Hey, all! This is the prologue to my Darkstache fic "FLASHWAVE" that I decided to quit writing. The draft has been sitting in my Google Docs for months now, so I thought I'd share it. Hope you enjoy! <3

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Blood mixed in the water.

    "Let's try this again," slurred Wilford, pacing around the tank. He bent down and tore Abe's head out of the water, nails digging into his skin.

    Abe coughed and spluttered. Gasped for air. Water ran down his face, his body. Soaked his blood-wet clothes.

    "Who," hissed Wilford, "do you work for."

    Abe spat blood in Will's face. Eyes furious.

    "Like hell I'd tell you."

    Wilford bared his teeth. He shoved Abe's head back into the water, the cold plunging up his arm.

    Abe thrashed, knees slipping on the muddy concrete.

    "Jack," called Will as he wiped his face, watching as Abe struggled for his life. "Call Host over now."

    Jack broke from the crowd of gun-clad gangsters, rushing off to the other end of the warehouse.

    Wilford's muscles flexed as he bashed Abe's head into the bottom of the tank. Blood blossomed. Thickened the water. So red. Perfect.

    Will pulled Abe out. Beat his head into the edge of the tank. Abe cried out. Blood ran down his face.

    "I'm this close, Detective," spat Will.

    Abe lurched, throwing up water in the tank. His lips shook, spit hanging off his chin.

    "Beat me down all you want," he gargled. "I'll n—"

    Wilford shoved him into the water, giving a loud, dramatic sigh. It echoed through the darkness of the warehouse.

    "One of you—take over for me," he groaned. One of his men came forward and kept Abe's head down in the water. Wilford stood and scoffed as he brushed himself off, rolling up his soggy sleeves with distaste.

    "This is Armani silk," he complained, and he stomped on Abe's legs heel first. "Custom made."

    Abe screamed through the water.

    As Abe thrashed and struggled, a man parted through the crowd of gangsters. He held his chin up in high regard, everything about him bleeding Wilford's right-hand man. His trench coat hung off his body smoothly, and as he walked forward, he seemed to glide right up to Wilford.

    "You called?" said the Host, voice a monotonous and domineering drawl. His copper eye glinted, the other concealed behind a bloodied eyepatch. Behind them, the sounds of splashing water and struggling scuffs echoed through the building. Host's eye trailed over to the violent scene.

    "He'll give soon," said Wilford, and he turned around, his eyes glittering with a sadistic delight as Abe's body began to violently twitch.

One...

Two...

    "Let him up, kid," called Wilford, and the man pulled Abe out of the water. As Abe coughed and spluttered, Wilford beckoned for Host to follow. He pulled out his signature, golden gun as they approached, and Wilford kneeled beside Abe, grabbing his shirt and tugging him so the gun dug into his throat.

    "One more time, detective," he said, breath hot over Abe's blood-wet face. Abe shuddered as he inhaled, his eyes beginning to gloss over. "Who do you work for?"

    Abe said nothing, his head dropping, and Will forced his head back up, eyes alight.

    "I need a name," he breathed, the trigger clicking beneath the weight of his finger.

    When there was another silence, Wilford began bashing Abe into the tank, pulling him out of the water for only a mere second before plunging his face back in. Drowning him.

Up, down. Up, down, linger.

Splashing water.

Up. Down.

Down... down...

    By the time Wilford kept Abe's head out of the water, he was wide-awake again, choking and gagging, his chest heaving for air. Lungs burning.

    "A-alright, alright!" he gasped, veins popping out of his neck. "It's K.C.O! K.C.O!"

    Wilford narrowed his eyes at that, and he glanced back at Host, who met his gaze with a nod.

    "Kjellberg Corporations," said Host, copper eye glinting. "A contract killing agency funded by the CIA."

    Wilford's eyes widened at that, and he glanced back over at Abe, pressing the gun into his neck so hard it brought forth bright red blood.

    "So assassins," he hissed. "That's what this is."

    Abe spat in Wilford's face, panting. "I've already got all I need," Abe heaved, voice a mere croak. "It's over for you."

    Wilford exhaled heavily through his nose, his nostrils flaring. A smile grew on his lips, and he burst into laughter, plunging Abe's head back down into the cold, bloody waters. Abe struggled and thrashed, shoes scuffing the concrete, and Will pressed the gun into Abe's head, eyes alight.

    "Oh, no, detective," he laughed, fingers digging into the back of his neck. "It's over for you and every one of your little friends."

    With that, he pulled the trigger, and Abe fell limp, the water going deep, dark red. The shot echoed throughout the warehouse, and Will pulled his gun away, letting it cool off at his side. He gazed over at the other men, making a motion with his hand.

    "Clean this up," he ordered, standing and brushing himself off. "Host, come with me." His eyes glittered, and as the men quickly set to work, Wilford sent a smirk towards Host.

    "Tell me everything you know about K.C.O," he drawled, earning a nod. "I'll tear them down before they can even think of coming close to me."

———

Dark's chest heaved as he panted, pulling off his shirt and throwing it aside.

    Anti wasted no time in lunging forward, swinging a fist at Dark.

    Dodge.

    Dark pounced on him. Legs around his neck. Anti yelled, stumbling. Dark threw his weight back, and they crashed into the ground. Anti cursed as pain sparked down his back.

    He coughed, chest burning, and the two grappled on the floor. Grasping, squeezing, striking—tousling on the floor as if they were fighting for their lives. Hands gripping at sweaty flesh, nails into dojo floor, pain flaring, hot.

    Dark pinned Anti down and pressed his knee into his chest.

    Anti made a sound of frustration and struck at Dark's leg, but he wouldn't budge.

    He was pinned again.

    "Fuck," Anti cursed, and he dropped his head to the floor, letting his arms fall to the ground. Both of them panted heavily, chests slick and shining with sweat. Dark gave a breathless chuckle, and he flipped his hair back which was damp with sweat, standing and releasing Anti from his hold.

    Anti gave a grateful gasp at that, reaching for his water bottle and squirting water over his face. He groaned at the cool rushing over his skin, water dripping down his chin and onto the floor.

    "I don't see how ya do it," Anti managed out, collapsing back into the floor to stare up at the ceiling. His heart raced so fast it pounded through his bare chest, blatant to see. "Makes me question how they even put me on any fookin' missions."

"You're a good fighter," said Dark, grabbing his shirt from the floor and wiping himself off with it. He let out a playful chuckle. "Just not as good as me."

Anti scoffed and glared at him, standing up.

"Oh, shut up," he snapped. He took a swig of his water and handed it to Dark, who mimicked the action. He gave a grateful sigh as the water cooled his throat, closing his eyes. His entire body burned, aching and straining, muscles worn from another day's training.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway.

"Agent Dark," said the newcomer, Ethan, his stance nowhere near as authoritative as the two assassins. "Director Kjellberg needs you in his office ASAP."

Dark straightened himself, his eyes glittering. He swiftly put his damp shirt on and nodded, sending a parting glance towards Anti and rushing out of the dojo.

He shuddered as he rushed down the cold hallways, the AC in the building prominent. Other assassins or staff turned their heads as he passed them, admiration in their gazes. Dark ignored them, used to the attention, and made his way over to a balcony within the building. The third floor.

As he walked, he gazed off the glass fence and down at the many people walking to and fro in the building's Main Lobby—many of them clad in uniforms suited for high-intensity movement. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor, and their chatter rolled off the walls in a dull roar.

Dark slowed as he reached the Head Office, and he took a deep breath, knocking on the door three times.

"Come in," came the Director's voice through the door.

Dark opened it and stepped into the room, straightening himself at the thickness of the air. He met eyes with Director Kjellberg, closing the door behind him and standing to attention.

Felix sat at his desk with his fingers laced together, his expression grave and stern. He stared evenly at Dark, motioning with his eyes for him to sit.

Dark obeyed and sat down before Felix, gaze intense and patient.

"I called you here," said Felix, voice grave, "to give you a mission."

Felix deeply inhaled and sighed, closing his eyes. The air seemed to churn and thicken, and when Felix's hand rested on a yellow case file, Dark's eyes followed with laser-focus. A dread seemed to consume the air... a familiar feeling.

"Our main investigator, Detective Abe, is dead," said Felix. He slid the file forward, opening it with ease. Dark leaned forward and ran his eyes over the file, lingering on the photo of the target. His heart seemed to skip at the sight.

"He was killed by Wilford Warfstache two days ago," said Felix. He glanced up, meeting eyes with Dark. "You've heard his name, I'm sure."

Dark nodded, and his heart began to race as he realized just how detrimental this case was. The utter difficulty it proposed.

Before him sat the case file of the most notorious mafia boss in the world. Wilford Warfstache—leader of the crime syndicate... He exercised control in all things evil and illegal, whether that were drugs, murder, or outright manslaughter and massacre. He was a high-level threat that government agencies begged to be put to rest. His mere existence sent societies trembling.

Felix's chair creaked as he leaned forward, and he gazed at Dark through his sharp blue eyes.

"CIA specifically requested you for the job," he said. Felix closed the file and handed it over to Dark, who took it with a frown. "You will kill him."

"Sir, a man of such status—"

Felix rose a finger, silencing him.

"Detective Abe collected enough information on Warfstache for you to go off of. Most visited locations, business ties... even the whereabouts of his bases." Felix's eyes glittered, and he waved a hand in dismissal.

"This will be easy for you, Agent," he said. "I'm confident in your abilities."

Dark knew better than to argue, and he nodded, the file hanging at his side as he stood.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "I won't let you down."

Felix gave a nod, and Dark left the room, swallowing when it clicked shut behind him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, gathering himself.

I will not fail this mission, he thought to himself, and with that, he headed to his rooms, ardent on examining every inch of his mission.

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This story idea is free to be used, btw! I'm just really obsessed with John Wick, so I wanted to write a fic related to it, but writing action just isn't my strong suit 😂

Hope you enjoyed, and have a wonderful day!

Love, 

Sh. A.  <3