Kapitel 65: Chapter 65
The gun nudged at him to come outside. Owen put a hand on the door frame, eyes sharpening.
"Be right back," Owen announced to his girlfriends. Without waiting to hear a response, he stepped forward and gently closed the door behind him.
A Venice-style mask stared back at him, coloured by chequered-patterns of red, white, and yellow with a long hooked nose. A modified full mask hiding the face of the man underneath.
"We knew it was you in the video," said the masked man. "So this is where you went. Not too far and not too close from our home. A condo with a beautiful lake looking out. Compliments to you, Sir Hart."
He spoke in a semi-thick Italian accent, smoothened out by years of time in America. The charming rhythm of the accent could not be denied. The masked man's hair fell down his back, dark brown and smooth.
"So Dangun hacked his way to me," Owen stated.
"Using codenames? How cold, Sir."
"Are you here for Mary?" Owen asked quietly.
"Bingo." Owen clenched his fist. The masked man cocked his head sideways. "Just kidding. I don't care for her. I care for you. I am here because I wish to sate my curiosity."
Owen drew in a breath. This was bound to happen. No, he knew it was happening the second he saw that mask. He knew where this was going and how it might end. "Ask it then."
"Why did you leave, Sir Hart?"
The gun that he held pointed by his waist did not move. Owen's eyes flicked down and back to his mask. Below his neck was a normal black suit and tie. Under the suit was a special bulletproof vest.
Owen did not have a bulletproof vest.
"I want to tell you but…"
"But?"
"The gun is giving me conflicting feelings."
"You? Scared of a gun? The real Sir Hart would never admit such a thing."
"It's a ticket to getting the police involved. Do any of us want that?"
"The police…you care for them?"
"I'm neutral at the moment. Can't say the same about you." Owen smiled. "Leave, Charlemagne."
"Again with the codename." A sigh erupted from the Venetian mask, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Please call me—"
Owen's knee slammed into his wrist, kicking the weapon up in the air and into Owen's hand. It was a clean, swift movement that Charlemagne was unable to react to.
He was also unfazed by it—and not because he was wearing a bulletproof vest. "For a moment, I thought you were really going to attack me. But a gun?"
"I used guns before."
"Only for pesky opponents. I am not a pesky opponent."
"Don't disagree with that." Owen raised the gun and pointed it to his mask. Contact was less than an inch away.
"Sir Hart," Charlemagne said, "come join us again. You don't belong here frolicking among the ordinary."
"You know me better than I know myself?" The nuzzle touched the mask. "I didn't know we were that close, friend."
"I know since your tragedy that you have not been the same, friend. Is this you speaking? Or is this sorrow?"
"It's satisfaction speaking. I enjoy it here."
"People cannot change. You and I both know that."
"But they can mature," Owen countered. "You're right, no matter how hard I try, there's still a part of me that selfishly craves battle. But if it is a battle I crave, then I only need to channel it for selfless deeds."
"Selfish…selfless…the beauty of battle can often be contingent on such factors. I understand. Even so…you shined the brightest when you fought only for yourself, sir."
Charlemagne moved. His speed was absurd and his pointed shoe slammed into Owen's wrist, the gun clattering deep into the hall. Owen didn't care. He went forward, grabbed him by the throat, and pushed. Before his back could slam into the wall, Charlemagne grabbed Owen's elbow, placed the weight of his body onto the arm, and heaved himself up. Escaping his choking grasp, he flipped over him and used his shoulder as a stepping stone.
Charlemagne bounced off the wall to go back and send a series of kicks. Owen raised his two arms and blocked them all. Landing on his feet, Charlemagne threw out five lightning-fast jabs. Block, block, block, block, duck. This time, it was Owen's back hit the wall.
But that was what he wanted. The drop-down at the end was carefully timed. His fists followed the momentum of his hips and he swung a dangerous uppercut. Snap! His fist broke the long metal nose of the mask. Charlemagne reeled back, laughing.
Fists were still up. The battle could have continued. However, Owen wasn't interested in beating the shit of him and Charlemagne wasn't interested in challenging that notion. No, the assassin got what he was looking for.
"The passion! There it is!"
Owen clicked his tongue and rolled his aching shoulder. Meanwhile, Charlemagne massaged his throat. As brief as it was, his nails left cuts.
"Mm." Charlemagne touched the splotches of blood and wiped it down his mask. "Perhaps your new source of strength is not a sham."
Owen glanced at the forgotten gun. "Then get lost. You got what you came for."
'Just leave me alone,' Owen thought. He could feel the smile under Charlemagne's mask.
"An order. Just like old times, Sir."
"..."
"I did not wish to mention this but…Brath urged me to pass this one. The Ferrari's remaining son is planning to establish a tournament on par with the Lion Head Tournament soon. A special team-based cage fighting competition. The prize pool is forty-thousand for the team. Split evenly, that will be ten thousand. You should either join us…or compete."
"I'll consider if my bank account goes zero. Otherwise, leave."
Charlemagne swooped down and got his gun, walking toward the direction of the elevator and stopping halfway. "Oh, but one last thing."
"What?"
"Everyone else wishes to capture you," Charlemagne said, voice echoing through the hallway. "Be prepared."
Ding! The elevator opened and closed.
The gun was gone, the threat had left, the broken nose was left behind, and Owen's mind was reeling.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein