Russo, his eyebrow arched in skeptical curiosity, challenged, 'And who, precisely, is this supposedly undefeatable hitman?'

Bianchi, ever the theatrical one, amplified the question. 'Yeah, we'll need a real professional to take down someone as dangerous as Orlov. No amateurs.'

Morales, his voice steady and pragmatic, steered the conversation back on course. 'Alright, if we are to pursue this course of action, where do we find such an expert?'

A heavy silence descended upon the obsidian chamber, each member contemplating the delicate nature of their request.

Conti, breaking the silence with his trademark sardonic wit, quipped, 'Anyone here have a directory of elite assassins? 'Cause that would be exceptionally convenient right now.'

Petrovitch, his demeanor stern and uncompromising, emphasized the necessity of discretion. 'We need to proceed with utmost caution. Word of our intent must not reach the wrong ears. It would create… complications.'

Elena Volkov, her gaze sharp and focused, nodded in agreement. 'We require someone who can execute the task swiftly and silently. No mess, no witnesses. Absolute precision.'

Saiyel, his mind already anticipating potential contingencies, voiced his concern. 'And this hitman, whoever he may be, must be capable of handling a formidable opponent. Orlov is not a target to be underestimated.'

Conti, his curiosity piqued, inquired, 'Who exactly are we talking about here? Someone within our network?'

Morales, his gaze distant as he sifted through his mental Rolodex, replied, 'We have access to… specialized individuals. I can reach out to certain contacts, ascertain their availability.'

Bianchi, clearly intrigued by Morales's cryptic response, exclaimed, 'Damn, Morales. You got an assassin's black book on standby?'

Morales, a hint of a cryptic smile playing on his lips, offered a terse response. 'You would be surprised at the… favors I have accrued over the years.'

Conti, attempting to maintain a facade of nonchalance, quipped, 'Well, well, look at us. We've got a personal hitman concierge, do we?'

Rudso, eager to move the discussion forward, intervened. 'Enough with the theatrics. We need to make a decision. Who is the most suitable candidate, Morales?'

Morales, having weighed his options, responded with a name that resonated with an air of lethal efficiency. 'There is a man, known as "Wraith." He is among the best in the field. Silent, efficient, and utterly ruthless. However, his services do not come cheap.'

Conti, a hint of morbid fascination in his voice, responded, '“Wraith,” huh? Sounds like something out of a myth. I like it.'

Bianchi, his interest piqued, inquired, 'What are his rates? You mentioned he doesn't come cheap. How steep are we talking?'

Morales, ever the pragmatist, answered, 'His base rate is $500,000 per hit. However, additional charges may apply depending on the complexity of the assignment.'

Petrovitch, his brow furrowed, questioned the exorbitant fee. '500,000 for a base rate? That is a substantial sum. Are we certain this is a prudent expenditure?'

Elena, her voice laced with practical resolve, offered her perspective. 'We are not merely paying for a hit. We are investing in a guaranteed solution. If Wraith's reputation is accurate, $500,000 is a reasonable price for peace of mind.'

Conti, clearly sold on the idea, chimed in, 'Sounds like we have a deal. We pay Wraith the 500k, and he eliminates Orlov, quietly and efficiently. I concur.'

Petrovitch, his caution still lingering, pressed, 'What assurances do we have that Wraith will fulfill his end of the bargain? We are taking a considerable risk.'

Morales, his voice imbued with unwavering confidence, reassured them. 

'Wraith's reputation is his bond. He is not some amateur. Moreover, he has never failed a contract. That is the closest thing to a guarantee one can obtain in this business.'

{{Extract from Orlov's diary}}

(Handle with care.)

They hung up. As expected. Saiyel, predictably arrogant, believes a severed connection severs his vulnerability. He underestimates my masterpiece , the Echelon Eye.

The device, a necessity in my line of work, allows me to maintain a degree of situational awareness. While they heard my voice, I saw their faces. I noted their reactions, the subtle shifts in their expressions, the undercurrents of their conversation.

The C Cube module, functioning as designed, maintained a live feed even after the call terminated. I observed their interactions, their discussions regarding 'Wraith.' I noted their location, an opulent penthouse. The motion detection alerted me to their movements.

They believe they can eliminate me. A predictable response. 'Wraith,' they call him. I've heard whispers. A capable individual, by all accounts. A threat.

I understand the necessity of this confrontation. They seek to eliminate a potential liability. I, in turn, seek to ensure my continued existence. It is a simple matter of survival.

The Echelon Eye provides a tactical advantage. It allows me to gather information, to anticipate their moves. But it is merely a tool. My survival depends on my skill, my resourcefulness, and my ability to adapt. But yes, I love this child (Never heard of a tech father?) dearly.

This 'Wraith'… I will face him. I will assess his capabilities, and I will act accordingly. This is not about arrogance or control. It is about survival. And I intend to survive.

(Am I writing in my diary while staring at them conversating about Wraith and eyeing Saiyel's physique? Yes. This stays between you and me, reader.)