Broken Faith

Observation 15: Plans can change. Even at the last minute

As it turned out, CP9 didn't even need until the end of the next day. You woke up in your hotel room the following morning to find a note slid under your door with a hasty scribble splattered across it.

We agree to your terms. Kidnapping will occur at sundown.

You couldn't help but stifle a snort. Anyone looking at this would never be able to guess that the mentioned kidnapping you were planning was in fact your own. Not that you could really blame them, you thought as you ripped the note to shreds before tossing the remains into the hotel trash can.

Part of you still couldn't believe it yourself.

Last night was still a blur to you. Sleep never came easy to you at the best of times, so after the sheer chaos that was the meeting last night had left you tossing and turning over and over and over.

Especially when your brain visualised some catlike eyes peering hungrily out of the darkness.

You shuddered. Although at this point you were expecting it.

Rob Lucci.

The so called 'Massacre Weapon' himself.

Looking back on it, you could remember wondering why someone would give him such an awful name to begin with. But now? Your face pinched, midway through dabbing some concealer at the dark circles under your eyes. If anything, the epithet didn't do him justice. It did nothing to capture the ferocity... or sheer terror that drilled its way into your every bone the moment he stared eerily your way.

It did nothing to show how you felt your life flash before your eyes if he so much as moved a muscle.

You still couldn't believe you'd survived that last encounter. That you had just... shrugged him and his comment about your metal smell off. You'd been so certain that the game was up. It was all over.

But your panic had manifested itself into shoving your pistol into his face. Which, apparently, managed to convince the beast that the gun was the source of the smell... Or something along those lines. If you were being at all honest with yourself, you just never ever wanted to think about that time again.

Ever.

You sighed at the mirror. Your reflection sighed back, the eyebags still horribly visible even after covering them with makeup.

Could you keep this up for much longer?

Urgh never mind. Pinching your brow, you moved away from the figure in the mirror and instead went to flop back down on the bed. Your metal arm thumped down with a creak, weight forcing the bedframe to groan. It didn't matter if you could keep things up. You had to. Otherwise things would just fall apart. Again.

All you really could do for now was sit and wait for your so called kidnapping.

That mask still sat next to you. Not the cheep black one you had picked out in Water 7's barge market. His one. The horrid and gaudy thing. You frowned, reaching over to hold it above your head.

It glinted sickeningly in the dingy light. Surprisingly heavy considering its small size.

Why on earth had he wanted you to wear that? Was it really meant as something to hide your identity... or perhaps there was some hidden meaning behind it all. A way of picking you out from a crowd?

The problem with dealing with a fool such as Spandam was that you had no way of knowing. Fools had the annoying ability of defying all logic yet still making an intelligent decision once in a while.

Well this was no time to hang around. You slapped your face emphatically. There were documents to work on! Documents! Gazing at the pile stacked miserably on the hotel desk... you felt your heart sink a little.