Maxxob
The Overseer
CODE / ARKNIGHT
Krauss - The Specialist
Location: Resort
The conclusion of the mission was more of an annoyance to Krauss than anything else. He had to sit in an interrogation room, while still having his dirty suit, while he was asked questions about Magma’s demise. The German kept a cool levelled head the whole time, with a neutral expression, answering only what was necessary. The annoyance in the investigators' faces as they asked him questions were palatable. He lied in a good chunk of his testimony, getting out scot-free at the end of the questioning. Or maybe the police, at the end of the day, knew that the criminal had been executed and just didn’t want to press the issue. For the man, it was indifferent. In a way, he had acted exactly according to his instructions, nothing more nor less.
The following day, he showed up in his best suit, reporting directly to Eagle himself. He debriefed every bit of information for the avian with nothing, but honest truth. Even the part where he shot the unconscious Magma, at point-blank, and finished the job the feline woman had started. The boss didn’t show much reaction to what he was told, besides warning him of the obvious discretion he needed to keep from everyone. Indeed, no one knew what he really happened in that back alley, save for the punk-looking, black-haired girl. And, with the exact same poker-face he had walked inside Eagle’s office, he left, after disclosing everything about the mission from his point of view.
ONE MONTH LATER
The announcement that the agents were going on a mission on a resort, which sounded more like a holiday, sure got the Specialist surprised. As far as he remembered, he had been working without any kind of holiday for a long, long time. The man was his work, nothing more. No ties to anyone, but the agents he worked with on a regular basis. He didn’t know quite yet what to think about it, but he didn’t show much emotion about it either way. Taking both his bags to his own room, he followed other agents, which he didn’t quite know yet, as they were also making their room towards room 408. As the door was opened, and he stepped inside the room, his green eyes quickly scanned the place. There were only two beds. While they were king-sized beds, they were still only two beds.
Looking at his roommates, Krauss raised his eyebrows, analysing each one of them: the first was a ( Phayne ) beast kin. Similar to the feline woman, but showing a greater proximity to lagomorphs. Big ears, white fur, most likely fluffy. The German clearly wanted to stay clear from him, not because he was a bunny, but because he would rather not get fur on his clothes. Next up, it was a ( StealthyShades ) black-haired man with a scorn expression on his face. As much as he tried to analyse him, nothing came back, and he couldn’t quite put him. And finally, the ( poi ) albino-skinned, white-haired man. He looked laid back, relaxed. Well, no matter what they looked, or how they acted, the man was sure as hell not going to share a bed with any of them, as he would rather sleep sitting on the armchair that was located at the corner of the room.
The man first walked towards the bedroom, while carrying his duffle bag with it. After getting inside it, the others probably heard some rustling, before he came out of it. When he stepped out of it, he was not wearing his formal suit anymore, but a flowered blue shirt, open, showing his worked out chest, a pair of gray short and white slippers.
He then walked towards said armchair. Stopping in front of the armchair, the Westerner plopped down the duffle bag he was carrying, unzipping it, slowly. The trio could hear some metallic sounds coming from it, reverberating ominous in that room with the sound of brass and metal rubbing against each other - “I will sleep here. I am sure there will be no objections to it” - he proclaimed, devoid of any emotion, turning towards the other males with something in his right hand. A loud click was heard as the barrel of his revolver was closed shut. The man held the firearm for a few moments, his poker-face changing its gaze towards each of them, before storing the firearm in the back of his shorts, where it was concealed by his shirt and easily drawn if he needed to.
“A massage sure would hit the spot” - the man said, while holding the back of his neck with his right hand and then moving his head left and right a bit.
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