Noah leaned against the wall of an old building slightly crumbled from the surge of nearby renovations that were all too common across the city currently. Bustles of people flooded to and from the day's necessities that riddled everyday minds and Noah watched on, removed from what most would call the ordinary life. 

His face seeped low beneath his puffed collar while he lit a small pipe filled with sweet, dried leaves that most Europeans had come to crave. It helped mask the scent of the all to prevailing putrid decay that was the still grotesquely neglected sewer system. Architects and engineers alike paid no heed to fix it despite the throbbing advancements in technology. 'We just have so much other business to focus on, look at what we can do,' said a passerby generally summing up the position of the common and elite minds present.

He felt his body relax as the heavy smoke crept into his lungs, administering a calm he scarcely found during his daily life anymore. The lies, the deceit all played with his head even when he had been ridiculed with the dogma that he was doing the right thing. The hard part was finding solace inside of oneself rather than outside, especially against the conflicting interests of two opposing organizations.

A warmly dressed figure, at first only a glimpse fleeting his roving sight, slowly held up his hand and motioned to Noah. The lad took a drawn-out puff, savoring the moments of comparative silence, dreading the meeting he was about to be drawn into. He snuffed his pipe, draping the sidewalk with the extinct remnants of his leaves and shoved the thing into his coat pocket. Noah moved through the crowds with relative ease, dodging oblivious citizens whose heads and noses stuck to the sky which they felt they deserved to walk upon rather than below. The man who had waived to Noah slunk into his side as the pair glided down a bustling side street. Food stalls and merchants preached their sales growing louder as people passed them. Noah plucked a ripe orange, tossing it lackadaisically up in the air and catching it. "We've caught one," said the man shadowing Noah.

"Another, Clarence?" asked Noah. "What happened this time?"

"This one didn't turn when he had the chance. We caught him attempting to alert the Ministry."

The two ducked to a door nestled amongst in between two shops; a bakery and shoe store. Clarence knocked in a specific signal and then waited, his hand roving near the door. A latch clacked and a lock slid, scrapping the wooden makeup of the older door which trembled slightly from the jerk on the lock. A tight slit appeared accompanied by the beautiful face of woman who huffed as her eyes scanned the pair up and down.

"Just let us in, Jaucline," barked Clarence.

The door creaked further ajar half on the guard's part, the other forced by the hand of Clarence. They entered and Jaucline dusted herself off kicking the entrance closed once Noah was in. A stair well cascaded downwards, spinning around itself. The way was illuminated by hundreds of small candleflames, stone like and unwavering at attention.

"We have the traitor down here," said Clarence taking the lead.

"I trust you've been keeping him comfortable?" asked Noah.

Clarence nodded with a devilish grin painting his face, growing as they came to the base of the stairwell. They came to a room with many metal beams fastened to the floor and the ceiling. A group of four individuals nodded to the on comers, surrounding an individual that was tightly tied to a focal beam. Spats of blood pooled to the left and right of the one held in bondages. Some of the individuals clenched soaked towels around their knuckles stained the same color as the spats while the fading cadence of harsh breaths signaled the brutality taking place.

Noah rounded the beam coming to face the man below him. His face was puffed and pulped, blood seeped from the sides of his mouth and one eye was swollen shut, oozing puss down his cheek. Cuts and scrapes adorned his body revealed by the shredded tangles his shirt had become. Noah peered around to the rest who chuckled to themselves.

"Why'd you do it, Jacob?" asked Noah.

The man gurgled words in an attempt to form some sort of coherent excuse, yet nothing but more blood feel from his sagging lips.

"How the hell are we supposed to know why he did what he did if he can't even answer the bloody question?" shouted Noah hurling one of his gloves to the ground.

"Seems to me he's outlived his purpose," said Bale, the familiar coldness in his voice shivering through the ranks around him.

"Your purpose, Bale," said Noah coiling his finger into the larger man's chest. "Seems anyone you encounter becomes nothing more than a punching bag."

The larger man pressed his weight into Noah's finger, yet the smaller man didn't budge, holding his ground with a firmness that had come to be expected of any member of the Pellman family. Bale slowly withdrew his baton guiding it upwards until the tip was eye level between the two of them. The thing waggled back and forth while Bale grinned.

"He's not much use anymore, sir," snaked Bale.

Noah snatched the baton turning back to the bashed remnants of what Jacob was. As he did so, a misty shadow floated from one beam to the next keeping hidden and out of site. The other's paid no head to it, but Noah caught a little of hint of something, a dangerous hark bellowing down into the bowels of his stomach.

He knelt to Jacob who murmured incoherent sounds as his arms and body wrestled against the bondages with all that was left of his strength. Noah took off his hat, setting it to the side and clenched the baton in both hands. The end deftly struck Jacob's chin sending his head banging against the beam. A sick cracking sound echoed in the empty holding and Noah slid the hidden, pristine blade out with ease, opening Jacob's neck. Noah turned placing his hat back onto his head before the rush of blood soaked into his garment. He walked away from the scene tossing the baton back to Bale who caught it. Clarence followed Noah back up the stair well.

Bale turned, looking over his shoulder with a curt nod to something that was hidden behind one of the beams; a motion that the others didn't notice or didn't want to notice.