The two goons recoiled. “Oh…crap!” said the one with the starter. “She's good! Get her!”
The lady sighed as they charged. “Silence them.”
Uriel waved his hands rhythmically, sending out disorienting rays of light. Their feeble minds were no match for the Confuse Ray. The lady took the chance to rush over. With one punch apiece, she knocked them unconscious.
“Rest,” she whispered to the young men. “For these sins are not yours to be punished for.” They were witnesses, yes, but they were not the target and just as much victims. The delirium would scramble their memories enough that it would not be considered valid testimony anyway.
She nodded at Uriel for a job well done. Yet she had to rejoin AK as soon as possible.
#####
The second floor had a central room, four on each corner, and hallways. The lady followed the sound of voices to the one furthest from where she had been. The door had been left open, so she was able to enter undetected.
“So I played things your way, and you still lost,” came B-Slapp's voice. She spotted him standing over a bloodied AK before a spacecraft exhibit. “And it wasn't even close. I was expecting more of a fight from you. I have to say, I haven't been this unsatisfied since…oh, when did your mother come crawling to me on her hands and knees?”
“Damn you…” AK cursed. The lady kept moving, trying to get to a better vantage spot. She could not afford to miss. Or worse, be seen.
“I suppose that's how it is. I should tell you, though. I have this nice little dig site where no one will ever find your body. Not that anyone would care about someone like you going missing.”
“Hate…”
“The Space Shuttle exhibit,” said B-Slapp, momentarily looking back. “You know, it works as a model rocket. They wheel it out and show it off to the kids once a year, and it's almost that time. I used to hate it. It does not belong in a museum of archaeological science!” He punched it in anger, taking a deep breath that gave way to laughter. “Yet in recent years, I've come to love it! It's a good place to store things. Airtight, too.”
The lady knew she had to act immediately. She moved a little closer, weapon drawn. She made it behind the Moon Stone exhibit. Right as she lined up the sights, they noticed her. B-Slapp reached for his belt, but he was too slow. The lady shot.
This time, there was nothing to protect him. The bullet pierced his chest, going through into the craft behind him. An explosion followed. The lady saw a faint orange glow coming from inside.
“A companion of prostitutes squanders his wealth,” she said, as the target clutched at the wound in shock. “And you squandered the life God gave you.”
B-Slapp crumpled to the floor. By his laboured screams, she reckoned the bullet had pierced a lung.
“No!” roared AK, lunging for his fallen blade. He stood powerful and defiant, raising it to the ceiling. “I said his life is mine to end! Die, Brock!”
Like a man possessed, he jumped atop and started thrusting the knife into B-Slapp's chest over and over. The lady eyed the flames licking out of the shuttle warily. She pondered how to defuse the situation without risking injury to herself or AK.
AK reared back and delivered one final stab through the skull. The former Gym Leader gurgled. AK stood over him and watched, grinning psychotically ear from ear as the life left the pimp's body.
At that moment, the gas tank in the shuttle blew up. The lady ducked back behind the exhibit, the large rock shielding her from the blast. A scream of agony rang out as the blast hurled AK next to her. She chanced one look at the epicentre. What remained of B-Slapp would soon be ashes.
“I…killed him…” AK wheezed in triumph. His body was covered in burns, and many pieces of shrapnel were embedded within him. Moreover, some of his joints were bent the wrong way, be they from the fall or his fight with the pimp.
In the distance, the lady heard sirens. Small wonder. If they had not been alerted before, the shuttle exploding certainly got their attention. She brought out another of her companions. A tall green bird, vaguely reminiscent of totem poles.
“We need to get out of here.”
For once, AK did not protest or argue. He gave not a word, in fact.
“Remiel. Teleport.”
#####
Always have an escape route. That was basic planning for any assassin, and the best way out was with teleportation. They had been brought to a grove hidden deep within Viridian Forest.
AK appeared to notice where they were. He looked up. “Been ages since I was here. I remember when I caught…” He trailed off as the pain from his wounds momentarily overwhelmed him.
“You need treatment,” she said simply.
“You, who have dealt with death for so long should be aware that there is no recovering from injuries like these. My fate is sealed. It would be far too dangerous for you to take me into the hospital, anyway.”
The lady lowered her head, her hands pressed together in silent prayer. She knew that. But she wanted to save people. If there was even the slightest hope of doing so…
“My switchblade,” he said. “In my front right. Grant me this…”
With a measure of hesitation, the lady reached in and retrieved it. A small, simple multi tool. She handed it to him, backing away after. Trust. Would he resent her for what she had done? She kept a wary hand on her hidden holster, ready to draw and fire.
But AK only raised the blade and sliced across the one mark on his arm that had not yet been rendered a cross. B-Slapp's mark. With that, his revenge had been completed in full.
Then lifted his shirt. The lady could not stand still, for that was never the answer. Her shock made her react far too late to prevent it. Mercifully, he only lightly ran the knife across his stomach, creating another line.
“This one…for the biggest traitor of all…” he explained. “The ultimate betrayal.”
She understood at once. “In other words, you…”
AK silently nodded. “I lost everything. All I knew was vengeance, and it felt great, damn it!”
The lady stood stoic. It was not her place to judge him, lest she be judged. Even God could be pushed to seek vengeance, contrasted to Him asking His children to forgive.
“But lying at here at the end I realize…” AK cringed. “I lost sight of myself. Heh, don't even know what I'd have done after this. If I'd just let you kill him, wouldn't have happened. Guess I'll never know now.”
“Matthew 10:36 says that a man's worst enemies will be that of his household.” The elderly assassin glared at her for a moment, until she continued. “But I believe that we are our own worst enemies, for the struggles we grapple with each day are what threaten to consume us.”
AK laughed, an insane explosion of sound. Equal measures deranged and delighted. He carved across his stomach once more to finish the marking, signifying the death of the final traitor, the man who had betrayed himself and all he had stood for.
“I'm…Ash Ketchum,” he stated, sitting up with the last of his strength. To hear that was a shock on multiple levels. “What's your name? Your real name?”
She silently nodded. “Abigail,” she returned the favour. “Abigail Kappel.”
Ash smiled. He actually laughed. For the first time that night, these gestures were born of genuine happiness, at the irony they shared the same initials. “Never become like me, AK.” With these parting words, he closed his eyes and laid down for good.
It would be silent, if not for the wind. It felt for a moment as if the breeze running through the trees was crying for the loss. Much as she was.
“Rest now, for it is finished,” Abigail whispered. Wiping her tears, she knelt down and said a prayer. “O' gracious and merciful Lord, I ask that you show compassion to this lost soul, a man who lived through too much betrayal. May he be granted a chance to atone for his own sins in death, that he may eventually be welcomed into your kingdom and know your love. Amen.”
To take a life was to take on sin. The lady understood this well. Perhaps this was a sign from God, too, of what awaited her if she continued down this path.
Ash Ketchum. She had heard of him. Once a soaring bird who had his wings clipped, and could never truly fly free even as a hawk. He was also her sister's idol, before she passed. What bitter irony, she thought. They had both held him in high regard at different points of his life.
She was also at a juncture in hers, to continue or to retire. But that was a decision Abigail would have to make later. Before her was something she needed to do. She turned to Remiel, who had sensed her intentions. With his powers and wings, they began erecting a grave. It was what little they could do for him, to grant him the smallest gesture of peace.
This was spawned from @kintsugi shitposting on the Discord and suggesting a contest where we write Ash Betrayal fics for April Fools. I wrote a paragraph and actually went through with it, despite the contest of course not actually happening. Went for a different spin on things for this one shot, trying to make a cohesive yet crazy parodist story.
Beware mentions of death, minor blood, mild language, adult themes and references, over-the-top dialogue, your favorite characters acting way out of character before they die, quoting the Bible, and Canadian/British spellings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
A cloaked woman with platinum blonde hair skulked through the sub-basement, the sound of her heels quietly clapping on the floor. The building she was in used to be a school, renovated to be a centre for many businesses. Yet beneath it, a different and darker kind of business went on.
It was rare to be personally summoned. It was not only proof her talents were recognized, but that it was a critical task. She soon stepped into a room divided into halves. On one side there was nothing but the floor, which was one giant trap door. Normally, but today there was also a box. Behind a protective transparent wall made of the toughest materials was an office. A man sat at his mahogany desk on the other side. There was his computer. Piles of filing cabinets. A lamp. It was not her place to question how to enter or leave the room from that end. She knelt down.
“Lady,” said her boss. He kept all of his features hidden. He wore a full body-suit that was the darkest black, and concealed his face behind a nondescript bird mask that obfuscated his voice. They were the hawks of justice. Those who dealt with the scorn of society the law could not – or would not.
“My mission?” the lady whispered, her voice monotonous and quiet.
“There.” He gestured toward the box. The lady walked over and retrieved the dossier from it. The name on the paper jumped out at her.
“B-Slapp. Kanto's biggest pimp,” she mused. Her fists lightly clenched. He had been untraceable by them and the authorities alike for two decades. Yet they had a lead. Even if they were to tip off the latter, there was no guarantee they had anything on him or that they would actually take action.
“Aye,” the boss said, with bombast. “We have one shot to rid the world of him. I handpicked you as our best chance.”
The lady nodded. “I will succeed.”
“Though I should say, you shall be working with another on this mission.”
“This is unusual.” She was handpicked, and yet, there would be another?
“It is, but he insisted upon this one.”
She nodded. Strange as it was, there would be little difference. “May ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind and in the same judgement,” she recited. The quote fit. For whomever it may be, they had the same goal. Justice.
#####
Pewter City. The lady had only visited once in the past, on another mission. A corrupt Jenny. Kanto was never her favourite place. The cities had little to see.
She wore a modest dress – a dark blue, much like the night sky – alongside a habit. A nostalgic, yet practical choice for this mission. She was to meet her contact and partner on this mission in the Pokemon Centre. Whoever it was would be wearing a bird accessory, much like her beak-shaped pendant. It was one of the ways the hawks identified one another.
The lady scanned the lobby upon entering. Her eyes fell upon a man in his 50s. Greying hair, blue jeans, a tattered and grimy vest, and an old official League cap – one of the original designs. Even without the lapel made from the plumage of countless birds, she recognized him at once.
The legendary assassin. Said to have been a former champion from decades past. The best the hawks had, yet also very particular about the jobs he took.
She approached him and bowed. “Hello.”
The man looked up, his unkempt moustache twitching. “Oh, a nun? Who might you be?”
“Before I say, I would have your name.”
He smirked. “Ames Plover.”
“Erma.” Both false names. The elderly man frowned for a moment, until she asked, “Do you know of a place that serves wings at this hour?”
He snickered at her question. “Our fair city has one, but it may be seedy,” he returned the verbal handshake with a clever bit of avian-related wordplay.
“Demons lurk everywhere. It doesn't matter.” There was far more evil in the world than most knew. “Can you point out the way? I'm new in town.”
Her contact stood, silently motioning to follow.
#####
The two assassins stalked through the night. To the unknowing eye, which was all of them, they might look nothing more than a father and daughter on a late night stroll. The way they wanted it to be.
“So you are the one they call the Lady Killer…” the man mused, in their cant. To the undiscerning ear, they were speaking a foreign language. “You may simply refer to me as AK.”
“AK?” She had not heard his codename before, repeating it aloud with a measure of surprise. She shook off her initial thought and asked, “After the gun?”
He snorted, and for a moment, it seemed he was laughing. If so, it was mirthless. He reached for his belt and unsheathed a curved dagger, nearly twenty centimetres long. “Take it from me. There's nothing like a good knife. Even a gun can betray you, but a knife? You take care of it, and it'll never let you down when you need it.”
“Your weapon of choice.” She could not say she fully agreed. Fearing a gun's betrayal bordered on paranoia. She placed a hand on her concealed pistol. One of her many weapons. Silenced. She maintained it well. It had never misfired as a result.
“But I suppose any tool is far better than anything living.” He chuckled, more filled with sorrow than anything.
“To business,” she said. “He will be meeting his client at that restaurant.”
“And he'll be heading to the museum to complete the transaction,” AK answered, without a beat.
The lady paused. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
They walked another block. She had been formulating a plan to deal with B-Slapp. “We'll check in,” she started to say.
“And seduce him?” AK cut in. He shook his head with derision. “He knows women, perhaps better than anyone. He'll see right through an attempt at deception, no matter how great you think your talents are.”
“What would you suggest?” She would defer to the legendary assassin, particularly if he knew the target.
“We do things my way. We ambush him at the museum.”
The lady nodded. “I trust your judgement, then.”
A scoff. “Trust?” he asked. “What a quaint word. A word that may have had meaning to me at some point, but those days are long gone. You, too, would do well to cast the notion of it aside. You will live a far longer life, a more stress-free life.”
“You diminish trust.”
“Diminish?!” AK repeated as he broke out into mad cackling, uncaring of whom he might disturb or alert. “I have a little something for you. A little hypothetical based on a fun little fact, as it were. Though there are two of us, there is but one fee to be split between us. Did you know that?”
She stared blankly at him, expression neutral as always. She shook her head, no. It was news to her. But it was never about payment for her.
“Tell me,” asked AK. He was calmer, yet no more composed. He placed a hand on his blade's hilt. “Do you trust me not to quite literally stab you in the back? I could kill you and that treacherous bastard and take all the money for myself, leaving the hawks none the wiser. What do you have to say to that, Lady Killer? Do you still trust me?”
“I do,” she replied simply, unwavering in the face of his threat. “For the hawks kill for justice. If money was your motivation, you would not be with us, nor would you be so selective in your targets.”
He chuckled, satisfied by her answer. “One more.”
“Excuse me?”
The man rolled up his sleeves. He bent his elbows and twisted his wrists. The lady took pause. There was intricate scarring across each forearm. It could not have been caused in any sort of fight. No, this appeared ritualistic.
AK traced a finger across his arm's length. “These marks you see here represent each of my targets. Those who betrayed me. The ones I have longed to see dead. And these marks,” he said, motioning to those which made all but a single one in the shape of a cross. “These represent those who have died by my hand. There is but one more.”
“Your chosen targets…those you have past connection with.” Curious that one man could be subject to so many who turned on him. It was not the lady's place to question their motives in doing so or AK's history. But his motives had been laid bare. Many had fallen away and betrayed him. It felt almost unnatural. But she would not judge, either. At the moment they had a mutual goal, that was all that mattered.
AK once more drew his weapon, lightly pressing his finger to the tip. “This blade has tasted the blood of all who have ever betrayed me. A tool that has served faithful at my side for decades. And tonight, it will take one last draught.”
“Will you retire after?”
His head jerked toward her. “Tell me, Lady. Why is it that you have chosen to take the lives of others for a living? You, whose scripture speaks to not kill?”
“It is God's will.” She paused, preferring not to get into specifics, even with the legendary assassin who had laid his soul bare to her. If her sins could make the world a better place, she was willing to bear them.
For a moment, the elderly assassin's expression changed. The lady was uncertain of what it could mean. “It is uncommon to see one who calls Him by that name, and not Arceus,” came his intrigued response. Not what she was expecting.
It wasn't rare, either. She replied simply. “God has many names. Arceus is but one.”
They went quiet. They walked for another two blocks before AK spoke again.
“One more thing.” They were approaching the museum. “He's mine. This is personal. You have no stake in this, so back off.”
Her lip curled. “You assume it's impersonal to me.”
The elderly assassin glared. “And what did he do to you?”
“People in his profession disgust me. Let's leave it there.”
AK stared her down, meeting her empty gaze with hostility. Soon, he shook his head. “He's mine…” he repeated.
The lady gave a conceding nod. “So long as it does not compromise the mission.”
#####
The lady pondered why the target would be heading here of all places or how AK came to know this information, but it was not her place to ask questions. It was all too simple to disable the security of the building remotely. AK picked open the emergency exit on the second floor – or rather, their entrance.
She had been to museums before. But not this one. It was dedicated to archaeology. They entered into a wide-open room with many fossils. Eight of them lined up across the sides of the room, with a ninth in the centre. Two doors, not including where they entered. The room was illuminated only by dim auxiliary lighting.
“Any guards?” she whispered.
“Not today.”
She nodded. “Let's find positions.”
“The museum is closed, you know,” came a haughty voice.
Detection. The worst thing for an assassin. The lady's eyes went to the doors as she took out a stun bomb. No guards at either of them. Whoever had addressed them was already in the room when they entered, or had entered through some other means.
“Brock,” AK growled, none too concerned about it.
At once, it all made sense to the lady. How did B-Slapp elude detection for so long? How did the police not find him? He was not underground. He was a devil in plain sight. A retired Gym Leader and doctor.
The pimp burst into laughter. “It's been a while since I've heard someone so intimately familiar with me call me by that name. And…” He paused, and though still not visible, the lady felt his gaze cast over her. “I recognize you as well.”
“You knew we were coming,” she mused.
“I have my eye in the night sky to thank for that.” An owl. Or possibly a bat.
“You're dead all the same…” AK said. “You will pay for your betrayal.”
“Oh, you haven't changed a bit. You're the same immature hothead as always. But me?” B-Slapp laughed once more. It was difficult to tell where he was from the sound of his voice, and he was evidently taking cover in or behind a fossil. “Remember when I used to hit on any woman I met? Just for the slightest chance of love? Might've even worked, if not for those cockblocks getting in my way every single time I tried. Every. Single. Time! And yet, look at me now without them holding me back! Surrounded by more beautiful women than I can count! And making bank off poor desperate saps like I used to be.”
AK was not impressed. “Your rise came at her expense.”
“You poor little thing.” The pimp's voice seemed to echo through the entire room. “You misremember. She willingly gave her body to me. Heh, such a shame too. She was my best whore, before the overdose.”
“Oh, I will kill you. I will enjoy the feeling of your blood on my hands as it courses forth from your body.”
As the two were waxing poetic, the lady was attempting to find the target. She could not see him, but it was clear from his next words his eyes were upon her.
“And how about you, babe? Wanna work for me? Might be your only chance to have your cherry popped for a Christmas cake–”
She spotted him in the giant tortoise fossil and pulled the trigger. A muffed blast marked the bullet screaming forth. Her aim was perfect and would have ended it there, if not for the large turret-like bagworm that intervened. The round could not pierce its metal body.
Suddenly, the lady was tackled to the ground. She kept a firm grip on her handgun, able to bash the end of it into her assailant. AK stood and gave her a light kick. “HE'S MINE!” he screamed, loud enough to alert anyone in the building.
B-Slapp stepped into view at last. He wore a cream-coloured scarf sewn from fine pelt, heart-shaped sunglasses on his forehead, an open fur coat with no undershirt, and dangerously tight black leather pants that outlined his nether regions. On each of his fingers was a different ring, sometimes multiple on the same finger. The lady had seen many things in the past six years, but none came closer to instilling fear in her than this man's face. His twisted grin full of gold teeth was nothing special, nor were his misshapen ears. Then there were his eyes. They were squinted shut, completely closed, and yet it felt as if they could see every motion one made.
“Ooo, tough break, kids,” B-Slapp mocked. The lady got to her feet at once, although AK and the pimp's sentry dissuaded her from firing another round. “Quite the lover's quarrel you two are having. And now your little ambush has been turned around on you.”
At once, two guards entered from either door. One was tall and gangly, wearing thick lenses. Another was short and stout. The repulsive scent of these men who evidently never knew showers reached their nostrils from across the room. B-Slapp took that moment to dart away.
“Kill them,” barked AK. “I'm going after this traitor. To take his life myself!”
The lady nodded. Reckless, but wise, that he wouldn't escape. “I'll be with you shortly,” she promised.
“Stop right…gah!” The short goon fell over dodging AK's knife swing. The elderly assassin made no attempt to follow through, simply continuing to pursue B-Slapp.
“Never mind him, the boss can handle that one,” said the other goon, sending out one of Kanto's three starters, the grass one. Now that the lady got a better look, she realized he couldn't have been more than fifteen years. Perhaps a failed trainer. Or as B-Slapp implied, someone he lured in with promises of women. “Let's have some fun with her before we kill her!”
“Maybe we can have some fun with her after, too!” cackled the other as he stood. A little older. He brought out a small blue round thing with leaves on its head. “If you know what I mean! Powder her, Weed!”
“You too!”
Her lip curled, restraining her repulsion. Was this their normal attitude, or was it twisted by their boss? Whatever the case, this was going to be too easy. Even with B-Slapp's own joining in the battle. She reached for one of her own companions and whispered, “Uriel…purging fire.”
The lady kept a watchful eye on the trainers as the floating ghost emerged in a flash of white light. He ignited the candles on his many arms, spewing a torrent of flame across their attackers.
The Grass-types fell instantly, and the bagworm took a lot of damage as well. The fortress of steel started spinning and tried to tackle Uriel with the momentum, but passed through him ineffectually. Another Flamethrower was all it took to put the Bug and Steel type down for the count as well.
The two goons recoiled. “Oh…crap!” said the one with the starter. “She's good! Get her!”
The lady sighed as they charged. “Silence them.”
Uriel waved his hands rhythmically, sending out disorienting rays of light. Their feeble minds were no match for the Confuse Ray. The lady took the chance to rush over. With one punch apiece, she knocked them unconscious.
“Rest,” she whispered to the young men. “For these sins are not yours to be punished for.” They were witnesses, yes, but they were not the target and just as much victims. The delirium would scramble their memories enough that it would not be considered valid testimony anyway.
She nodded at Uriel for a job well done. Yet she had to rejoin AK as soon as possible.
#####
The second floor had a central room, four on each corner, and hallways. The lady followed the sound of voices to the one furthest from where she had been. The door had been left open, so she was able to enter undetected.
“So I played things your way, and you still lost,” came B-Slapp's voice. She spotted him standing over a bloodied AK before a spacecraft exhibit. “And it wasn't even close. I was expecting more of a fight from you. I have to say, I haven't been this unsatisfied since…oh, when did your mother come crawling to me on her hands and knees?”
“Damn you…” AK cursed. The lady kept moving, trying to get to a better vantage spot. She could not afford to miss. Or worse, be seen.
“I suppose that's how it is. I should tell you, though. I have this nice little dig site where no one will ever find your body. Not that anyone would care about someone like you going missing.”
“Hate…”
“The Space Shuttle exhibit,” said B-Slapp, momentarily looking back. “You know, it works as a model rocket. They wheel it out and show it off to the kids once a year, and it's almost that time. I used to hate it. It does not belong in a museum of archaeological science!” He punched it in anger, taking a deep breath that gave way to laughter. “Yet in recent years, I've come to love it! It's a good place to store things. Airtight, too.”
The lady knew she had to act immediately. She moved a little closer, weapon drawn. She made it behind the Moon Stone exhibit. Right as she lined up the sights, they noticed her. B-Slapp reached for his belt, but he was too slow. The lady shot.
This time, there was nothing to protect him. The bullet pierced his chest, going through into the craft behind him. An explosion followed. The lady saw a faint orange glow coming from inside.
“A companion of prostitutes squanders his wealth,” she said, as the target clutched at the wound in shock. “And you squandered the life God gave you.”
B-Slapp crumpled to the floor. By his laboured screams, she reckoned the bullet had pierced a lung.
“No!” roared AK, lunging for his fallen blade. He stood powerful and defiant, raising it to the ceiling. “I said his life is mine to end! Die, Brock!”
Like a man possessed, he jumped atop and started thrusting the knife into B-Slapp's chest over and over. The lady eyed the flames licking out of the shuttle warily. She pondered how to defuse the situation without risking injury to herself or AK.
AK reared back and delivered one final stab through the skull. The former Gym Leader gurgled. AK stood over him and watched, grinning psychotically ear from ear as the life left the pimp's body.
At that moment, the gas tank in the shuttle blew up. The lady ducked back behind the exhibit, the large rock shielding her from the blast. A scream of agony rang out as the blast hurled AK next to her. She chanced one look at the epicentre. What remained of B-Slapp would soon be ashes.
“I…killed him…” AK wheezed in triumph. His body was covered in burns, and many pieces of shrapnel were embedded within him. Moreover, some of his joints were bent the wrong way, be they from the fall or his fight with the pimp.
In the distance, the lady heard sirens. Small wonder. If they had not been alerted before, the shuttle exploding certainly got their attention. She brought out another of her companions. A tall green bird, vaguely reminiscent of totem poles.
“We need to get out of here.”
For once, AK did not protest or argue. He gave not a word, in fact.
“Remiel. Teleport.”
#####
Always have an escape route. That was basic planning for any assassin, and the best way out was with teleportation. They had been brought to a grove hidden deep within Viridian Forest.
AK appeared to notice where they were. He looked up. “Been ages since I was here. I remember when I caught…” He trailed off as the pain from his wounds momentarily overwhelmed him.
“You need treatment,” she said simply.
“You, who have dealt with death for so long should be aware that there is no recovering from injuries like these. My fate is sealed. It would be far too dangerous for you to take me into the hospital, anyway.”
The lady lowered her head, her hands pressed together in silent prayer. She knew that. But she wanted to save people. If there was even the slightest hope of doing so…
“My switchblade,” he said. “In my front right. Grant me this…”
With a measure of hesitation, the lady reached in and retrieved it. A small, simple multi tool. She handed it to him, backing away after. Trust. Would he resent her for what she had done? She kept a wary hand on her hidden holster, ready to draw and fire.
But AK only raised the blade and sliced across the one mark on his arm that had not yet been rendered a cross. B-Slapp's mark. With that, his revenge had been completed in full.
Then lifted his shirt. The lady could not stand still, for that was never the answer. Her shock made her react far too late to prevent it. Mercifully, he only lightly ran the knife across his stomach, creating another line.
“This one…for the biggest traitor of all…” he explained. “The ultimate betrayal.”
She understood at once. “In other words, you…”
AK silently nodded. “I lost everything. All I knew was vengeance, and it felt great, damn it!”
The lady stood stoic. It was not her place to judge him, lest she be judged. Even God could be pushed to seek vengeance, contrasted to Him asking His children to forgive.
“But lying at here at the end I realize…” AK cringed. “I lost sight of myself. Heh, don't even know what I'd have done after this. If I'd just let you kill him, wouldn't have happened. Guess I'll never know now.”
“Matthew 10:36 says that a man's worst enemies will be that of his household.” The elderly assassin glared at her for a moment, until she continued. “But I believe that we are our own worst enemies, for the struggles we grapple with each day are what threaten to consume us.”
AK laughed, an insane explosion of sound. Equal measures deranged and delighted. He carved across his stomach once more to finish the marking, signifying the death of the final traitor, the man who had betrayed himself and all he had stood for.
“I'm…Ash Ketchum,” he stated, sitting up with the last of his strength. To hear that was a shock on multiple levels. “What's your name? Your real name?”
She silently nodded. “Abigail,” she returned the favour. “Abigail Kappel.”
Ash smiled. He actually laughed. For the first time that night, these gestures were born of genuine happiness, at the irony they shared the same initials. “Never become like me, AK.” With these parting words, he closed his eyes and laid down for good.
It would be silent, if not for the wind. It felt for a moment as if the breeze running through the trees was crying for the loss. Much as she was.
“Rest now, for it is finished,” Abigail whispered. Wiping her tears, she knelt down and said a prayer. “O' gracious and merciful Lord, I ask that you show compassion to this lost soul, a man who lived through too much betrayal. May he be granted a chance to atone for his own sins in death, that he may eventually be welcomed into your kingdom and know your love. Amen.”
To take a life was to take on sin. The lady understood this well. Perhaps this was a sign from God, too, of what awaited her if she continued down this path.
Ash Ketchum. She had heard of him. Once a soaring bird who had his wings clipped, and could never truly fly free even as a hawk. He was also her sister's idol, before she passed. What bitter irony, she thought. They had both held him in high regard at different points of his life.
She was also at a juncture in hers, to continue or to retire. But that was a decision Abigail would have to make later. Before her was something she needed to do. She turned to Remiel, who had sensed her intentions. With his powers and wings, they began erecting a grave. It was what little they could do for him, to grant him the smallest gesture of peace.
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