Marco regained consciousness and immediately shut his eyes again from the sunlight hitting his face, raising his arm to shield his eyesight.

He didn't recall how he wound up in a hotel room. Let alone know where he was, but there was one thing he was certain. His trip to the Hell Hole Diner wasn't a dream.

The bridge of his nose pulsated from the hit he received from the Vice of Wrath. Why was he still alive when the other Vices had the perfect opportunity to get rid of him?

Oh yeah, the deadline. And the fact that he had to find a candidate or he'd become the next corpse to get tossed out.

Marco willed himself up and got out of the bed, leaving the bedcover turned to the side as he got out of the comfy twin sized bed as he walked on the carpeted flooring on his way to the bathroom.

As he flicked the switch on as he automatically reached for the toothbrush and the toothpaste, he snagged on the errant shard refracting precariously close to the edge of the sink.

He introduced the toothbrush to his oral cavity as he brushed his teeth, ruminating on which of the Vices brought him here. The further he brushed the back of his teeth, the more he speculated. His situation was elaborate as the cracks displayed in front of him.

Each crack was like an opening that led to other grooves, different routes to how things had transpired. The fissure had its mark traced, many fragments were laid before him. It was easier to surmise which of the Vices had broken the mirror than to figure out who dumped him in this place. As he brushed his upper teeth, he thought about which of the Vices would break the mirror.

No doubt his frenemies did a fabulous job making him look like an unruly drunkard with anger issues. As he brushed his teeth in a circular motion, he would imagine which of the Vices would be behind it.

Asher was a serial player who'd bounce from place to place to fornicate with whomever he wanted. No doubt he would use the venue of his choice to get his lascivous hands on anyone he'd set his mind to and dump them on the spot in some dingy hotel to make it seem like a hangover. If that were the case, he would've needed help to pull it off. An accomplice.

Marco spat on the sink and opened the faucet to let the string of saliva and used tootpaste fall down the drain until it was gone.

He surmised about Sam being a fitting accomplice. The setting was more of Sam's style, the Vice of Wrath was street savvy, he knew his way around the slums of town and wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. It wouldn't surprise him that Sam was the one to break the mirror in one punch.

Hell, it wouldn't be the first time Sam had to carry a body from one place to the next. If he was able to carry someone as large and heavy like Zebulon who could eat an entire bull in two hours, lifting Marco and throwing his unconscious form over his shoulder was nothing.

After closing the bathroom sink and putting his toothbrush away, he washed his face and then dried his face with a towel. He looked himself at the mirror once more, looking at his bruised nose. Then pressed the bridge of his nose and recalled one out of the many violent outbursts Sam had and what he found it quite out of place was that he hadn't broken anything else.

The Vice of Wrath was the type of guy to trash the place and break everything in his wake, but he lacked the stealth to make it look like an accident. Sam lacked subtlety in his bouts of rage, he'd yell his head off about what he felt, spit out a couple of threats then attack the first person who was in his way to actually fulfill some of the threats he declared in doing.

Knowing Sam, he'd only break a mirror with his own fist was that he was angry enough to do so. The problem was that there weren't any traces of blood found on the mirror. There wasn't a blunt object nearby either. Sam would've reduced the mirror to shards and left the bathroom sink loaded with shards, or rammed someone's skull into the mirror and left a bloody mess.

The Vice of Wrath was many things, but subtlety wasn't one of them.

As Marco looked at the fragmented mirror closely; there wasn't any blood in the cracks either, and the cracks were too thin. Some of the fissures were too detailed, like a jagged mosaic or an intrciate web.

It would most likely be Ethan's own handiwork, he knew how much of a perfectionist the Vice of Envy was, aside from being a narcissistic sociopath. Ethan was crafty and subtle when it came to getting what he wanted. He was like a jackal awaiting to pounce his prey.

He knew when and where to strike and how to get away with it. Despite that he's been underestimated by nearly half of the Vices, he could be deadly when he wanted to be. And the worst part was that he was a convincing actor to play the victim card for his own personal gain. Ethan was cunning enough to use his Vice on his opponents to make their misfortunes to look like accidents.

Marco wouldn't past him to crack the mirror as a reminder that he, along with the Deadly Seven, could make him look like a fool as they see fit. And if Marco insisted in getting the way of their plans, they would make his death look like an accident.

The Vice of Greed got dressed; donned on his dark suit, plain white dress shirt, a tricolored striped tie then applied a smidge of hair gel to mold his salt and pepper hair in front of the broken mirror in front of him.

As if he was going to let himself get intimidated by his peers at this rate. He wasn't going to let them win this time. The only thing the Vice of Wrath broke was his nose, not his will to live.

You've only won this battle. But the war has yet begun. Marco thought as he envisioned the faces of the other Vices on the shards on the mirror. And I'll assure you, once I find my candidate. I'll put your elects to shame.

Once the Vice of Greed had stepped foot into the building he went to work as usual, as if nothing happened. Marco sauntered across the vestibule and headed to the elevator, the natural sunlight that hit his head briefly as he crossed beneath the russian roulette styled glass ceiling.

He needed to reach his office to start searching. He wasn't going to squander around whilst his associates flaunted their advances. If Marco wanted to survive for three more days, he had to find a candidate to introduce them to the Princes and appease them.

Fresh blood was required to begin anew.

Three days wasn't enough time, but he had to find someone as desperate as he was. If he couldn’t then… Well, you could imagine what would happen.

As Marco pressed the button for the elevator to descend, a mysterious man in a red suit and rutilant hair walked nonchalantly towards the Vice of Greed before the elevator opened.

Marco hadn't seen this man before, and immediately assumed that it was a new associate that came to invest on the company.

“Marco Montana, what has gotten into you as of late?” The devilishly handsome man queried in an ambiguous tone Marco couldn't discern.

“Do I know you?” Marco queried eyeing the man has he sensed something foreboding coming from him.

“If you've known me by know, you'd know that I detest insubordination. Just because I look decades younger in this human form doesn't mean that I'm ignorant of your missteps, hireling.” No one, not even their own employees would dare to address any of the Vices as such unless they wanted a deathwish.

Marco's obsidian orbs widened in alarm as he recognized the creases of the mystery man's mask threatening to peel off to reveal his truly sinister face.

“Oh come now, don't act like you've seen a ghost. Especially now that the youth are drawn into the paranormal these days.” Marco felt an overwhelming heaviness surround him as the devilish undertones became audible and louder. He felt the gravity weigh on him as he fell to his knees as if a dark force pinned him there. “Consider yourself fortunate that the Prince of the Air had better things to attend to, otherwise he would've prowled like a roaring lion and tore you to shreds by now. Or a you going to cry to daddy?” The demon in red scoffed allowing Marco to stand on his feet.

“I know that you're hesitant in retiring, don't worry, you'll keep your job as long as you do it right. Bring at least an intern to pass off as your candidate if you want to stay in power that badly. However, the terms are non-negotiable.” The elevator resumed going up as the devilish man in red stated the following, “Next time you deliberately delay the initiation of the new candidates for the Deadly Seven, you'll drop dead before the time limit expires.” The elevator opened, and Marco was the only one to get out since the one who was with already vanished. A feint laugh lingered while Marco rushed into his office and closed the door.

Pallid, he sat down on the desk chair, face buried in his hands from the encounter with the entity.

The Princes operated like an underground mafia, they determined who would stay in power regardless if it was bussiness, health, entertainment, media coverage, politics.

You name it. The Princes have ties all over the world; communist leaders, the monarchy, the CIA, the IRS, Brexit, the World Health Organization, Unicef, the Interpol, and the United Nations just to name a few.

Remember the pandemic?

They gave the greenlight to release the virus at Wuhan to initiate a worldwide lockdown. You can imagine what happened next after the world turned to a standstill because of a microscopic bioweapon.

The virus claimed millions of lives and that was just a sample of what they could do to any nation that tried to interfere if they spread even a murmur of who they really are.

They have plenty of scapegoats to choose from; the algorhythm, climate change, conspiracy theories, bitcoins, hackers, the dark web. Any distraction sufficed as long as it meant to divert your attention away from their plans. The chessboard of deception is the game they play, and anyone beneath them is their pawn.

The Vices are just one of their pawns, one wrong move and they would be eliminated on the spot without hesitation. The encounter Marco had with the other Vices at the diner was just a reminder of what could befall on them if they kept postponing the inevitable.

That is why the other Vices were persistant in getting Marco to meet them at the Hell Hole Diner last night. Despite of their starking differences they depended on each other to survive, for better or for worse.

They all had to put up a front to keep the Princes from getting suspicious. If none of the Deadly Seven were in one accord, they would all get wiped out. Regardless of the results they made so far, even an act of defiance that doesn't benefit the higher-ups for their plans could result in getting dispatched to Hell.

Either he finds a successor now or they would shoehorn one out of the blue, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.