Apocalypse Redux - Chapter 301: Interlude Jason

The others were having fun at the moment, beating down [Raid Bosses]. First, it had just been Isaac and his team, but later, they’d started inviting other allies to help whenever there was an official explanation for the connection, so a good chunk of the Round Table was busy with that.

But poor ol’ Jason, the man in the shadows, there was no apparent reason for anyone to know him, and “the Ghost” was still a fairly wanted man.

Still, it also gave him a ready-made excuse to avoid any pretentious social occasions, a trade-off he was more than happy to make.

Jason glanced up, noticed the light at the pedestrian crossing was green, and began to cross the road, only for a sports car to come tearing down the road, completely ignoring the red light it had to be facing.

“Hey, watch it!” he snapped as it almost ran him over. For fuck’s sake, it actually would have, if he hadn’t used a significant portion of his actual speed. Cars were supposed to watch out for pedestrians, he was supposed to be able to walk normally as long as he only crossed the road on crosswalks.

He glanced down at the driver’s license he’d [Snatch]ed when dodging.

Mr. Gordon Smith, nice to meet you.

Jason considered doling out some punishment, but in the end, a simple [Destroy Evidence] would have to suffice. The driver’s license had been somewhere in the deep recesses of the wallet, and only a complete kook checked the entirety of the contents of their wallets before leaving the house.

Way that jackass was driving, he’d get pulled over, and then, well, his license was currently getting sucked down the storm drain as unidentifiable flakes of carbon.

Good deed for the day done, he made his way to a nearby diner. Chicken and waffles sounded good, though he doubted he’d be finding those in the south of Spain. Ah well, no matter where he was, he’d always found something he liked.

And if there really was nothing he’d enjoy eating, he did have stuff in his storage. His philosophy on food was that when possible, you should enjoy it. Don’t just shovel in random crap for sustenance, if possible, get sustenance you enjoyed.

Ideally, one would live one’s life the same way, but, well, the world was kinda a sucky place. Sometimes, you had to do things that, well, sucked. Like chasing down the cult, fighting monsters that some absolute moron had thought they’d take, and so on. Not fun and often boring, but unfortunately needed.

Speaking of unfortunate, [Pursuit Alert] lit off as he was entering the restaurant. Oh, come on.

He sighed, turned on his heels, and began to march in the opposite direction. That particular [Skill] alerted him when someone searched through his home base, as well as warning him when someone was chasing down one of his “other” homes, meaning bases belonging to any associates that could eventually lead to him being found.

Of course “could eventually lead” was a very wide definition, Isaac had checked and confirmed that it could be something as simple as a room he might eventually return to.

So, what was it this time? Which safe house had someone decided to look into, which friend was being hassled by a moronic cop who’d definitely be finding alchemy-strength itching powder in his underpants for the next few months … wait, what the hell was in Milan?

That was where the alert was coming from, but he’d never even been there, so what the hell was the problem?

His contemplation was cut short by his cell phone, which buzzed with a news alert. Might be related, might not be, but it was likely important.

The alert in question spoke about how a battle had begun in the streets of Milan, in front of a restaurant called “Salutation”. Now that sparked recognition.

He often played Legbreaker using information provided by one Gregorio Zambon, an Italian ex-mobster Isaac had gotten from right around there.

A quick moment to reorient himself and then, he began to run in that direction.

Contrary to what the name suggested, [Hell out of Dodge] wasn’t about running away, just moving very, very quickly, with your speed picking up with every step you took until you were at your destination.

Hell, most [Paragon Rogue] [Skills] had weird names.

[Scoundre’s Promise], [Roguish Avatar], [Last Word], and so on. Whimsical.

It suited him, but he’d been stunned to see the names.

Sure, it made a perverse sort of sense, anyone serious wouldn’t have stayed a pure [Rogue], someone who wanted to stab shit became an [Assassin], someone who wanted to steal shit became a [Thief], someone who wanted to fight picked [Duellist], and the dude who wanted to do drugs grabbed some variant of [Alchemist], only the people who wanted to stay “rogueish”, a loveable rascal who just wanted to stay out of the light would stick to the core of the original [Class].

Still, he’d never tell anyone the names of his [Skills] if he could avoid it.

He sprinted across the Spanish countryside at speeds that should have created a mile-long dust cloud, suppressing both the mess and any tracks he might leave behind with [Traceless]. And then, when he hit the ocean, he jumped in and kept run- er, swimming, powering through the waves as though they weren’t even there.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

All in all, it took him an hour to get to Milan, as his [Pursuit Alert] began to flicker on and off in the back of his mind.

By the time he arrived at his destination, things had already wrapped up for the most part. There were cops everywhere, both regular and Italy’s SWAT equivalent, firefighters, and a ton of other personnel.

It seemed like someone had taken this as an excuse to ransack the known mob front, which explained why his [Skill] was still going off even with only cops around.

And in the center of the whole mess lay a combination of blood spatters, bodies under sheets, and chalk outlines.

Shit.

Jason let himself meld into the crowd, all but vanishing from both [Skills] and mundane senses, as he pulled out his phone and called Zambon.

In theory, things should still be fine, [Pursuit Alert] went off when a place that could, in time, connect to him, was searched, irrespective of the searcher’s capacity to pull it off. If he was interpreting this mess correctly, someone was occasionally glancing into stuff that was related to him via Zambon, lighting off the alert, so nothing to really worry about. Hopefully.

But in practice, it was grating to have that information scratching at the back of his mind.

“Hey, Gregorio, I’m at your old boss’ restaurant, someone attacked it. Can I borrow your eyes?”

Zambon’s [Through Other Eyes] let him look through the eyes of someone with the right [Class] and [Skills], like, for example, Jason.

It took a bit of looking, but between them, they were able to not only determine that there was no real danger of the cops finding anything but also figure out where the big boss had gone.

However, where the attackers were concerned, their origins were somewhat more of a mystery.

What they’d done was obvious, a baby could have told you what they’d attempted.

Quiet entry through the side door over there, knock out that guard, break the ward behind him, then avoid the camera in the corridor by going through the wall, and from there, one team grabs the big man in charge while the other runs of with all files and computers. Simple as can be … if you’d overlooked half a dozen other precautions that had blown up in their faces, both metaphorically and literally.

Now he just needed to find a certain Francesco Calise and hope that guy had the information necessary to find the people who’d actually been looking for him.

***

Jason stood outside what had to be a safe house for a long moment, considering what to do, before he just shrugged and pounded on the door.

“Good afternoon, I’m an associate of Mister Holt, here to help with your recent troubles.”

No response.

He knocked again, harder this time, “I’ve been to the restaurant, and I found you just based on that information. This place probably isn’t safe. I’m only here because I want to kick the ass of the people who picked a fight, they’ve been trouble for me too, [Scoundrel’s Promise].”

This was another one of those weird [Skills], one that really shouldn’t have worked since, well, what kind of dumbass trusted a self-proclaimed scoundrel?

But it did work, the person on the other end automatically knew that he meant what he’d said, even if the whole thing did make him sound like an idiot.

He could sense some shuffling around through his [Aura], uncomfortable and uncertain, until someone finally found the balls to open the friggin door, though it was only opened slightly before the chain pulled taught.

“Do you promise to behave yourself in here?” asked a gruff, gravely, voice.

“Yeah, I’ll behave myself, not pick fights, and so on. [Scoundrel’s Promise],” Jason sighed, “Like I said, I’m just after some information, I’m an associate of Mister Holt’s, and I work together with someone who worked with your boss in the past, Gregorio Zambon.”

“Fine,” the voice grunted, “Come in.”

Jason entered into a room that was both exactly what he’d expected, and the absolute opposite. No haze of cigar smoke, no tumblers of whiskey or other booze, but there were a whole lot of sharply dressed Italian men clustering around a guy at the head of the table, hanging onto his every word as he passed judgment.

“What’s your name?”

Ah, introductions. Notice that the man hadn’t introduced himself, he’d just started barking demands.

Eh, Jason obviously knew who he was, so why be courteous, right?

“My name is Rieper, Tobias Rieper,” Jason introduced himself. Had he stolen that from a video game? Sure, but Isaac’s “Mister Holt” alias had been borrowed from a TV show, so what the hell, why not make a dumb reference?

Except that this time, someone had apparently made the connection. At least that was the only reason Jason could imagine why someone would start sniggering in this situation.

Ah, what the hell, it was an obvious alias; and a throwaway at that.

But Francesco Calise, the man in charge, just shifted slightly, raised an eyebrow, and nodded.

“So, you’re Holt’s right hand, then. The guy who acts on Gregorio’s intel. Interesting. How is he, by the way?” Calise asked.

“He’s very well, but a threat to the very concept of privacy,” Jason said, “He’s the one who helped me find this place.”

“He doesn’t know about it,” Calise stated.

“Like I said, he’s antithetical to the very concept of privacy and information security,” Jason said, “I’m looking for the people who went after you, because apparently, they were trying to get to me, maybe even by finding information through him. Or maybe by finding my boss first. Point is, those folks did not get what they were looking for, and they will try again, until I deal with the matter.”

“How does one spell your name, Mister Rieper?” Calise asked.

“R-I-E-P-E-R,” Jason spelled out. He wasn’t on the nose enough to call himself “Reaper”.

“And what is it that you do for Mister Holt?”

“When something is keeping Mr. Holt from going to meetings himself, I stand in for him. Outside of that … hm, corporate liquidation, asset procurement, the occasional … cleaning effort when the mess in question required a delicate touch, whatever is needed at the time,” Jason explained while supressing a smile. This was getting fun.

“I see. And why do you think you’re being hunted by these people?” Calise asked.

Ah, asking the hard questions here. Jason didn’t have and big, clever answers to that, just his usual quips. Oh, and the truth obviously, but just because he was wearing a false face didn’t mean he should spill the beans on the fact that most of the world knew him as “the ghost”.

“My work isn’t necessarily public, but I’ve still run over a few people’s feet with my car, so to speak. I’m subtle, but I can’t imagine that Mister Holt’s black market purchases or you asking around for him were easy to hide completely,” Jason said. Someone had made the connection, obviously, so why spare the gangster’s feelings by not calling him unsubtle?

“I see,” Calise didn’t seem to mind, “I’ll trust that you’ll inform me if you find the people responsible?”

“If I can’t handle the job, Mister Holt will inform you of what I’ve found out,” Jason said.

As it turned out, Calise didn’t have too much useful info, but the location of the prisoners, the police evidence lockup, and a copy of the security tapes turned out to be enough. With Zambon’s help, at least. He’d managed to physically make it to Milan by now, but he’d barely exchanged five words with any of his former colleagues.

Until eventually, the truth of the matter was found and they left, Jason to hunt, and Zambon to go to dinner.