Flashing lights repeatedly painted the cockpit scarlet, while a beeping alarm blared its song. The pilot was panicking, his fighter jet spiraling to the ground like a bullet, smoke trailing behind it. The other four jets flew above, bearing the same colors as his own. Water splashed upwards, spraying the ground when the jet collided with the deep lake below, missing the rocky shore by a matter of meters.

    He remembered everything else in flashes. His captain congratulating a squadmate for such a shot, having blown his plane's right wing almost entirely off... Forcing the entrance to the cockpit open as his plane sunk... Breaking the surface of the lake... Gasping for air... Swimming to the shore, still in shock.

    The moment he stood up, shivering on the rocks, which were from the water lapping at his feet, his brain had already reached a conclusion. A sense of betrayal moved through the pilot like lightning, anger following this feeling as if it were thunder. As he stumbled away, he vowed to only one thing: revenge.

................

    The soft whirring of an electric drill filled the ex-pilot's otherwise silent workshop. His eyes hid from any possible dangers behind a pair of safety goggles. He pushed the memory away; that crash was three years ago, and now he lived with a different face, a different name. On the table he was working at, a safe distance from the device he was currently adding his final modification to, his phone buzzed. The man turned the drill off and put it down, before answering the caller. "A.S.S.I.S.T. What warrants interrupting my work?" He put the phone to his ear, the voice of his artificial intelligence crackling with its trademark distortion as it replied. "Dr. Rhys, they're getting impatient."

    "Tell them that it should be done in a day. I need my time." Rhys told it, his voice sharp with annoyance.

    "Right away, sir."

The call ended with that, and the man put down his phone, taking the time to stretch. His workshop was a little cramped, as it once was an extra bedroom. It had seemed spacious when he originally bought his apartment, but after the addition of all of his tools and technology, he found that there was very little room. Brightly lit by fluorescent lights and kept at a cool temperature, the only clear path Rhys had was from his workstation to the door. Behind him, large cabinets blocked the only window the room had. As he picked the drill up, it scraped the cold metal table that he called his workstation, covered in scratches from similar actions.

The setting sun would have been visible outside the workshop's blocked window had it not also been obstructed by other skyscrapers by the time Rhys had finished his modifications. He placed his drill back in its spot on a shelf above his worktable, the extra screws and k-lock nuts being dropped in their respective boxes. The finished product, a gun-shaped device with black paint that reflected the room's lights, round barrel, and a red light right next to the safety switch fit snug in the gray felt depression in his metal briefcase, made to keep the device safe until delivery to this job's client. He stood, closing the briefcase, and left his workshop, locking the wooden door behind him.

................

Rhys had left his apartment early, heading to the meeting place. He had chosen a parking garage that had closed two months ago. The owner had run into money troubles, causing the city to gain possession of the garage. Currently, no one used it for anything but illicit dealings and as a graffiti canvas. Rhys had chosen the fourth floor and waited by a pillar, gripping the briefcase so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was close to the center, close enough that the low moonlight that filtered through the surrounding buildings was unable to reach him. Next to him was a metal plate propped up by a telescope's tripod, a laptop resting on the top. He fixed his glasses, feeling the anxiety of the meeting set in. Upon hearing the footsteps of who he assumed was his client, he opened the laptop and typed the name of A.S.S.I.S.T.'s program in. The screen turned blue, the generic navy silhouette similar to a chat program's default profile picture appearing in the center.

The agent sat crisscross on a nearby roof, a thin laptop on his lap, the screen glowing dimly in the dusk's darkness. "Agent Six, Agent Eight, be careful in there."

"Yeah, yeah, we know the drill, Fifteen." Agent Six's reply came through Agent Fifteen's earpiece. "Get in there, catch this guy, get out."

"Welcome." The distorted voice of A.S.S.I.S.T echoed through the parking garage. "My apologies for being unable to arrive in person. I had some pressing matters I had to attend to. But my assistant is here for the deal's proceedings."

Agent Fifteen heard all of this through his earpiece; the microphone in it and the ones his fellow agents were provided was rather powerful, after all. So he's not here in person? He began to type, connecting to Rhys' laptop and worming his way through its firewall. This wasn't the first time a criminal used a sort of transmitting program, after all.

"I trust you brought the money?" A.S.S.I.S.T. inquired.

"Right here." The taller of the two lifted the briefcase in his hand.

    "Good. Assistant, if you could show the device?"

    Rhys took the completed weapon out of the briefcase he had been holding, showing it to his clients. He felt his worries settling in, gnawing at his mind. They could be dissatisfied, or try to steal the weapon without paying as his tenth client had attempted, or attempt a scenario he hadn't even thought of yet.

    He pushed the thought from his mind and spoke. "A-as you can s-see," Rhys' voice wavered as he spoke, his nervousness evident through his tone. "I-it h-has the appearance o-of a normal ha-handgun." The weapons dealer turned the weapon in his gloved hands, showing his clients the controls. "Th-the light i-indicates if it's o-on or o-off. A-all you have to do i-is turn it on, aim, then p-pull the trigger." He managed to stammer out. "I-it sends a-an electroma-magnetic ray to th-the target, fo-forcing them to g-go through cardiac a-arrest."

    The two buyers exchanged a look. "How do we know if it works?" Asked the one who held the money. The client next to him nodded, but otherwise remained as silent as she had been before.

    "You doubt my work?" A.S.S.I.S.T sounded offended.

    "Not at all, doctor. I just think we should have a demonstration. Just in case." The client responded.

    "Good, keep stalling..." Agent Fifteen muttered. He was almost there. Wait... He stared at the laptop's screen, which blared black words back at him.

    NO TRANSMISSION.

    "Agent Six! Agent Eight! Get out of there!" He shouted through the earpiece.

    "A demonstration? Very well. Assistant, could you please show our esteemed clients that my creation works?" Rhys glanced at the computer from the corner of his eye, some shock flashing through his mind. A.S.S.I.S.T must have been notified of something. He realized, raising the weapon, the power clicked on. That's the only reason as to why it'd ask me to do a demonstration, instead of showing a video of me testing it. He took aim at the larger of the two clients; he was the one that had been speaking and struck Rhys as the leader of the two.

    Rhys squeezed the trigger. The client suddenly brought his hands to his chests, pain flashing across his features before he fell to his knees, then to the ground. Rhys turned his attention to the smaller one, who had taken a step back, her mouth open slightly from shock. He activated the weapon again, and the woman fell to the ground, muscles twitching before going still. A spot of black in her ear, a stark contrast to the client's light hair and skin, caught the dealer's eye. Not worried about a counterattack, as both of the people he hit would be dead within minutes, Rhys crouched down. Recognizing the device in her ear as an earpiece, and the logo on it as property of the Peacemaker Association, he took it out of the woman's ear and put it to his own. He might as well see who was on the other line, after all.

    "Agent Six, report in! Agent Eight, are you alright!" Fifteen was shouting, worry filling his voice.

    Rhys almost dropped the weapon he still held. He knew that voice all too well. Tyler Banks, one of the people who betrayed him three years ago. Finally. I found one of you. Rage filled Rhys, an emotion he hadn't truly experienced in a long time.

    It made his voice unnervingly even as he spoke. "It's been a long time, Banks."

    "...Rowan? How-"

    "It's been three years, correct? Quite the amount of time has passed since you blew up the man known as Rowan Smith. Long enough for him to rebuild his life, some would say." Rhys' voice was as cold as the snow and as sharp as an icicle. "I see you've joined the PMA since then. How ironic." Rhys turned to the briefcase, the dead agent's hand still curled around the handle. "It's even funnier considering my current employment. Do me a favor and stop trying to get in the way of my business."

    His business..? Then he's not just an assistant... Tyler Banks could hardly form words, the shock of Rowan being alive, let alone working under the alias of Doctor Rhys. "H-how dare you order me-"

    "I believe you owe it to me, Banks. After all, you stole my future away from me."

    "You'll pay for this!"

    "How cliche. No need to worry, old friend. Both of us will get what we deserve soon enough." And with that, Rhys took the earpiece out and crushed it with his heel.

................

    Throughout the next year, Rhys had spent his free time researching where Tyler (who he learned went by the number Fifteen in the PMA) and his old captain were usually located. He found that while Tyler had joined a new organization, his captain had risen through the air force's ranks, and was now a brigadier general. He hadn't gotten any more trouble from the Peacemaker's Association since he had killed two of their agents, but Rhys suspected that they wouldn't leave him alone forever. And so, along with his research, he had also prepared.

    He sat in a hotel in New York now, methodically clicking each piece of his latest weapon in place. It would give him a quick, clean kill, just in case someone interrupted his plan. Outside of the window he sat next to, convoys made up of sleek black governmental SUVs silently glided across the unusually empty streets, not a single civilian car in sight. Rhys assumed the streets surrounding the event's building had been closed off to the public.

    Both Banks and his captain would be at this governmental event, held to celebrate another century of keeping the country safe from the hostile forces that surrounded it. This would be his best chance. He could kill two birds with one stone.

    Rhys couldn't let it go to waste.

    He slid his firearm into his belt and pulled a white glove over his right hand, an identical one already on his left. His weapon of choice for his revenge. It wouldn't be as quick as the gun, instead made for its victims to slowly have the life squeezed from them. After making sure he had everything he needed, Rhys grabbed his bag and adjusted his tie, then stepped out of his room.

    There was already someone in the elevator when Rhys entered it, so he simply made sure the button for the lobby was already pressed before standing a respectful distance away. The two spent the next half minute in silence before the man spoke. "Ashton Rhys, was it? Or would you prefer your given name: Rowan Smith?"

    Rhys stared at the man, surprise filling his features.

    "Don't look so surprised, Mr. Rhys. I keep tabs on potential allies." The man's voice was soft, yet still somehow had a tone that commanded respect. "You drove in from Philadelphia, correct? How was the traffic?"

    Ashton just kept his stare, finding it hard to speak.

    "Not bad, I hope? When did you arrive? Last night, correct?" The man continued, not once glancing at Rhys.

    "Wh-what are you trying to prove?" Ashton managed to stammer out.

    "I know a large number of things about a large number of people, Mr. Rhys. It's my job as a consulting criminal." It was only then that the man turned to Ashton. What stood out to Rhys was the man's bright emerald eyes, hidden partly by black rectangular glasses. His eyesight must be horrendous. Rhys realized, noticing how thick the lenses were. Overall, the man didn't look very threatening, with his neatly kept hair and thin build. "I've risked a lot to meet you face to face. But I thought I'd give you some advice. Free of charge."

    "Who are you?"

    "As I said before, I am a consulting criminal. But if you need something to call me, feel free to use the Orchestrator." The man held out a hand to shake. Ashton didn't take it. Lowering it, he continued. "As I was saying, I thought I would give you a piece of advice. Don't go through with this plan, Mr. Rhys."

"And why should I trust what you have to say?" He had recovered, for the most part, but now suspicion filled his voice.

"Because I don't want you to get arrested. Your skills would be rather useful for me." The Orchestrator responded as the elevator stopped moving. "If you want to truly exact your revenge, Mr. Rhys, you will take my advice and refrain from going to that event. Instead, you will work with me, so I can help you."

"In exchange for what?"

"Weapons, of course. Meet me in the Conservatory Garden in Central Park at midnight tomorrow if you accept my offer, Mr. Rhys. But even if you don't, do yourself a favor and don't try to enter a highly guarded facility to assassinate two important governmental officials through strangulation."

The elevator doors opened, and the man walked out, heading straight for the hotel doors. Rhys stared after him, shocked by the whole absurdity of it, before stepping out of the elevator himself. He headed to the door, hesitating. That... Orchestrator person had a point. Perhaps he should think his plan through once more. Rhys sighed, pushed the doors open, then headed to the nearest restaurant for some dinner.

................

Ashton waited in Central Park, standing by the fountain in the center of the Conservatory Garden. It was empty, his only company the fireflies that danced around him and the crickets that rang their song as he waited. He checked his watch, catching the exact moment the second hand struck twelve, both the minute and hour hand clicking into place over the number.

"A beautiful area, is it not?" The Orchestrator inquired. Rhys jumped, startled, and turned. The consulting criminal tilted his head slightly at this movement. "My apologies. I couldn't help myself, I suppose." Despite his neutral expression, his voice was lined with amusement. "I'm glad you took my advice, Mr. Rhys. How was your salmon?"

Ashton took a step back. "Are you stalking me?"

"Me? No. I pay someone to do that." Once again, he had some amusement in his voice, as if this was all an elaborate joke to him. "But we aren't here to discuss my... associates. At least, not the ones currently under my employment." The man clasped his hands behind his back. "You came, which leads me to believe you agree to my terms."

"I don't know your terms."

"I told you yesterday, didn't I?" His head was tilted again, only somewhat. "I'll help you get your revenge on Tyler Banks, also known as Agent Fifteen, and Brigadier General Victoria Holt. In exchange, you will supply me with devices for my own line of work."

"For how long? I don't exactly have the money to endlessly build you weapons." Ashton pointed out.

"I never said I wouldn't pay you, Mr. Rhys. You'll be paid by the hour rather than by the device. I believe that should be different from how you normally gained money, correct?" Rhys' lack of an answer seemed to be a 'yes' for the Orchestrator, as he continued. "Furthermore, I will give you a home in my group's base of operations. Do we have a deal?" He held out a hand to shake, the other falling to his side. This time, Ashton took it. "When do we start?"

In the low light, the Orchestrator's small smile was hardly noticeable. "Right away."

................

"Dr. Rhys, the Orchestrator wants to talk with you." A.S.S.I.S.T's voice came from the Bluetooth speaker by Ashton's desk. Rhys sighed, saving his work and minimizing his programming software. "Tell him I'm on my way."

"Yes, sir."

"You're adjusting well, I see." The Orchestrator commented when Rhys entered his office, which was just off of a large meeting room. His new employer turned out to be a sort of a crime lord, commanding a syndicate stretching its web all across the globe. Rhys didn't know why he had been surprised when he found out.

"It's been three months. Of course I am." Bitterness lined Ashton's voice; he wasn't very happy about being pulled from his work.

"I'm glad to hear. Thank you for your electromagnetic pulse bombs, by the way. They were instrumental in a heist in Los Angeles."

"That's not why you called me here, is it?" Ashton's mouth began to curl downwards in a frown.

"Of course not. I called you here to inform you that I have gotten you a small thank-you gift." The Orchestrator stood, walking around his desk. "If you could please follow me, Mr. Rhys."

Curiosity couldn't help but take hold of Rhys' thoughts as he followed the crime lord away from both the Orchestrator's office and Ashton's workshop, down into a small basement near the back of the small building Ashton had called both home and work the past three months. His curiosity all but vanished, warping into shock, when the Orchestrator flipped the light switch on.

Tied up and gagged in a chair sat Tyler Banks, his cerulean gaze a mix of fury and fear. Next to him, two white gloves lay on a small metal table, along with a long, thin knife. It seemed the Orchestrator had given Ashton some options. "Surprise." The Orchestrator stepped back, letting Ashton take a step forward. "Return to your work after you had your fun, Mr. Rhys. I suggest you remove his gag. He strikes me as a beggar."

Rhys took another step forward, his hands shaking. He tore the gag off of Tyler's face. "It's good to see you again, Banks."

"Rowan, you're working with him now?" Tyler's voice quaked, yet somehow he still managed to keep an otherwise even head.

"I guess I am." Rhys pulled the gloves on.

"He's a psychopath, Rowan. You can't trust him. Please, just let me-"

"Like I trusted you?" Ashton cut Tyler off, glaring at his ex-squadmate. "You're one to talk, Tyler. Or did you forget that you shot a f***ing missile at me?" His voice was as sharp as a knife, and Tyler flinched at the sound of it. "You tried to kill me, Banks. Don't start lecturing me on who to trust."

"I'm just saying-"

"Don't. Don't you dare say a damn thing." He snapped, moving towards Tyler. "You and Holt were more than just my squadmates. You were my friends. But after what you did?" His voice shook from anger. "You're just a giant red target. And I'm a bullet, headed straight at you."

"It's not my fau-"

"Not your fault?" Ashton's voice rose. "Who's fault is it, then? Holt's?" He didn't even notice that he had picked the knife up. He didn't notice the blooming scarlet as he drove the blade into Tyler's chest. "Your plane's?" Another blossom of blood. "Mine?" Scarlet splattered to the ground at Ashton's feet. "Are you going to f***ing blame God for trying to kill me?" The knife was painted in red.

"He's dead, Mr. Rhys." A gentle hand was suddenly on Ashton's shoulder. Rhys dropped the knife, staring at it as if he had only just noticed it. He clenched his gloved blood-splattered hands into fists. "I would save some of that fury. I already found the location of Brigadier General Holt."

Ashton turned, his anger all but gone, replaced only by a semblance of satisfaction, and the gnawing need for revenge. "Where?"

"Get your rest." The Orchestrator said. "She will be two hours south of here tomorrow as a part of a small convoy."

Ashton took a deep breath. Tomorrow. He'd make her pay tomorrow.

"Now, I believe you have work to return to." The Orchestrator took a step back. His footsteps were always silent, never scraping the ground or making a sound as they landed.

................

Ashton leaned against the glass window of a storefront, a baseball cap pulled over his face. He was wearing his gloves, now dyed brown to hide the dried blood, his excuse for wearing such clothing being the biting cold temperature he stood in. He went over the Orchestrator's plan in his head.

"She's been assigned to the second car. There are three SUVs plus a van in total, and each will be holding four soldiers." The Orchestrator had said. "You'll have to be quick. I rigged the traffic light to stop at red for ten minutes. The cars are standard SUVs, so a simple bullet to the window will do. Use a silenced pistol; at the first sign of trouble, all soldiers are supposed to exit the vehicles and defend the contents of the van. Make short work of the other soldiers in the car before entering it. You'll have to use deadly force. Do not, and I repeat, do not give them enough time to sound the alarm."

In front of him, three black SUVs and a van of similar color stopped at a red light. Rhys stood, pulling out the pistol he had brought with him, aiming at the window of the second SUV as he walked. A muffled shot sounded as the bullet crashed into the glass, which fell away from the vibrating waves the modified bullet had emitted. He ran, moving quickly to try and silence the shouts of alarm coming from the car. Three soldiers slid out of the vehicle, each one holding firearms of their own. The driver was reaching to alert the others, while the slumped body of a soldier remained inside the vehicle.

Ashton cursed under his breath, moving to aim at the driver. However, this intent left his mind entirely when he saw Victoria. The brigadier general aimed her gun right at Ashton's head. "Drop your weapon!" She barked out the order, her voice as clear as Rhys remembered. His heart dropped, his plan gone to ashes, a new one quickly rising from them. The gun clattered to the ground. "Kick it over," Victoria ordered. Ashton did so, keeping his head tilted downwards to hide his face. Slowly, Brigadier General Holt made her way over, reaching out to remove Ashton's hat. He let a smile pass over his features. As always, curiosity got the best of his old captain.

"Rowan?" Shock filled her voice, Victoria freezing from the emotion.

Ashton acted quickly, fingers curling around her throat. "It's been a while, Captain." He sneered. "Did you miss your first lieutenant? Or were you too busy being distracted by your success?" The machinery weaved into the gloves made his grip tighter than iron, and getting ever tighter. Soldiers shouted in alarm, both from the two in front of Ashton and the eight that had exited their respective vehicles. But Rhys didn't listen to their orders to stop, didn't let their attempts to pull him away from the brigadier-general be successful. It didn't take long for a sickening snap to resonate from Victoria's neck, at which Ashton relaxed his grip entirely, allowing himself to be pulled away from the woman's body. His vision went black as he was hit on the head with a pistol.

................

"Do you know why you're here?" A woman sat across from Ashton, her hands folded against the metal table.

"I sold weapons and other devices to criminals." Rhys responded, his voice even. He didn't feel the need for revenge, but he also felt no satisfaction. Just... emptiness.

"You also murdered Brigadier General Holt, and confessed to the murder of Agents Six, Eight, and Fifteen."

"So you're answering my questions for me, now?"

The woman scowled. "Because the purpose of this is definitely not to make sure you understand your crimes, Mr. Smith. Or do you now go by Mr. Rhys?"

"Rhys."

"Fine, then, Smith." The woman smirked. "I get you had this whole revenge thing, but was it really worth it?"
    "Yes." He lied more to himself than the woman, who didn't seem to care about the answer either way.

"Look, you did bad stuff, whether you realize it or not. So I'm afraid to say that you won't even be seeing another human being for a very long time." She seemed satisfied at the look of horrified realization on Ashton's face.

He opened his mouth to protest, cut off by two prison guards roughly pulling Ashton from the chair and forcing him down to the solitary confinement block. One shoved him into the room, Rhys crashing to the ground, while the other slid the door shut. The sound echoed in Ashton's ears, the lights inside the cell clicking off and leaving him in total darkness.