Young Writers Society

— Chapter 4.1: “der Silberfuchs” —

~ Engel Jäger ~

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His final destination was, in fact, a rather mundane one: an office building. It wasn’t large nor flashy. Indeed, it was hardly noticeable, little more than a small structure with chipped, off-white paint and a dusty sign that read “South Street Offices” along with a few generic company names listed below it.

Kratzer pulled into a small lot behind the building and killed the bike’s engine, tucking his keys into his jacket pocket. The rest of the parking spaces were vacant with the lone exception of a dilapidated trailer across the way — Crow’s abode. A frown creased his countenance at the thought of the man, and Kratzer’s expression only gained intensity as a spidery figure emerged from the trailer’s confines. It was unfortunate that Crow was such an asset to the Guild and that he spent so much of his time on Guild land. That was one of the rules: no physical altercations and certainly no killing of other Guild members on Guild property. Once in a while the Guild rule was broken, but enforcement among outlaws was savage. It was rare more than bloodstains were found.

He pulled on his mask as he entered the office building, a plain message to the receptionist that he was there on “special business.”

“Hallo,” he greeted, placing a folded contract on the counter. “The job’s been done. Check the news for confirmation.”

“I did,” she answered with a sly smile. “Welcome back, Silberfuchs. Things go well? Oh, and password, please.”

“Smoothly as always, schatz,” he said, taking the yellow packet she slid to him over the granite counter. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, give my soul unto Hell I must.” As he finished the simple couplet he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the simple tattoo on the inside of his right wrist - the Guild’s mark.

“Staying with us long, or are you going on the road again?” she inquired as she nodded in affirmation of his identity.

He shrugged. “I’ll at least stay the night, and I’ll cross tomorrow’s bridge when I come to it. We do have a vacancy, don’t we?” They usually did. The Guild wasn’t as busy since modern technologies had made the art of assassination difficult, but it never hurt to ask.

“Of course we do. Several, actually. I can't remember the last time we were full. We've even got a few singles free, if you want your usual one."

"That'd be great," he said with a slight smile behind his mask. "Danke."

She passed him a key. "There you are. You know the rules. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Fox."

He rolled his eyes at the comment and took his key. "Ja, ja, you too." 'Mr. Fox' had become an all-too-common nickname since the Viper coined the term while they'd been fighting one another and at some point it had come to be a teasing name to point out his eventual loss to the snake.

He didn't really lose. Not truly. He just never finished the fight. He didn't even regret that - in fact, going AWOL after World War II was one of the best decisions he'd ever made. It just meant that he'd seemingly surrendered. To Viper.

It bothered him more than he liked to admit, if he was honest, but he shrugged it off as best he could and went to the vintage elevator that awaited its passengers down the hall. It creaked a little as he stepped inside. It might've been off-putting to some, but for Kratzer, he'd gotten used to such a lack of structural integrity. It was better than a lot of places he'd stayed in the past, that was for certain.

A static electric swing song played over the rusty speakers as he punched in the usual combination of buttons. He wasn't sure who chose the music nowadays, but if he was honest, he missed the old days of Frank Sinatra. The elevator jerked into motion beneath him as he leaned against the back wall. He remembered back when the entrance to the Guild safeholds were trapdoors hidden beneath furniture, or loose floorboards that opened into vast basements. A lot had changed while he'd been gone, that was for certain. Whether it was for better or for worse he still wasn't sure, but at least the war was over and he wasn't working for her anymore. He couldn't help but think about the fact that she might've even already found him and was just waiting for an opportune time to strike and pull her back into her coils. A part of him still hoped he'd managed to evade her, but he doubted it. Such a woman was hard to escape.

The elevator dinged as it reached the subterranean floor that housed the Guild's "SFGH," or, for those who weren't well-versed in the shorthand, the San Francisco Guild Hall. The commons were almost as vacant as the parking lot, with the only activity consisting of a couple assassins playing cards at a poker table in the corner. The first of the two was anything but notable at a first glance. Sly was a mousy man with a habit of fidgeting, greasy brown hair, and a small, stick-like stature that was anything but intimidating. Few made the mistake of underestimating Sly and coming out the other end in one piece, however. He had a quick wit and clever mind, and to make an enemy of him was folly. Indeed, he was the face of the Guild and the closest thing it had to a leader.

The other individual was a woman who would catch the eye of any passerby, for her lightning-white hair and cobalt eyes made for a stunning combination. In conjunction with her leather jacket and half-shaved haircut, she made herself quite the noticeable figure. She snickered a little as he walked in, but the gesture served only to conceal the glint in her eye that betrayed the truth of the matter: she was thrilled to see him.

"Ah, der Silberfuchs, glad to see you've decided to grace us with your presence after so many years," she said, her Russian accent still strong even after the decades of speaking English. "Or are you just going to disappear to Canada again, Mr. Fox?"

He sighed, ignoring the sass inherent in her words. Diamond had never been one to pull her punches. “Afternoon,” he greeted. “I hope you haven’t lost your jewels to him already, Di,” he added with a smirk.

She stuck her tongue out at him. As she was distracted, the mousy man — Sly — slipped a card from his sleeve to his hand and winked at Kratzer. It was no surprise, really. That was the first rule of the Guild’s creed: if you weren’t caught, it wasn’t illegal. Because of this, most Guild card games ended up as a test of who could cheat and lie the most successfully as opposed to a lawful game of luck and skill, and Sly was among the best. One didn’t play a game with him unless they were exceptionally foolish or accepted the fact they were going to lose.

He strode past the two and patted Diamond on the shoulder as he walked by, then slipped into the hall. “See you around, ladies.”

His room was exactly as he left it: a tattered Bible, courtesy of the Gideons, sat on the bedside table. The bed itself was dusty and ancient, with scratched wood, but the mattress was somewhat decent and the worn blankets had more integrity than their appearance would imply. He wouldn’t be surprised if the setup was as old as he was. That thought elicited a soft chuckle from the assassin; it’d been a long, long time since he was human, much less a young one.

Kratzer shrugged his pack off his shoulder along with his mask and coat before sitting down to flick on the television. He was fully expecting a pixellated photograph of either his note or his masked face.

Instead, he saw the image of a woman. A woman with shining copper hair and reddish eyes that shone with an inner fire. A very familiar gaze — the gaze of someone he’d thrown off a roof.

He turned up the volume instantly, all other things forgotten as he watched in rapt attention.

“—caped from a mental hospital in San Francisco two days ago. A known criminal, this nameless individual was convicted of multiple accounts of first-degree murder, forgery, conspiracy, kidnapping, and fraud. Four years ago, after finally being apprehended at the end of a decades-long chase, she was thrown off a roof by an unidentified assailant and taken into custody.”

She’d survived a forty-nine meter fall onto stone. Not only that, but she was fit enough to escape a top-security mental hospital a mere four years later and evade the police for forty-eight hours and counting. He knew she’d been skilled, but this…this was something else. She couldn’t be human, that was for certain. A vampire or half-breed was possible but he should’ve smelled that when he’d fought her, so unless she was turned after the fall, it was unlikely. Had she made a pact with a demon for long life or something close to immortality?

For the first time in years, he found himself curious. Intrigued, even. A momentary pause to the monotony that had become his life. He could feel the rush of blood in his veins and the adrenaline as his mind began to race, going over the encounter again and again.

Four years ago. November 2nd, 2012. Berlin, Germany. Nikolaikirche — better known for English-speakers as St. Nicholas’ Church. It had actually started across the street in a small building that housed an exquisite Italian restaurant and a few businesses, one of which was Nyoka Buchandlung, a bookstore that served as a cover for his master’s base of operations. His job had been simple: he was to guard the package and ensure that it found its way safely into the hands of Taipan.

Snow was covering the ground in thick sheets that had become slick and brown with pollution and the hours of endless feet tromping over it. He’d shrugged his black trench coat over the shoulders and lifted the collar against the wind as the storm began to pick up again. He was hoping that Taipan would make it there soon: vampire or otherwise, he had been very cold, and he didn’t want to be wet on top of it. The package was under his arm and hidden in his coat along with his handgun. His knives had found places in his sleeves instead of his belt and his mask was pulled over his face despite the conspicuousness of such an action — he was ready for combat.

He’d wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Once this job for her was done he could go home and get away from this work again. At least, until she summoned him, as she inevitably would. She always did.

A woman was humming to herself across the street from him. It was a melody unlike any he’d ever heard before or since. It was inexplicably enrapturing, but the tone was haunting as the shadows that crept over the earth like skeletal fingers clutching the heart of their last surviving foe. It was a waltz that described the beauty of the night. A beauty that came only from the reflection of the dangers.

Her copper hair had shone in the gray light, a spark of color in the monotone city, and her reddish eyes danced as though there was a living ember within. Faint traces of eyeshadow applied with practice marked her face and, though she dressed warmly, and with practicality, there was an attractive element to it that told him she hadn’t chosen such cuts and colors thoughtlessly.

Kratzer had leaned back against a tree and ducked his head as another sharp breeze tugged at his coat and long, pale hair. He’d closed his eyes for but a moment as he listened to her song, caught in the strange enchantment that the alien melody elicited before it disappeared in the wind with naught but a few fading notes.

The woman was still standing where she’d been before, but then she’d begun watching him with that hawklike, predatory gaze. After a moment’s hesitation she’d started towards him, crossing the street and stepping onto the sidewalk as she approached. He pushed himself off the tree in response and became alert. She moved with a liquid grace he could only liken to that of a leopardess.

“Quite the song, love,” he’d said, addressing her in his mother tongue.

“Danke.” Her tone had been even and cordial. Friendly, even, though her demeanor told him she was wary. Her accent had been decent but it was evident German wasn’t her first language. “Waiting for someone?”

An eyebrow had cocked at such an observation. “I am,” he’d affirmed. “Old friend.” That was a lie, but she’d seemed to buy it well enough, for she’d nodded by way of reply, studying him.

“Why the mask?”

“Waiting to be picked up for a masquerade. What are you doing out here, then?”

“Looking for someone.” She’d slipped her hands into her jacket to warm them. A nonchalant gesture that he’d been soon to learn was anything but innocent.

“Couldn’t put it to a day with fairer weather?”

“No. It’s…of some importance.” Those reddish eyes of hers had met his, then, and for a moment, the seconds stretched into eternity. What was it about her that he found so…captivating?

“I see.”

After a moment of silence, she’d moved to his side and leaned against the trunk of the tree next to him before beginning to hum again.

He never should’ve let his guard down. By then, he should’ve known that, but even the strongest and most skilled of men had their foolish moments.

The tip of a dagger had been put to his temple, and before he had time to react, the pain drowned everything out. His ears rang with a deafening sound as he’d hit the ground, agony had piercing his reality. He could dimly sense movement before things went still, but his vision had been too blurred and the pain too strong for him to have a solid recognition of what was happening.

His sense of time had been lost, but it couldn’t have been long before his vampirism had kicked in and lent him a much-needed hand. Everything around him had come into instant, sharp focus, and the sharp pain of the knife became secondary. The bare branches had rustled above him and footsteps pounded against the ice over a baseline formed by the constant rumble of automobiles. He’d pushed himself to his feet and his numb fingers clutched at the weapon embedded in his skull before he’d wrenched it out. Had his vampiric tendencies not been so strong, he would’ve cried out, but it all had been pushed onto the back burner as his instinct took hold, giving him a single command: to hunt.

His head had pivoted in the direction of the footsteps, and there she was, sprinting with inhuman speed down the street with a small, yellow package in one hand and a gun in the other.

The chase was on.