CROFF

Croff has a dilemma. This is rarely ever a thing for him, unless he has his hands full with enemies threatening to take his life. But even then, his nerves never get the better of him, because he always knows how to handle the situation. And he always comes out triumphant.

But this issue is something new to him. It's a predicament he's never faced before, one he has no answer to. He can't kill or fight his way through it, or threaten the problem in hopes it will disappear, because the issue lies within himself. And like any other internal conflict, the only way to handle it is to face it head on. But how exactly can he, when the issue at hand involves his trusted boss and girlfriend?

Croff has fallen for Josi. He's most certainly certain that's the way things have shaped out to be because for the past couple of days, he hasn't been able to shift his attention away from her. She's in his head much more than any other woman ever has been. He can't help thinking about her. If that isn't proof enough, then the constant chest aches that accompany the thoughts should be enough evidence. What else could it be if not love?

Croff knows he's screwed. There isn't a soul that isn't aware of Josi's and Idris's relationship, even outside the Verdonni family. He thinks it's a despicable thing to have developed such feelings for his boss's woman. And not only is Idris his boss, but a long time friend. The man who picked him off the streets and gave him a new identity.

Croff's past is anything but peaceful. Born to parents who abandoned him right after birth, he's had his fair share of foster homes, none of which left a good memory. His first home was to a feeble woman and her contrastingly violent husband who always had too much to drink.

The man of the house was too big a drunkard to ever treat his wife and foster son right, so he did the thing he loved to do the most. He beat them up. It'd gone on long enough until Croff was five, until he'd decided he could no longer handle it and had run away.

The second foster home was slightly better, save for the fact that he was treated like an outcast. He would often go hungry while his siblings flocked to the table and dug into the food their parents cooked specifically for them. Croff was five, but he knew as clear as day it was because he wasn't one of them. He wasn't related to them by blood.

The family took him in in exchange for the reimbursements. They were more interested in the benefits than they were in Croff, and it'd led to a case of neglect. After trying his best to put up with it for two years, Croff had finally given up and fled.

There was no violence or neglect in the third foster home. In fact, everything was perfect. Save for the fact that the family of three were suffering from financial issues. This was where Croff's life took a turn for the worse.

He remembers there being a man at the house one dim evening. He'd introduced himself as a representative from the Dream Alive Center, an association whose mission it was to spread positivity to the world, aid in medicinal research, and pitch into charity organizations of sorts. All things good natured.

The representative seemed so genial, but what he truly sought was Croff's demise.

While taking advantage of the financial state of the family, he'd offered a hefty sum in exchange for Croff. The lousy excuse given had to do with furthering his education and providing him with a brighter future. So the struggling couple handed Croff over with no further questions.

Once in The Center, they'd locked him up in what he could remember was a training facility. It was full of kids around his age, all fighting to keep themselves alive amidst the hell that was The Center. There, they would teach them combat, school them on weapons, and eventually, how to take a life. True to their words, they offered him a chance at an education that mainly consisted of multiple languages, math, science, and the short history of the Dream Alive Center.

The grueling tasks often left Croff with both internal and external wounds. If certain objectives weren't met, they would starve him and restrict him to inhumane conditions until he was able to move past the hurdle. It was truly hell on Earth for nine year old Croff, to the point where he tried taking his life.

Then came the faithful day he was able to escape. After seven years of nonstop brutality, he'd finally found his way out. Some accident he knows little about. Security was down, granting freedom to anyone who was brave enough to save themselves. And Croff was one of those escapees. He ran like he'd never ran before, because to be caught meant going right back into the hell hole known as The Center.

Life for the next week or so was pickpocketing which proved unfruitful, as there was never enough cash to help him through a single day. Then he came upon a house that practically had the word 'wealth' plastered on the front. He snuck in for some good news, but with the amount of guards present, he'd taken cover in a room, for fear that his identity as a DAC subject would somehow come to light. And that's where he met Idris.

Eighteen year old Idris Night Verdonni sat on a couch with two bottles of Gin in front him, ready to take the first swig.

Croff pulled out a knife on him. "Don't say a word."

"You're really gonna kill me after I finally got my hands on these bottles of Gin my father's been hiding?" Idris questioned. "How heartless can you be?"

"The last thing you'll be worried about is your stinking alcohol." Croff fired back. "Hand over your money."

"I don't want to."

This threw Croff off balance. "Do you think I'm joking?"

"There are guards all over this place. You kill me and you'll never make it out alive." Idris told him. Then he finally stopped and gave things more thought. "Wait. How did you get in here?"

". . . I snuck in."

That was the only thing interesting enough to grab Idris's attention. "What's your name?"

"I'm not telling you."

"What an ugly name. I don't like that name. We're going to change it after you sign your employee agreement form."

"Who said-"

"I did. It doesn't seem like you're living a very fulfilling life." He said, a jab at Croff's tattered clothes. "What's better than working for me and getting paid to do so?"

With an offer like that, keeping The Center off his back would be much easier. So he lowered his blade. "How much do I get paid?"

Idris grinned and got him his employee form straight away.

As Croff currently sits in a van on his way to carry out a mission, he realizes he would never have made it out if it weren't for Idris. The Center would still be hot on his trail, or in an even more undesired outcome, they would have caught and dragged him right back into that hell hole. And he'd be stuck working through the grueling trainings once again.

The van comes to a stop in front of a dimly lit house. It's a modern infrastructure in a secluded area surrounded by trees and fences. They're granted instant access into the premises by the handful of guards that roam the place. Croff does a quick headcount as they're ushered inside and finds there's a good total of six guards by the entrance. He has with him three of his men while the rest remain on standby inside the van.

There isn't much going on inside. It's eerily quiet with just the occasional chatter of the guards ushering them ahead. They have their guns lazily hung around their body, giving very little care to their jobs. The group soon arrive at a room that reeks exceedingly too bad for Croff to handle. There's a desk by the side with a man occupying it. That's who Croff is there for.

"Benjamin."

Benjamin dismisses the two guards that ushered Croff in, and Croff does the same to his own. "I wasn't really expecting you." Benjamin says with a French accent that hides behind his nervousness.

On Benjamin's desk are spots of what Croff deduces must be cocaine. It seems Benjamin had tried cleaning up when the news of his arrival hit him. But it's still evident he'd been at it all day, because there are traces on his nose which he'd failed to mop up.

"How's business going?" Croff asks. A simple question.

Benjamin's panic betrays him instantly, but he pulls himself together. "It-it's going quite well. How's Idris?"

Croff dismisses the question and instead, strolls over to a cabinet by the side. Inside is a plastic bag full of cocaine. Well, not so much as full as it is almost empty. It's been put to great use. "It's going well, huh?"

Benjamin doesn't just pause, but practically freezes in place.

"How much did you steal from the warehouse?"

"I had no hand in the missing portions." Benjamin tells him. A useless lie.

"Is that right?" Croff almost shakes his head in pity. He's fallen so deep into his own mistake and has reached a point past help. Not his cup of tea, though. Merchandises are allocated for profits only, and when there are people who hoard those same merchandise for their own good, it becomes a personal issue for the Verdonni family. Now he's been sent to clean up the mess.

Croff sends a hand for his mic and says, in Italian, "Bring this place down."

The first gunshot is loud, coming from just outside the room. Benjamin's two guards must have just met their end. More can be heard all around them-far and near, signaling the start of a war that Croff knows he's going to win.

Benjamin's panic has now possessed him. "We can talk about this!"

Croff just sighs and pulls out his gun. "You were given a yard and you took a mile, Benjamin."

Anger seeps through Benjamin like Venom. "FILS DE PUTE!"

"Birds of a feather flock together."

Shock overclouds Benjamin as he realizes his jab of an insult hadn't gone unnoticed. Croff ends it all before he can offer any more last minute profanities. And now Benjamin Last Name Unknown lays dead with a bullet wound to his forehead.

Croff leaves the room on his way to the exit. By this time, his men have taken care of a majority of the enemies, but a corner turn brings him face to face with two more of Benjamin's men who haven't yet met their end. They seem as though they have generic three letter words for names, so he dubs the left one Bob and his buddy Tom.

Their guns immediately go up when they see him, a little too frantic at his sudden appearance. But before they can even pull the trigger, Croff seizes the guns forcefully. Bob and Tom's panic increase tenfold, until the unexpected happens. Croff slides the guns on the floor back to them.

There's no time to be bewildered, as another chance has just been granted to them free of charge. They grab their weapons off the floor and once again, turn it against Croff and fire. But the bullets don't come. They think if they try again, then the results will be different, as if the bullets will magically materialize out of thin air. Finally, they succumb to reality. The guns are empty.

With a smile, Croff holds the magazines up for Bob and Tom to see, and the colors on their faces all but lose their ink. Now it's time for a real wave of panic. They're about to meet their end.

However, Croff doesn't fire his own weapon at them. He decides there's no harm in having a bit of action before his job officially concludes. He waves his index finger for Bob and Tom to come to him, for them to give him their best shot.

The two guards waste no time. Croff watches them run towards him and decides he'll go for Bob first. He ducks under their meaningless punches and grabs Bob by his arm, then bends him over and sends a forceful kick to his abdomen. This does the job fairly well. Bob is left squirming in agony.

Tom decides he won't go out like his buddy and goes for an uppercut. But Croff sees this coming from a mile away and grabs his arm before the attack can connect. Then he gives him a sharp elbow to the face. Tom goes all wobbly and begins to lose his balance.

Before the guard hits the ground however, Croff grabs his tie and pulls him back in for another punch to the jaw. He's holding his strength back in order to prolong the fight, so Tom isn't too jacked up from the punch. But a couple more hits and he'll be greeting unconsciousness.

As his attention is on Tom, Croff still doesn't miss the attack that comes from behind him. He'd already seen it coming from Tom's change in expression. Clearly, Bob had recovered and had tried landing a hit in his blind spot, but as the circumstances currently have it, he'd failed. Croff dodges the punch before it can connect, grabs his arm, and lunges him at Tom. The two collide and hit the floor.

Croff decides he's had enough of this stale fight. He slips his hands behind their heads, then with as much strength as he can bother to muster, slams Bob and Tom's forehead against each other. The two men collapse to the floor unconscious. Or dead. Croff doesn't know which one.

With the last enemies fading to black, things have finally concluded. The rest of his men file in and out the place, removing what evidence of the drugs are left, tying up any loose ends. Croff rates the mission a six out of ten. A bit dry, but much more exciting than the rest.

It takes a while before they arrive at the estate, by which time the sun has already set. Idris is in the courtyard with a cigar and a glass of whiskey, holding a conversation with Josi which he listens intently to. It isn't until he sees Croff walk up to him does he tear his attention away from her.

"I'm assuming Benjamin's ass is now in hell?"

Croff nods. "Turned out he was hoarding much more than he was actually selling. And he'd gotten so high, the sales price became unregulated and dropped significantly."

"Perfect. Now I have to go find a new replacement. The next one to screw me over is having their death televised to the world." Then he wakes from his seat and pats Croff on his shoulder. "Great work this time. I don't know what I'd do without you. That's right, there's a new car if you want it."

Croff grows wary. "Is it jacked?"

"Why do you assume I can't do something nice out of the goodness of my heart?"

Croff sighs, as it's not the first time Idris has laid out that defense. "Don't give me that speech."

"You know, one day I'm gonna be gone, and you'll realize how much you took me for granted." Idris tells him, more jokingly than grievously. Then his phone begins ringing. He answers the call and exits the courtyard to start the conversation, leaving Croff and Josi behind to conjure up a discussion of their own.

Josi is first to shoot a question. "Do you feel anything when you kill?"

There once was a time. It seems ages ago, as though it were some other life he lived, because now taking a life comes as easy as breathing. All thanks to The Center. That damned organization.

"Not anymore."

Josi nods as if considering. Then she smiles. The same warm smile. "You're much more interesting than I thought you'd be."

Another compliment. This one sticks to Croff.

Josi leaves her seat with that same air of geniality. "Goodnight, Croff." She says to him, then heads inside the manor.

The silence that follows is punctuated by the beating of Croff's chest. He sends a hand through his hair, hoping that the thumping will subside. But it doesn't. It sticks to him and reminds him of the predicament he's landed himself in.

Croff has a dilemma. And there's nothing he can do about it.

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I would love to go more in depth about The Center and Croff's time in there but I feel like there's no space to do that in this book.

18 yr old Idris when Croff pulled a knife on him: