Matteo just knew that sothing was going to happen, sothing that would change his whole view on life and every part of it.
He knew he was about to witness things that would reshape his understanding of life and death, and not in any good or aningful way. Not the usual thoughts, not questions about what life is or why people exist. He had lived with those thoughts long enough. This was sothing else entirely.
This was about how easily life could be taken away.
About how much pain a human body could endure before it finally broke. About how slow suffering could be when it was done on purpose. About how cruel, ssy it could beco when soone decided to turn pain into a process instead of an end.
And the worst part was that all of this fear, all of these thoughts, ca from one simple detail.
Arlo was whistling.
He was whistling as he slowly walked toward the house, and for Matteo, it was enough to know that if he were to witness what Arlo did, what he called purpose and aning, sothing would break inside him.
But there was no turning back. And that’s exactly why the atmosphere between them felt off... but of course it felt off... how could it not?
They had never t before. The System update and the Red Rarity Special Card had just forced them to know each other, but they ca from completely different pasts, lives shaped by different rules, different violence, and different kinds of survival. Matteo had lived in the calculated world of César, numbers, influence, and control. He was the kind of man who understood power in terms of lists, ledgers, and the mind of the Sierra Cartel.
Arlo, on the other hand... Arlo was sothing else entirely, at least in César’s past life. Terrifying in ways Matteo couldn’t yet understand. Controlled chaos, deliberate and almost artistic... and maybe that was the main problem, because just as Matteo was ready to make his way in, pistol in his hand, Arlo suddenly pulled him back.
"What?"
"I like to be the dominant one." Arlo whispered and silence followed as they just stared at each other while they were a step away from the front door.
"Dominant?" Matteo asked back.
"Yeah, I like to be the one going in and starting it. It gives a good adrenaline rush rather than being the second one." Arlo answered Matteo, but he did not understand what the fuck he was talking about.
"There is nothing dominant." Matteo answered him. "We move in and sweep the house. We kill whoever we kill and we are done." Matteo wanted to move as he said it, but Arlo pulled him back once again.
"No, you are very wrong, my friend." Arlo began. "You said yourself you are an amateur, so let the professional go first and show dominance, because it is a step that can’t be ignored."
"What the fuck are you talking about, Arlo?" Matteo said as he fully turned back to face him. He was completely fucking confused about what Arlo was even talking about, and even more annoyed by the sheer stupidity of arguing right in front of the door they were about to go through to kill people.
"The first rule of engagent, especially in our field, is to cause suffering and pain, so rather than killing them off instantly, we need to wound them and let them see each other’s fate play out." Arlo said, staring straight into Matteo’s eyes. "We simply cannot kill them quickly, because it ans we do not have inner peace. We need to show them that our actions are well thought out, well executed, and hamr that realization into them that their fate will be worse than they ever thought of."
Silence once again as they just stared at each other, Matteo finally realizing that Arlo was fucking serious about it all. He was talking like so kind of wise man, a teacher, a fucking scholar or sothing, preaching about torturing people rather than shooting them and killing them imdiately, which made no fucking sense to Matteo. Not because it was slow, more ti consuming, or that they would need to clean a lot of blood.
No, it was confusing because they weren’t here for a top target.
"We are here to kill gang mbers, fucking nobodies, not a minister." Matteo said, but Arlo said nothing. He just kept staring at him with that serious face, and the worst thing about it was that he really looked like sobody who was serious about it.
"No, no, no, my friend." He shook his head slightly. "Terror, that is what we need. Terror that goes deep into their souls, terror that breaks their humanity, and the only thing that remains is fear and despair, the helplessness, the powerlessness, the—"
"Just go then." Matteo interrupted him.
"What?"
"Go first then. I will follow you," Matteo said as he slowly stepped down the stairs, coming to a stop behind Arlo.
"No, no." Arlo raised a hand as he stepped down as well. "I do not want you to feel disrespected by . I did not an to look down on you, but you know I am experienced in the field of human pain. I know the difference between screams. I can tell how badly it hurts just by the pitch of their voice." He let out a quiet sigh. "In short, I am sorry if my intent was misunderstood. I would like to apologize."
It was at that exact mont that Matteo understood sothing important.
Arlo was not just a fucking maniac, not a psychopath... no. Arlo is a man with a shattered mind, soone who goes far past normal cruelty and carries sothing unknown and wrong within him.
A broken minded motherfucker.
"Arlo, you—" No, he didn’t say it. He stopped himself because he knew that if he spoke, Arlo would just yap more. "You don’t need to, just go first. I understand you are more experienced and more professional in this field, so—"
"Who the fuck are you two?!" A man’s voice shouted from the side as Matteo was halfway through his sentence, and when they both turned to look, it was exactly what they expected.
Red scarf on his side, dark hoodie and shitty pants, a lowlife gang mber.
"I asked who the fu—"
He didn’t last long. Just as he opened his mouth, like a parrot about to repeat the sa sentence twice, a .22 bullet straight went into his throat and he imdiately fell onto his back, choking on his own blood, while his body uncontrollably shook on the ground, though not for long, as Arlo stopped to him, aid again, and pulled the trigger... again and again.
He magazine dumped into the gang mber’s forehead. What remained looked like a bowl filled with brain, skull fragnts, blood, and who knows what else.
"Arlo, I’m going in!" Matteo shouted as he sprinted to the door and swung it open. He knew the gunshots might have been heard, but he still had the elent of surprise, and he rushed inside with the 9mm in his hand and shit in that mont, he was changed into fucking Matteo Wick, the boogeyman himself.
Well he wasn’t just an accountant, but a skilled competitive shooter with many gold dals.
"What do you think about them?"
"Matteo is a genuinely good guy who got fucked by life, while Arlo... well, he was born to a fucked world with fucked parents, so he was forced to grow up into who he is..." César glanced at Hugo. "But they’re both masters of their work."
Reviews
All reviews (0)