Winter. The season where everything sucks.

  Bones hated it because he couldn’t wear his favorite jacket without freezing his ass off and it was such a pain to get anywhere. Somewhere along the evolutionary line they had diverged from the species that hibernated and in Bone’s opinion, that’s where it all went wrong. He shuddered in his (lame but warm) winter parka and quickly let himself into the coffee shop.

  He turned and spotted a young couple behind him and held the door for them, flashing them a smile. “Let’s get ourselves out of this icy hellhole,” he joked as they passed and the guy chuckled.

  Letting them in first meant they were in line ahead of him but Bones was fine with that. He took the time to look around the half filled coffee shop and finally spotted Rawhead sitting waaaay at the far corner next to an empty seat. The closest person to him was a girl on her laptop with headphones plugged in.

  Bones had the coffee shop make him some expensive caramel flavored coffee and convinced the cute barista with a grin to add double the amount of whipped cream, free of charge. It almost looked like ice cream in a cup when he carried it over to where Rawhead was sitting.

  “That’s disgusting,” Rawhead immediately said as he sat down. Bones glanced apologetically at Headphones girl next to them, who quickly moved her stuff a few inches to give him more space.

  “It’s good. Better than just drinking black water,” Bones said.

  “It’s black coffee,” Rawhead corrected.

  “Mmm, nope it looks like black water. Tastes like burnt water. And admit it, you wouldn’t drink it either if it wasn’t ‘on-brand.’”

  They spent a little while longer bantering like this. In reality, Rawhead couldn’t give two fucks over what Bone’s coffee order was but inane chatter like this was the best way for people to tune them out. They were making sure Headphones girl couldn’t hear them and usually Bones would crack a few jokes then Rawhead would observe to see if anyone reacted to them. But in this case, Bones could hear the music from the headphones and so they were probably safe.

  “So, how did your date go the other night?” Bones asked.

  “Well. We went to that fancy restaurant our mutual friend mentioned and then the bar afterwards. Then we went back to our respective homes.”

  Bones rolled his eyes. This was code speak, of course, since they were in a space with other people. Rawhead doesn’t go on dates… at least Bones didn’t think he went on dates. He certainly wouldn’t talk about it if he did. They were really talking about their next target. After Witch does her preliminary research, Rawhead goes to scout out the best places to do their job. They then collaborate on a plan. Bones rarely gets to check out the area ahead of time to prevent the chance of someone recognizing him, but Rawhead’s plan and Witch’s guidance was enough for him to work with it. Their little system always worked. Bones just wished his partner was a little better at code-speak.

  “Alrighty, then do you recommend that fancy restaurant or the bar?” Bones asked. He ate the whipped cream with his stir stick. “I’m planning a nice date with my lady love.”

  “Neither. I’m sure there’s something more interesting. A place my date knows about but is keeping from me.”

  It wasn’t that Rawhead was bad at speaking in code. He would never slip up or accidentally say aloud what they were actually talking about. If someone were to get a recording of what they said, they wouldn’t get any real information out of it. Bones just thought his partner was so dry at it. There was no flair to his words, no acting to make it convincing at all. “Well do you know what kind of date place it is?” Bones pressed. “Like a spa or a strip club or what is it?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere exclusive maybe.”

  “Well if it’s too exclusive, I won’t be able to go.” Bones fished out the last of his whipped cream. It always goes too fast. “Especially if it’s meant for the elite.”

  “Yes, you may need to sneak in.” Rawhead made a face. “With your lady love.”

  “Wow, just as I was going to criticize the way you talk about your dates,” Bones said. His partner shot him a disgruntled look. They could technically find a quiet, secluded spot where they could speak freely, but of course Rawhead was paranoid about showing up too often at the same place and drawing attention. It was why they almost never met up with Witch who had an office of operations in some downtown skyscraper. Besides, having two men show up in the middle of an empty park looked a lot more suspicious than them huddling in the corner of a cafe.

  They could also communicate with a phone but Rawhead claimed to be allergic to the devices and rarely had his turned on. Text messages left too much evidence too - as Bones already leaves plenty of ‘evidence’ with his messages and calls with Witch, he suspects Rawhead is mostly concerned with the evidence pointing back to himself. So they were stuck meeting in random coffee shops across the city and making poorly disguised bro-speak about their made up romantic endeavors.

  Bones sighed and finally drank his sickly sweet coffee. It would be funny if it wasn’t so annoying. Or did he find it annoying because it was winter and he hated winter?

  “I don’t like your new date,” Bones finally said.

  “When have you ever liked my dates?”

  “No, this one is worse. Speaking of elitists, your date’s mother is quite so.” If they were alone and away from prying eyes, perhaps they would be sitting in front of some bulletin board filled with information and pictures of their latest target. Bones would point at a candid snapshot of Rawhead’s “date” and tell his partner all about the shitty things he’s done.

  They didn’t even have a good picture of the guy. Reginald Midwich, son of Senator Lisa Midwich, is only 24 years old and has been in and out of the country for school (or so the public records state). Nobody really cares about a Senator’s 24 year old son and like any other politician in the public eye, Midwich had kept dear little Reggie out of the spotlight for privacy purposes.

  Of course Senator Midwich would want to keep ‘private’ all the times her son had tortured and killed animals. It seemed to have only grown worse over the years as he upgraded to tormenting fellow humans. Reggie had faced no repercussions, even with rumors of physical and sexual abuse following his every move. Witch had whispered the details in his ear the other night - all of them allegations to the public eye but they had solid proof that every one of them were true.

  “He films them, actually,” Witch had said. “He calls them his Torture diaries and keeps them in a secure digital archive like trophies.”

  None of this would have come to light if not for one of Reggie’s victims speaking out and holding a rather unsuccessful campaign to expose him and how the Senator had covered for him. Carl Adams, incidentally a journalism major, wrote a long and detailed expose about how the Senator’s son would use his mother’s name and influence to create a group around him and proceed to pick out victims in such groups to do whatever he pleased with them. It wasn’t simple hazing or bullying amongst college students - it was systematic manipulation that led to Reggie doing some truly horrifying things to his peers.

  Of course the videos pretty much vanished as soon as Adams published the accusatory article. Witch only barely managed to get the evidence through whatever voodoo with computers that she does (or perhaps it was the Organization that makes the voodoo happen, Bones idly thought). It left Senator Midwich and Reggie to freely shrug off any accusations as baseless slander. It also didn’t help that Carl Adams was under the mentorship of one Tobias Seji - a famous global affairs journalist gunning for a spot on the Senate.

  “I hate politics,” Bones muttered aloud. Rawhead immediately knew what he was referencing. Even mentally, the second truth held strong: Rawhead always aims true.

  “Well you’ll have to get used to it.” Rawhead drained the last of his wretched black coffee and stood to put on his coat. “I have a feeling I’ll be going on a lot more dates with politicians. Or at least, politician-adjacent.”

  “I prefer more down-to-earth crazy,” Bones said. His partner gave him a look and Bones returned a dazzling grin. “I’m more well versed in that.”

  Bones stayed in his spot and leisurely finished his drink after Rawhead left just so that they wouldn’t be seen together. He highly doubted anyone would take notice but of course, Rawhead insisted that they have at least fifteen minutes between their departure time. Who is Bones to question the gunman of the group?

  When he was (finally) able to leave the damn cafe they won’t ever go back to, Bones hopped onto a bus that just happened to pull into a stop. He had every intention of going home and it was only halfway through his trip he realized he wasn’t on the right bus to go home. He checked the bus line with his phone and when he realized what direction it was going, he half chuckled to himself and settled in for the detour.

  He rang the bell for the stop he was waiting for, then stepped out in front of a boxy and drab looking gray-beige building. People milled in and out of the front doors, some of them in regular clothes, others in nurse scrubs. An ambulance was stopped at the side - Bones assumed they had just dropped off a patient at the Emergency Room. Huge swaths of parking lay on the other side, nearly every spot filled.

  Bones breezed through hospital reception. There was hardly any hospital staff there to see him pass through as they were all either talking to frazzled families or running around to one emergency or another. He disinfected his hands with the auto-dispensing hand sanitizer and acted like he knew exactly where he was going.

  In truth he only sort of knew where he was going. He passed by several signs and picked out the ones that pointed towards the Geriatric ward and met with no curious looks. In his experience, nobody really cared who visited the geriatric ward. It was really the babies people were super protective about in hospitals. But the number one rule of not looking suspicious is walking with a cheerful purpose.

  “I’m visiting my grandpa,” his body language said to everyone. “I can’t wait to see him.”

  He found the room he was looking for without asking anyone. When he looked around he saw a nurse walk by who spotted him, but Bones simply gave him a disarming smile and a nod in greeting. The second rule of not looking suspicious was to acknowledge it when people see you and not shy away from it. Meet their eyes and tell them without words that you need to be there. The nurse nodded back and left Bones alone, hurrying off with what looked like an IV drip bag in his hand.

  Bones was able to safely go into the room and went to the bed in the far right corner of the room. The beds were separated by heavy dark curtains and he quietly parted them to reveal Frank lying among stark white hospital sheets.

  He looked much worse than he did three years ago, which was the last time Bones saw him. He had lost a lot of weight with his cheeks hollowed out and skinny arms taped up with IV drips attached to them. He had a respirator cupping his face and Bones could see the skin under the mask was grayish in color. His hair was brittle and patchy. If it wasn’t for the name tag out front and information on the clipboard, Bones wouldn’t be entirely certain this was Frank. Bones didn’t fully pick up the clipboard, only pushed it from the tray at the foot of the bed to glance at it. It was a log of treatments that they administered to him and listed the time and dosage they put various medications into his decaying body. With Bone’s amateur knowledge of medicine, it seemed like they were throwing things against the wall to see what would stick.

  Bones could barely hear Frank’s raspy breathing. It didn’t look like anything was sticking.

  He stayed standing there over Frank’s bed for several long, silent minutes. He wondered if anyone from Trumpets of Triumph bothered to visit. Someone got him admitted to the hospital, so perhaps not everyone abandoned him. Bones then wondered why he was visiting himself. It was almost like his body went on autopilot to take him here. Of course, Witch had updated them about Frank; reclaimers always kept track of those they reclaimed. He knew that Frank had been admitted here.

  Bones also knew that Frank was dying. It was the shared fate of all those reclaimed. After three to four years after their Reclamation, the reclaimed show a rapid decline in health and they die. The cause of death was always listed as sudden but natural causes: spontaneous organ failure, stroke, aneurysms, etc. Usually people were all too glad to call it karma at work.

  There would never be any evidence of them being shot in the head. Maybe the Organization has an elaborate cover up… or maybe nobody cared enough to look. Bones wasn’t sure which one he preferred. He stared down at Frank who was dying all alone on a hospital bed.

  No, Bones wouldn’t have preferred any of this to happen. If only Frank had repented. If only he had shown an ounce of remorse.

  The moment Frank weakly opened his eyes and locked gazes with him was the moment Bones realized why he was there. There was confusion in the old man’s eyes as he didn’t recognize Bones - any memories leading up to reclamation would be wiped. Bones leaned forward slightly so Frank could hear his quiet whisper over the hiss of his respirator and the gentle beep of machinery.

  “You’re so close to hearing the notes of truth. Just a little more. You’ll get there.”

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Frank’s mouth moved soundless under the misted over clear plastic cover of his respirator and his eyes widened so the whites showed around his irises. The display on the machine showing his heart rate shot up and started beeping loudly and fast. If reclamation had worked the same way as everyone else, he would have spent the last three years giving and giving and giving until nothing was left. Now he was a husk of a man. Now came the full stop to his redemption arc. Bones couldn’t tell if Frank was relieved, happy or scared behind his mask.

  If someone like Frank couldn’t escape punishment - real punishment - then politicians and their sons shouldn’t escape it either. It no longer matters which brand of crazy he was used to. He had a job to do.

  Bones bowed to Frank as a final goodbye, then left before the nurses came running in to see what set off his heart rate.

  —

  “I’ve been told you shouldn’t talk to him,” Witch whispered in his ear. It was D-Day for Reginald Midwich, the day when he will finally be asked to pay his due. Bones was certain he would refuse repentance by himself. Every target they went after refused it. Witch was in his ear, phone in his hand, his travel pass and trusty length of rope in his pockets.

  What do you mean? He texted back to Witch.

  “He’s a master manipulator. He’ll try to talk himself out of it.”

  Bones snorted. Do you really think I can’t handle that?

  “Bones, I think you’re great at your job but can we please play this safe? Herd him over to where Rawhead is and get him down before he can get under your skin.”

  Omg praise me again senpai.

  Bones swore he could hear the eye roll through his earphones.

  They were on a university campus three cities over from their last mission. It was the same university that kept Reginald Midwich despite the rumors because his mother paid enough money to keep him enrolled. He briefly recalled the single photo they have of him: the mess of brown curly hair over an inoffensive looking face. It was an old school photo so Bones didn’t get too much out of it. He did think the kid looked self-assured. Confident.

  “This is really all we got?” he had said incredulously to Witch days before the mission, when she showed him the photo via a message. “One school mugshot from like 6 years ago?”

  “The senator keeps her family tightly under wraps. She even pulls her youngest out of school photos and her husband has zero online presence. Everyone’s essentially anonymous except her.”

  “What about those videos Reggie makes?” Bones said. “The proof we have?”

  “I’m not about to send you torture videos,” Witch said exasperatedly. “Or even stills from them. Besides, he was wearing a mask.”

  “How the hell did Rawhead do his part then?”

  “Hey, he did fine with this picture. Apparently. No complaints.”

  Bones shivered in his jacket discontentedly. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Rawhead or Witch, it was just that every other time he was provided with more information. It was like he could picture the target in his head. He knew what they were going to say, how they were going to act. And it wasn’t the lack of pictures that threw Bones off - it was the lack of… everything else.

  Everything he’s learned about Reginald Midwich was through what other people say about him. There was no social media presence (at least none under his name), no writing, no recordings (except for the fucked up ones he wasn’t allowed access to), not even a quote from the guy to give Bones any bearings. But now they’re just expected to corner him and reclaim him.

  Bones didn’t like it. He knew it was because this guy’s mother was a powerful person. But that was precisely why he didn’t like it. The moment politics - the moment the elite came into the picture - the rules change. The problem was that the elite needed the most reclaiming.

  The yellow-orange street lights lit up the empty campus with squat blue lamps indicating an emergency call button at the corner of some intersections. Far down one street Bones could see a homeless person shuffle by, stopping by a garbage can to rummage through it. Just above it was a huge poster sign advertising the university’s law program with a beaming pair of students holding books splashed across it. Bones walked on, content that the homeless person didn’t spot him.

  He made his way north by walking through empty parking lots and weaving by dark underpasses, careful to not leave too many footprints in the snow. Not that it would matter since a few hours later would bring a whole influx of students, marring any tracks. Nobody kept track of footprints anymore, at least not instinctively. Well, maybe Rawhead did. The more important thing to avoid were cameras and the campus was full of them. It was dark enough and Bones was dressed enough to seem like a very late night student or even another homeless person floating through. But as he made it to the northern side of campus, he knew that little to no cameras would be watching anymore. This was the ‘historic’ side of the university, where the buildings weren’t glass and steel architectural marvels, but little brick houses that were acquired back in the founding days of the school. They barely had central heating in those buildings, much less a robust security system.

  On the yellow lit street lined with quaint brick houses stood their target. He wore no hat nor had his hood pulled up so the signature curly brown hair was obvious even at a distance. He seemed to be waiting for someone. Witch had probably pulled some shenanigans to lure him out here in the first place.

  Bones immediately saw a problem: a car was parked right beside him clean of snow. It hadn’t snowed since yesterday at their location, but Bones could only assume the car belonged to Reggie. It was possible he would jump into the car and drive away at the first sign of trouble. He had to try to get between him and the car to prevent that, but not move too fast nor too purposefully.

  Do your job, Bones thought to himself.

  “Do you have the information?” Reggie said not long after he spotted Bones walking towards him.

  Bones didn’t reply. He wanted to get closer. Not giving him an answer kept him in suspense, kept him waiting. He was maybe fifteen running steps to the door of the car. Witch never told him what ‘information’ Reginald was talking about but whatever it was it’s supposed to be interesting enough to convince him to show up in this totally unsuspicious area. He kept his body language forward, eager, as if needing to share a secret and made it next to the car. Little Reggie had all the same features as Bones remembered in the photo, but… different. To be fair the orange street light made it difficult to make out details and they were standing directly under one.

  Bones drank in information as he got closer. Reggie seemed to retain the confidence even if he did look a little different. That unfounded confidence. He hadn’t bothered hiding or even staying a little inconspicuous, he had waited directly under a streetlight to make himself as visible as possible. Even as Bones leaned in close, he didn’t look scared.

  For some reason it made Bones angry. “I do have the information,” he said. He leaned in even closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have it on good authority that you should run.”

  The tension snapped and Bones only caught one startled glance before the young man started moving. To his surprise, Reggie didn’t even try to reach for the car door. He just ran away as fast as he could. Of course it was the direction he needed to be herded into anyway. Down the street and to the left was a darkened alleyway that looked like it would lead to the next street over when in fact, it would be a dead end. There, Reggie would be reclaimed.

  Bones gave him credit for having a little more survival instincts than anyone else they’ve reclaimed. Their targets usually felt like they could get out of it, or simply didn’t think Bones was a threat.

  He’ll try to talk himself out of it.

  Bones frowned and broke into a jog to give chase. Reggie didn’t even try to reason with him. Either the young man had an incredible gut reaction or…

  He had gone off at a dead sprint. Bones went after him as it was in his blood to go after running prey. Only seconds passed when they plunged into the dimly lit alleyway, Bones’s breath creating a fog around him. Puffs of vapor drifted up from his target’s head as well, showing against the glow of neon lights beyond the wall at the end of the alley. Reginald had stopped and turned at the sight of the dead end.

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he panted out.

  No accusations. No deals. What was this kid playing at? “You have a chance to repent,” Bones said.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.” Reggie straightened and stared back at him defiantly. This was at least one thing Bones was betting on happening. The denial.

  “I’ve already been warned not to speak to you at length,” Bones admitted. “So you won’t have as much time to reconsider. I’ll ask you again to commit to righting your wrongs.”

  “Make this the last warning,” Witch hissed in his ear. “It’s too risky.”

  “Not speak to me?” Reggie said this almost as a whisper to himself. “Why would anyone who wants me dead say that? Who are you working for?”

  Bones realized the frown on his face had remained since entering the alleyway. This whole conversation… This whole mission bothered him and he didn’t know why. Surely he wasn’t so weak to be bothered over reclaiming the son of a politician? He stared at the young man standing before him.

  No, it bothered him because he wasn’t enjoying it. Maybe there was something to be said over enjoying such a thing, but their targets were always people who deserved it. The sons of bitches and bastards of the world. The more he stared at Reggie, the more he wondered if he was one of them.

  “Did they tell you not to speak to me because you might feel sorry for me?” Reggie asked.

  The words shook Bones to the core. All of a sudden he could see clearly, as if he had been in a dark theatre and walked out to bright sunlight. Reginald Midwich, son of Senator Lisa Midwich, would never want anyone to feel sorry for him. He was a sadistic psychopath that enjoyed literal torture. He would also not be wearing dirty off-brand sneakers in the middle of winter, nor would his jacket be so worn it looked thin from the lack of stuffing material. Reggie would have a car - a really nice car and would probably wait inside the car if asked to meet somewhere outside.

  The young man before him wasn’t Reginald Midwich at all. The moment he saw Bones, he asked for information. This guy was Carl Adams, the journalism major.

  He heard Witch swear. Then there was a loud rustle and a dark shape appeared above the wall of the dead end alley. Rawhead had jumped up and stood there, staring down at the two of them. He was silhouetted by the neon lights behind him and looked like a shadowy demon from hell. At the same time, Carl took off running and tried to barrel past Bones.

  Rawhead moved, careful not to let his gun be illuminated by the lights but Bones saw the barrel glint slightly with the movement. Bones moved, pivoted and turned with his hands up trying to shield Carl.

  “It’s not him!”

  Pfft.

  Carl Adams was a spry young man who had dashed out about ten feet away from Bones by the time the words left his mouth. It gave Rawhead plenty of space to land the shot which he never missed. Carl crumpled to the ground covered with dirt, grime, salt and snow.

  “Get the van in,” he heard Rawhead say aloud. Bones thought he was telling him to prompt Witch.

  “No, this is the wrong person,” Bones said. “We fucked up and - ”

  The van appeared and stopped on the street Bones had previously chased Carl down on. The usual nondescript men and women in dark clothing slid the door open and started their way towards Carl’s body.

  “Rawhead, stop them,” Bones said. He was afraid to approach those who did the actual reclaiming. “I just said that isn’t the right guy.”

  But his partner was already putting his weapon away and letting the strangers take the corpse. Infuriated, Bones moved to physically stop them from moving the body but an iron grip clamped on his arm. “Don’t,” Rawhead simply said.

  Bones swallowed, staring at his partner. “You knew. Of course you knew.”

  The group from the van did their usual job. Carl’s body was laid down into a kind of stretcher from the vehicle and loaded lengthwise from the back. They then closed the door, filed back into the van and drove away. As usual, none of them spoke to either Bones or Rawhead.

  “What is the meaning of this,” he said, watching the van drive off.

  “It had to be done this way,” Witch said in his ear. Evidently she thought the question was aimed at her.

  “What, you had to lie to me?” Bones said angrily. “And so Rawhead can shoot the fucking whistleblower? This is crazy.”

  “There are forces at play beyond our control. Beyond my control,” Witch snapped back. “We didn’t have time to convince you to do your part for this job.”

  “You’re compromised, aren’t you?” Bones turned to glare at his partner who had his characteristically stoic expression on his face. “Both of you. This Senator wormed her way into this and turned us into her assassination team. How does it feel to be a pawn? Fucking politics!”

  “This is exactly why we didn’t tell you,” Witch said.

  “Right so my moralizing wouldn’t get in the way,” Bones spat. “We’re done here.” He took out his phone and ended his line with Witch, then taking out the one earbud and pocketing it.

  He narrowed his eyes at Rawhead who still hadn’t moved or said anything since they had taken Carl away.

  “I thought better of you, man.” Bones shook his head and walked away, leaving his partner in the dark.

  —

  Bones got his wish. He spent the rest of winter hiding in his apartment, hibernating. At least it felt like hibernating. The world froze outside while he slept inside and lost track of time.

  Witch didn’t give him a new assignment. Rawhead didn’t ask to have a meeting in some random cafe halfway across town. Bones wondered if they finally fired him. He couldn’t bring himself to be upset about it.

  The television in his room streamed news from his laptop and he was barely able to watch it. A reclaimed Carl Adams showed on screen, giving a very public apology about all the things he ‘made up’ about Reginald Midwich. Bones didn’t feel anything watching the young man’s face, waxy with remorse, read out the apology and cry. He only felt very, very tired as if he and the rest of his apartment was deep underwater.

  One day when he heard a faint dripping noise, he faintly wondered if his underwater world was leaking somewhere. When he woke up he kept his eyes closed but reasoned that the world was thawing outside. The dripping was perhaps the sound of snow melting. He reasoned that he should wake up soon too. Bones cracked his eyes open and saw the bright screen showing Carl’s apologizing face again. He had played the video on loop and couldn’t stop watching it.

  He agonizingly pulled himself up from the couch and stretched his sore back and shoulder. Only as he turned to unkink his neck, then he froze.

  Rawhead was standing there, partly shrouded in the dark by the balcony door. Bone saw that it was snowing outside and water dripped down from his sleeves, causing the soft dripping. The gun with the silencer at its barrel was already in his hand. His right ear had a wireless earbud in it. Though angry, Bones relaxed a little. It would work against him if he was too tense.

  “Are you here to put me out of my misery?” Bones asked, gesturing at the looping video on his TV. For the first time in weeks, he openly admitted the hell he put himself in.

  Rawhead didn’t answer.

  “Is she telling you not to talk to me either?” Bones snorted, pointing at the earbud. “Because I’m a master manipulator?”

  “…I’m sorry, Bones,” Rawhead finally said. “But dead men tell the best tales and they need you to tell the right one.”

  Two truths. Was Rawhead a son of a bitch or a bastard? Bones flung a seat cushion off the couch at Rawhead’s direction as hard as he could and twisted to make lunge to the door. His hand touched the brass knob, there was a pfft sound and a hole appeared in the door two inches from his hand.

  Two truths. Bones flung the door open and ran.

  —