Chapter 1: I

Really, Ani hated places like this.

The penthouse apartment looked over a collection of blinking electric jewels, the lights of the city below, and the obsidian black of the night sky blended into that of Ani’s own voluminous hair as she sat with her back to the window. She wasn’t crazy about the seating arrangement in here—even this high up, snipers were always at least a distant possibility, but for a freelancer like herself, a big payday always meant at least some risk. So here she was, back to the window, her robe slightly disheveled as she sat on a couch that cost more than her own life.

“I’m glad you could come.” The client—or the potential client, at least—took an old-style cigar cutter and chopped the tip off of one. This was bragging, they all had to brag, even if it was non-verbal, cigars were fucking expensive these days. To casually light one up in front of a freelancer was pure arrogance; there were people running through the alleys far below who’d shank him just to steal one. He didn’t actually light it up, of course, Ani doubted he even knew how. Instead, he handed it to one of his two attendants. A pair of tacky-looking motherfuckers, for sure; done up in gold plating, even given that their helmets had skull motifs. 

On Ani’s hip, she felt a pang of jealousy from Sword, who, himself, had a carved skull on his handle. Really, her thought was that he shouldn’t have worried, the eyes of Sword’s skull were tiny rubies and gave him a subtle sort of class. That was the kind of attention to detail that a pair of autodolls would never know. Most of the time, their owners simply didn’t care enough. And if they did, they rarely had the aesthetic sense to bother.

“Thank you, Jeeves.” The client remarked to one of his attendants as it lit the cigar for him. He took it back, stifling a cough as he took a puff. “As I was saying-” he turned his attention back to Ani “-I was a little surprised when I found out that you were the Fox of Death.”

Ani cocked an eyebrow beneath her mask. The client couldn’t see it, and probably wouldn’t have stopped his rambling even if he could. “Not because you’re a woman, you understand. But because you’re nearly my age!” He chuckled a wheezing, gaspy laugh, clearly very enamored with his own bit of observational humor. “I mean, most assassins bite it before they even hit 30, right? And you’re running around at, what, 41? 42? Crazy stuff!” He turned to the other autodoll and snapped “Wine, Giovanni! Wine!” It gave a small bow and shuffled over to the mini-bar on the far end of the living room.

“All respect, Mr. Avide, but I do need the details of this job before I accept it.” Ani idly adjusted her mask; it, too, was a dark, inky black, with fine, curved lines in white. The mask was the source of her nickname, and incredibly, it alone had done enough to conceal her identity during her 25 years in the assassination business. She never took it off, and she never talked about it, if she was being honest, she'd grown a bit superstitious about it.

“Of course, of course! He’s a rival of mine, you see.” Ani braced herself for some ten, fifteen minutes of dry backstory about these two rich idiots and the origin of their meaningless feud. The truth of the matter was that Avide was simply the one with the good sense to come to her first. Whoever this other fellow was, if he’d approached her before Avide had, she’d be having this conversation with him right now. Although, really, she doubted it would be much better.

The other autodoll returned from the mini-bar, holding a glass of wine.

It was also holding something else, and before a word could escape Ani’s lips, it was lunging toward Avide with it. The wine fell to the floor, although a stain on the carpet was the least of Avide’s troubles now.

A knife; the thin and pointed profile of which revealed it as a boning knife. Appropriate, given the situation Avide had suddenly found himself in.

Ani drew Sword, and Sword spoke. 

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“Two golden servants,
betrayed, and betraying,
Attack their master - at his enemy’s behest.”

“I can see that, thank you.” Ani replied, drawing Sword to his full length and running her finger over the edge of the blade. She bled onto it, and it lit up with a pale green glow. Drawing in a single, firm stroke, she lashed her blade toward the autodoll—Giovanni, was it?---currently assaulting its own master both by repeatedly stabbing him and by strangling him with its other hand. Sword cut through the autodoll like it was barely there, and the golden servant construct was bisected at the waist.

The other, though, still lived, and it immediately picked up where its counterpart had left off, pummeling Avide with its metal fists. A second stroke of Ani’s blade took out “Jeeves”, too. But the damage had been done, and Avide now lay half-dead on his couch, riddled with stab wounds and bruises from his own autodolls.

“You, you-you fucking bitch.” He snarled. Ani was a bit surprised he could do even that much. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you? You set me up! I bet you’re in his pocket! Doublecrosser! Whore! Idiot!”

Ani rather wished that were true, since it would at least mean that she was getting paid by somebody to do all of this. This was that typical rich idiot gratitude, though. The second they thought you weren’t in their corner anymore, you saw their true colors.

“You’re dying, Mr. Avide. And while I’m a lot of things, I’m not a medic. You should make your peace with it. My sincerest apologies about being unable to properly offer my services.” Ani’s tone made it very clear that these apologies were not very sincere at all.

“If you’re actually sorry, call—call a fucking ambulance! Or something! Please! I’ll give you twice your usual rate!”

Twice her usual rate was pretty damn good, but Ani wasn’t lying about Avide’s condition. “They wouldn’t get here in time. I’m sorry sir, there’s not anything I can do.”

At that, Ani sheathed Sword and made her way for the elevator. Not before pocketing the rest of the cigars and the cutter; she’d be damned if she didn’t come out of this with something to show for it.

In the elevator, she cut one of the cigars and lit it up with a spare match. As the doors closed, she could still hear Mr. Avide yelling.

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