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𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙮-𝙩𝙬𝙤.

𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙮-𝙩𝙬𝙤 | 𝘈 𝘛𝘈𝘓𝘌 𝘖𝘍 𝘉𝘌𝘎𝘐𝘕𝘕𝘐𝘕𝘎𝘚

｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

WHEN YOU'VE SEEN WAR, you can't help but wonder how you will die. Thomas Shelby has seen nothing but war.

The pen bled unto the paper below.

LONDON, THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1922

My name is Thomas Shelby, and today, I'm going to kill a man.

Today is Derby Day, and the murder will take place, this afternoon at the Epsom races. It may be that I am able to escape after the killing. The odds are not good, which is why I am writing this letter. I've been forced by agents of the crown to carry out this murder, and in the event of my own death, I want the following facts to be known:

My family are innocent of any involvement. And while some of them might be guilty of other things, I've not shared details of mission with any of them and how company assets are used.

Agents of the Crown joined forces with pro-treaty Fenians to arrange this murder. I believe the government intend to falsely blame the anti-treaty IRA. Therefore, the bullet I fire this afternoon, will be the starting gun for civil war in Ireland. The man I've been instructed to kill is Field Marshal Russell, formerly a Black and Tan commander who committed many atrocities in the county of Cork. There is no remorse in my heart at the prospect of his death. However, the conspiracy behind the killing is cause for international concern.

Such is the gravity of our secret mission that after I've served my purpose I believe they intend to kill me. I therefore want to name two particular individuals in this letter.

First, the agent who has initiated and orchestrated this crime is Major Chester Campbell, of the British Secret Intelligence Service. He chose me for this dirty business as an act of vengeance, prompted by a hatred of longstanding. In the event of my death, it is imperative he be brought to justice.

Secondly, there is a woman. A woman you go to war beside. Annabel Lee Keats, my wife and mother of my child, is the person to whom I owe my life. I am indebted to her from beyond the grave, and I demand her protection at all costs.

If you're reading this, then I am dead already. I hope that living as you do, in a truly free country, you'll be able to make the above facts known to the world.

Yours sincerely,

Thomas Shelby

✧

Today was the day Thomas Shelby would die, and he knew it well. He, however, never imagined he would die in London.

"Gentlemen today, we are not fucking about," Tommy started, having scared the living crap of Mr Solomons, freed Arthur, and now was starting the machines for his assassination, all in an honest day's work. "I hope you've all obeyed instructions and brought loaded firearms with you." When the men confirmed, he continued, "Good. You will all know that if you are lifted on a racetrack these days with a loaded weapon you get twenty years, and that's alright, today, you won't get lifted. Because today, there won't be any coppers around to lift ya'."

At the men's confused expressions, Thomas explained. "At exactly three o' clock, there will be an incident in the owner's enclosure, and all the coppers the track will be diverted. All of 'em. They'll be looking for someone, you'll be free to operate at will."

"Looking for who?" Arthur inquired.

"Why, me! Looking for me. Now, while the coppers are busy with me, you will make your move on Sabini's pitches. You confiscate his things, you destroy his licenses, and you do it at gunpoint. He usually has police protection, so he won't be armed. We should aim to complete the takeover without a shot being fired, understood? And remember, the licenses are more important than the takings." He got down from the car. "Alright, before the fun begins, you can all lay ten bob on Nom de Guerre. I hear she's going to win."