The Eyes of Fate (Currently in Rewrite)

Chapter 60

Fang smiled behind his mask when he heard the door open. He'd been sitting at the commissioner's desk for almost an hour, waiting in the dark for the him to get back. He was starting to think that he'd need to go to his next stop on his list and then come back.

Fang would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to this. The commissioner had been in his position since Fang was a kid, and had apparently been an awful person the entire time. Fang realized that the man needed to be dealt with back when he was still fighting under Soul's tutelage. He'd seen that there was a handful of bad officers in an otherwise good town, and that they seemed to be the ones rising the quickest. Whenever they tried to raid a fight he was at, he always made sure to send those particular guys to the hospital for a while, all while leaving the good ones untouched. He almost laughed when he realized several of the others did the same.

 He had wanted to kill the commissioner back then, but wasn't willing to risk the entirety of the local police coming down on him. He'd just been Tyler, a local kid who, while efficient in combat, couldn't have managed a life on the run from the cops. Then he'd become Fang, leader of the Eyes of Fate, and had sworn to never come back to his hometown for risk of his family. 

And now here he was, back in town, doing something he'd dreamt about more than once.

The commissioner walked into his office without even turning on the light. He didn't so much as glance at his desk as dropped his jacket and hat on the coat rack. He just walked over to the liquor cabinet against one wall and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He grabbed a glass, set the bottle on top of the cabinet, and walked out.

Fang had to fight not to laugh. The man had been out of the field for so long that he had zero situational awareness. Even when he walked back in, ice now in his glass, he didn't look up. As soon as the door shut, Fang took his chance.

"Drinking on duty?" Fang growled, letting his voice drop low, and letting a little of his ever-present rage seep into it "For shame, Jerry."

The commissioner jumped, almost dropping his glass as he whipped around to find Fang sitting on his desk. Fang waved at him, waggling his fingers and looking for all the world like he was as relaxed as could be. The other man recovered quickly, his face turning red as he went from surprise to anger.

"Who the fuck are you?" He shouted. "I ought to have you shot for for that!"

Fang turned on the lamp that was sitting on Jerry's desk. The Jerry's eyes widened as he took in the mask, which perfectly masked a police sketch taped to a whiteboard on his wall. There were other sketched there as well: Velvet, Fire, even Soul's old mask. 

"Quite the assortment of sketches you have there, Jerry. I'm flattered, truly, that you think so highly of me."

"Fang." Jerry spat the word like it was a curse. "I've been waiting to get you in my precinct for years."

"I bet you have." Fang made himself sound bored. "Shame I'll be walking out soon."

Rather than answer, the commissioner went for the gun at his belt. Fang didn't let him even get close to drawing, sending a knife into his hand. The older man screamed, dropping to his knees. Fang finally stood up, walking slowly over to Jerry and grabbing the knife. Jerry screamed louder as Fang pulled the knife out of his hand. He hauled him to his feet and slung him into the chair behind the desk. Jerry didn't resist, just held his hand and screamed.

"Come on now, jerry!" Fang slapped the man lightly on the cheek a few times. "Buck up! We're only getting started."

"Help!" He shouted instead. "Dawson! Sullivan! Somebody!"