The boy walked with a relaxed stance, his hands cuffed and a gun at his back. Despite being a child, the boy’s very aura made every single muscle in Caliban’s body tense. He couldn’t make himself calm down. Something about the boy kept Caliban on high alert like he was a python that could strike lethal at any moment. Adam Sinclair, a child in appearance only. He had dirty blond hair and scars lining his arms. Caliban had read his file, yet a simple picture on a page did not do the boy justice. Even just the way he walked was unnerving, completely void of any fear or panic, Caliban had never seen anything like it before. Adam turned his head slightly to look back at Caliban. The boy’s blue eyes seemed like endless voids, lifeless and cold. Those eyes didn’t belong in a child’s body, the belonged in a man who was laying in the last sheets he would ever feel. They belonged in a body, beaten and numbed by the world, a body carved with the wisdom of a century of pain. Yet here they were in a boy barely pushing twelve. What had Sinclair done to him? What had created such an emptiness?

“I have a bag of gummies in my left pocket,” said Adam, “Can you hand me one?”

Caliban pressed the gun into Adam’s back, pushing him to walk faster. Adam wasn’t threatened in the slightest. This was no different from a walk to the vending machine for him.

A lazy grin passed over Adam’s face, “So what’s your strategy, Mr. Detective?” The boy’s words sent shivers down the detective’s spine. He was pathetic, a fucking child was throwing him off. Caliban forced himself to focus and stay silent as they both got into the elevator. The doors closed behind them and the detective pushed the button for the ground floor.

He couldn’t waste time worrying about Adam, he needed to think about the game plan. Samuel was a wild card and so was that fucking nut Figaro for that matter. Caliban’s jaw tightened. Grey was alone in there with those two lunatics.

“So, you think your little partner can take out my old man?” pried Adam with a patronizing look, “For his sake, Mr. Detective, I hope your partner is a damn good shot. I’ve never known pops to lose a firefight.”

The elevator descended floor after floor, the digital number on the display slowly lowering.

“I don’t know if he is a good shot,” said Caliban truthfully, “I’ve never even seen him fire a gun, he doesn’t even carry one,” Caliban gritted his teeth, “and today will be no different.”

Adam was speechless but only for a moment. He chuckled lightly, “What an idiot. There’s no way this goes down without a bullet. Someone will die tonight. That’s what the old man does, he kills, that’s what he’s always done and that’s what he’ll continue to do,” Adam’s smile grew a bit, “Guessing you are going to try and hold me hostage?”

Caliban’s grip on his gun tightened.

“It won’t work,” said Adam, “You must know that by this point.”

Holly’s dead corpse flashed into Caliban’s mind. The sound of blood dripping from the hole in her head still haunted him.

He was right. This silver eyed demon held nothing sacred.

“He will do whatever it takes to get what he wants.” Adam squeezed his fists until his knuckles popped. “To beat him you’ll need to match him, and to be honest Mr. Detective I don’t think you have that in you.”

The elevator doors opened and Caliban pushed Adam forward. “I won’t need to. My partner will handle your old man and he won’t need a single bullet for it. I promise you that.”

Adam’s grin returned, seemingly entertained.

“Grey…” thought Caliban, “don’t you make me a fucking liar.”

-----------------------------------------------

“Samuuuuel,” cooed Figaro, “don’t be rash. We don’t need to jump to such things and even if we do,” Figaro maneuvered his tongue in his mouth until he revealed a small white pill, “you’ll get no more from me I swear to you that.”

Sinclair looked back at the audience of children. “Your strategy has a flaw. It assumes me a decent person.” Sinclair pointed his gun at the child closest to him. A scarlet-haired girl standing at the front row. “Even if death keeps you silent, your pets might not be so loyal.”

Figaro licked his lips, “I allow no flaws.”

At his words the crowd of children in unison reached behind their backs. With one hand they held their tongues and with the other, they pulled out a perfectly sharp pair of scissors with which to cut it. A hundred eyes locked on Sinclair, all ready to mutilate themselves at a moment’s notice. Not a single one held an ounce of hesitation.

Figaro sparkled with pride, “Your little prize girl is properly hidden no matter what you try. Ask my children to tell you who your girl is and they will severe their tongues. Ask them to look at her and they will gouge out their eyes. Ask them to point at her and they will break their own fingers.”

Sinclair grunted in frustration.

“My children are nothing if not loyal, a certain trait which you seem to lack Samuel.”

Sinclair turned back to the suited man. He wanted to bash the bastards face into the floor but that would get him nowhere.

Figaro traced his chin with his fingers, “Now will you listen to what I have to say?”