Work Text:
"Gkrgh—"
Blood splattered on the Fixer's thin blade as it pierces right between the bare-chest of the assailant.
"Be happy the other guy ain't gave you this beatin'. He kills slow."
"Gaha— you fucked up big time! Th–"
The crunch of flesh deafens and cuts his words as the rapier swiftly moved to thrust into his heart — it returns to its sheathe, and its wielder stands frozen before the corpse, devoid of expressions, pondering on thoughts.
He realized the wavy tattoos of that man — drawn across his skinny torso and arms — were the reason he gave him somewhat of a struggle. These must've cost his salary, unless…
"Is something the matter, Janggi?"
The voice of his companion ropes him out of his worries, his smirk etching upon his face.
"Eh, just worryin' for nothing. The client didn't run off?"
The client in question came over with a confused look. She had been standing to the side with Voltaire here, spectating the duel between Janggi and the tattooed man. "Why would've I ran off?"
"Ya see some person with this big of an augmentation, you run off, no questions. Gotta ensure your safety no matter the Fixer, y'know?", Janggi says in a cocky knows-it-all tone.
"I know who I hire and entrust my life to. Theres a reason you were specifically asked for this job."
Janggi chuckles, flattered by the quote. It was reasonable to think like that for a Section 4 office with this kind of service cost.
"Money pays off, mmh~? We ain't just any fraudulent office, ma'am."
The contract was completed smoothly thereafter; it all came down to staying next to the client until the time ran out so they could scramble back to the car and drive off for the office.
Driving out of this nest proved a bit of hassle as the roads were filled up to the point you envied those who took the way by foot.
"What was that earlier?"
His partner roped Janggi out of his ruminations, staring at him with that neutral expression of his; you couldn't tell what he was feeling at the moment, making Janggi's tone a constant gamble to fit the room.
"You froze at that corpse. That's new. Why?"
"Saw them scribes all around his body? You just don't get 'em out of nowhere, genius boy."
"He's dead, I don't get where you're going with this."
"Of course ye' don't — you grew up nicely sheltered in a nest, didn't ya?"
Voltaire replies with silence.
Janggi drums his fingers against the wheel, somberly adding, "Just sayin'. And I'm worried the guy's part of some syndicate of some kind."
"Syndicates are your forte though, aren't they?", Voltaire "asks"; his monotonous voice made it seem more like a remark than anything.
"Ha. Still though, ye' gotta be careful no matter if you're part of one or not — would be horrible to tip off one of the Fingers."
"And I think you're overthinking it. He likely just spent the entirety of his money to fill up his body of tattoos — his body aspects didn't fit to what you'd see from a member of the Finger."
"Whatever, you're right."
The office had been left in a messy state these past few weeks with work getting more and more time-taking. Janggi stepped on the familiar sight of confusion; the floor and desk was ruffled up of research papers (some even mixed with past contracts), there were some objects of varying color, shape, and properties, and machinery gears spread about in the corner of Voltaire's personal workshop.
"Ye' left the door open, or did something change in 'ere?", Janggi remarks, his eyes direct to his partner's laboratory.
Janggi never paid attention to the work Voltaire would put as long as he was efficient during contracts, but this time, something noticeable had changed.
Voltaire looked silently at him, neutral as always, probably confused as to what Janggi was referring to — he nods his head at the two tubes big enough to fit himself, filled up of a bubbly orange substance.
"It's nothing — I just managed to put my findings into these at last."
Janggi grabs his own chin, stepping close to the filled tubes to see its contents.
The "nothing" was what seemed like the arm of a bird, bearing black and red colors barely distinguishable through the glowing substance it flowed in.
The other "nothing" was what looked like a block of… something? It's orange color blended in with the fluid. It seemed to have circle and square drawings around itself.
Voltaire had snuck to his side, vigilantly keeping an eye on him as if daunted he'd mess up the lab — he's never wanted him near after all — Janggi turned and patted his shoulder, saying:
"Eh~, took ya time to get somethin' in there, aye? I'd be proud if I was ya, that's one thing done."
"It merely covers up my plans — I need to… ah."
Voltaire froze in place, a gaping jaw etched upon him. "Somethin' the matter?", Janggi asks.
"Our enemies get stronger each day, it'd be nice to get better equipment…", he mutters to himself.
Janggi overheard due to the silence abroad the Office, replying in a jokingly tone, "I'll just break them glasses if you appoint me to somethin' to help ya with~."
"I know, would you rather be interested in escorting me?"
Voltaire was the first to a lot of things in Janggi's career, but he presumed it was to be expected with the… circumstances of his arrival here.
— guy just popped one day in my office, sayin' he wanted to work 'ere to move out of K Corp, hah.
This was but another one of a new sight. The only thing Voltaire has ever asked out of Janggi was if he could make of his office a personal workshop for himself — which Janggi was skeptical about because of the Tres Association's laws, but this workshop of his hasn't been active at all and…
Does it look like a workshop even?
"You’re a funny one. What's the details?"
"Lobotomy Corporation."
Silence falls upon the office. Janggi couldn't tell if he was joking or not — regardless, a distraught look slapped his smirk away.
Lobotomy Corporation, the same place crawling with Syndicates of all kinds; from low-budget criminals, to subordinates of the Fingers and the Fingers themselves.
Is he insane?
Fortunately, the Fingers were exempt of those syndicates who had a quarrel with him, but this didn't keep him off the risk of venturing around Lobotomy Corporation alone.
Nonetheless, most of the Syndicates perched in L.Corp become servants of the Fingers to receive protection; you mess with them, you mess with the Fingers, and Janggi would rather take his own life than go through it while being hunted by any of them.
"Are you alright?"
Voltaire's ignorance was, to Janggi, a hint at the far different lives they've went through before the office: he didn't know what startled him this much because he hasn't gone through a life dreading tipping off the wrong Syndicate and having your life and people ruined.
— he was probably the most privileged ever since he was a kid, and that's something Janggi envied.
He wanted to be born in a fancy big nest, with wealthy hardworking parents and a nice house.
'The City spares none.', as Voltaire commonly quoted.
Janggi pulls himself out of his ruminations, his lips curling into his usual smirk.
"Ah, yeah! You're aiming for heights, aint'cha?", he deceitfully remarked in an enthusiastic tone, "Eh~, s'much as I'd want to help, we're gonna have to wait till business cools down, y'know?"
Voltaire doubted, his brows had furrowed at Janggi's words.
"What was that look for?"
Janggi strolls back to his desk, shrugging off Voltaire's question — he avoided his gaze, looking at the contracts that messily laid about on the table.
But Voltaire persisted; he drags Janggi into a stare through calling his name.
He had that same look devoid of emotions, he didn't seem to actually care why he was lying to him, he just wanted to hear Janggi admit he was lying.
"Just focus on your research, genius boy."