| “ | All right the money's good, and, uh, these people I take out, like they're, they're bad people, you know, like they're pieces of shit. Um... But lately, you know I've like, I'm not sleeping and, ah, that depressed feeling's back, you know. Like like I know there's more to me than that. Maybe, I don't know. Maybe there's not. Maybe this is all I'm good at.
— Barry Berkman
|
” |
A socially awkward, troubled young man, Barry Berkman enlisted in the US Marines, where he was deployed to Afghanistan and managed to form close friendships with some of his squadmates, such as Albert Nguyen and Chris Lucado. One day while on patrol, Barry and Albert were ambushed by a sniper, and after getting a badly wounded Albert to safety, Barry pursued the one he thought responsible and killed them, only to discover they were an innocent civilian. He was subsequently sent to a German hospital, where Monroe Fuches, an old family friend, was able to get him honorably discharged. Recognizing his potential, Fuches convinced Barry to become a hitman, with the two working as "partners".
After some time, Fuches dispatched Barry to Los Angeles on a contract with the Chechen Mob, who had put a hit out on Ryan Madison, an actor who had been sleeping a Chechen mobster's wife. Tailing Madison to an acting class, Barry ended up taking part and discovered that he enjoyed it, growing fond of not just the class, but also both Gene Cousineau, a disgraced actor turned teacher, and Sally Reed, a fellow student. Barry would later attempt to kill Madison, only to discover the Chechens had beaten him to it, and he was subsequently embroiled in their growing conflict with a Bolivian cartel. His attempts to balance a double life came to a head when he was hired to assault a Bolivian airfield and reluctantly conscripted the help of Taylor, a similarly unstable former Marine and friend of Chris, who in turn included Chris against Barry's advice. The raid is a disaster, and Barry is later forced to kill a traumatized Chris before he goes to the police, leading to a domino effect that culminates in Detective Janice Moss, Cousineau's girlfriend, realizing Barry is the hitman her department has been hunting. Barry reluctantly eliminated her, then resolved to get free of the criminal lifestyle.
Attempting to focus instead on his acting career, Barry agrees to train the Chechens and breaks things off with Fuches, but the ending of their partnership enrages Fuches. A spiteful Fuches begins initially attempting to bring Barry back into the hitman business before ultimately deciding to ruin his friendships, revealing to Cousineau the location of Moss's body and telling him that Barry murdered her. This works too well, and Barry subsequently attempts to kill Fuches, tearing through the Chechens, Bolivians, and Burmese mobs, who had begun to form an alliance, in an effort to get to him. As Fuches flees the country, Barry is reluctantly resigned back to working as an assassin.
Battle vs. Dexter Morgan (by MovieStuff65)[]
TBW.
Expert's Opinion[]
TBD.
To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here.
You Check In, But Don't Check Out (by BeastMan14)[]
Prologue[]
Hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he leaned against a tree, Reacher, stern as ever, watched the funeral proceedings from a distance. It was a small affair, an unsurprising turn of events given that the deceased, a former member of his investigation team by the name as David O’Donnell, was just as enigmatic as his former comrades, but Reacher suspected that he preferred that to anything too extravagant. He continued to watch, giving a quiet wave to those in the small group that he recognized, then turned to leave when, from the corner of his eye, he saw a man, well-dressed and hair slicked back, approaching, hand clutched around a small envelope. The big man stopped, giving the new arrival a quick scan. Didn’t seem as invested in the funeral as the others, while the suit and demeanor meant only one thing.
“I take it you were David’s lawyer?”
The lawyer glanced over to the funeral and nodded, a grim expression on his face.
“Mr. O’Donnell was a client of mine, yes. I’d helped him out of a few run-ins with legal trouble in his time as a private detective but…”
He looked back to the funeral with a mix of pity and sadness.
“…I believe he’d run into something I couldn’t help him out of.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, interest piqued, and he gave a cautious look around in the event of eavesdroppers before leaning in and murmuring, “You think he was murdered?”
The lawyer shrugged before replying, “I’d been suspicious of the news that he’d died in a car accident since I’d first heard. Mr. O’Donnell was hardly what you’d call a reckless driver, but things didn’t really come together til I’d found this in my office mailbox, addressed specifically to you.”
He handed the envelope to Reacher, who opened it to find that it contained a single letter, written in a style that was unquestionably O’Donnell’s.
Reacher,
If you’re reading this, it means either someone was able to track you down or you actually showed up for the funeral. Would’ve liked to have caught up under better circumstances, but life’s a bitch like that. Afraid to say I’ve gotten tangled up in something that turned out to be out of my paygrade, so this letter is me hoping you’ll handle this one. Think of it as one last favor.
I got a briefcase full of evidence stashed in a hotel by the name of the Artemis. Shady place, but not bad for a hideout. Regardless, the briefcase has everything you need to take down whoever went and did this to me, but be careful, Reacher. You’re tough as nails, but this is something a lot bigger than I suspected. Money laundering, prostitution, drug running, contract killing, all caught up in a multinational syndicate. I’d tell you where it is, but I’m afraid this will fall into the wrong hands, so all I can do is say it’s stashed somewhere nobody bothers to look.
Give em hell.
He glanced up from the envelope back to the lawyer and asked, “I don’t suppose he told you about where the case was stashed in the Artemis?”
The lawyer straightened his glasses and shook his head.
“Unfortunately, no. I had simply been informed that he’d been working on a case before his…accident. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to execute the rest of his will. Best of luck to you, Reacher, I suspect you’ll need it.”
The lawyer gave him a curt nod then walked off to his car, leaving Reacher holding the letter as he reread it for any extra clues, anything that could give him more to work off of. Seeing nothing else, at least for the moment, he neatly folded the letter, returning it to his pocket before looking back up at the funeral, where they had just begun to lower the casket. With a determined nod, he turned and walked away. O’Donnell had been one of the first members of his investigation team, and he’d proven himself as determined, meticulous, and patient, providing a cool head under fire. He’d save Reacher’s life more than once, so he owed him this one.
Maybe he’d even find the bastard who killed him.
The lawyer, sitting in his car, gave a small smile as he watched Reacher walk out of the graveyard. He calmly pulled out his phone, dialed, then waited until he heard a voice on the other end say, “Is it done?”
“Indeed. Reacher took the letter, and he’s already left the funeral. I suspect that, assuming your people play their cards right, he’ll lead them right to the case.”
“Nicely done, now await further instructions.”
Jatemme Manning paced the Manning for Alderman campaign office, absentmindedly fiddling with stray materials and watching others work as he waited. He’d been halfway across town when Jamal called him with “some pretty urgent shit”, so he’d quickly hustled over to find Jamal still in the midst of an interview. Apparently not too urgent if he was still doing campaign PR, but Jatemme wanted this win just as bad as he did, so he simply stayed quiet and knocked on Jamal’s office window as a reminder. Jamal, without even looking away, gave him a wave.
“So, what I’m saying is, the 18th Ward deserves somebody who actually lives in it. Somebody who actually shows up to church, barbecues, all that crucial stuff, and not just when they running for re-election. Like, when’s the last time Jack Mulligan did something for this community unless he could put his name on the sign and a free photo-op? This ward could do for a change, and I wanna give 'em that.”
The reporter gave him an earnest smile as she finished writing down in her notebook, causing Jamal to droop his shoulders, relieved. After a few moments, she looked back and said, “There have been some…concerns, rumors of supposed connection to gang activity, from supporters of Mulligan. Do you want to respond to these?”
Jamal frowned, sighing in annoyance.
“Nah, I’ll say the same thing I’ve always had whenever they wanna dredge this up: Mulligan wants to talk about dirt, then he should probably start in his own backyard. Now, I gotta get back to it, unless any other pressing questions comes to mind?”
The reporter closed her notebook and shook her head.
“That should do it on my end. Story should be up in the paper this week, if you’d like to read?”
Jamal flashed her a confident smile and shook her hand.
“Oh, you can bet on that. Have a nice day.”
With the pressing business dealt with, he let staff show the reporter out while he went to speak with Jatemme, who was sitting on a desk, admiring a snowglobe and ignoring the irritated expression of the staffer currently phonebanking. Seeing his brother approaching, Jatemme placed the snowglobe down and stood up. Jamal gestured with his head toward his office, and his brother quickly followed, having a seat across from him.
“Now, what’s the deal?”
Jamal folded his hands together.
“Deal is, I got a call from our friends out of town, telling me that they found that detective’s case, stashed in some hotel called the Artemis. They already got people on the way to get it.”
Jatemme nodded, intrigued.
“So, we cool?”
“Something like that. Thing is, what if we took that case? Snatched it and got everything. Dirt, money, contacts. We could build some real shit with that. Bigger than any of this.”
To illustrate his point, he swept his hand across the campaign office, and Jatemme gave him an impressed look.
“I take it you want me on it?”
“Exactly. I want you to head up there, put a bullet in anybody that gets too close, and snatch that shit. Anybody asks us, we just say we got nothing to do with it. Gotta warn you, though.”
He reached into his desk and pulled out a picture of a large, muscular man in a gray tee with short, brown hair.
“They sending everybody the heads-up on this motherfucker. Ex-army, detective, real John Wick kinda shit, y’know? They say he gets the case, everybody’s fucked.”
Jatemme took the picture and coldly analyzed it before glancing back at his brother.
“He got a name?”
“Apparently, calls himself Reacher. Watch yourself out there.”
Jatemme shrugged and put the picture in his jacket pocket, then replied, “I got it. Send me the name of the place, and I’ll be back by the end of the week.”
Jamal laughed, standing from the desk to give his brother a handshake that transitioned into a hug, and said, “I knew you could handle this. I’ll send you all the details tonight, bro.”
With that, Jatemme left the office, doing his best to ignore the cold winds rushing past him.
Fucking hell, this wedding shit is tedious.
Doing his best not to mess up his aim, Bullseye shifted uncomfortably in his rooftop perch, sniper rifle still scanning the crowd from across the street. While he normally preferred up close and personal, he’d found a lot of fun in finding a high enough vantage point to pull off the shot, ultimately settling on a parking garage overlooking the venue, plus he was confident he could get a two-for-one deal. Trouble is, the wedding had taken a painful amount of time to get started, so he’d been sitting on a rooftop waiting patiently for well over three hours. He’d waited longer, but those were usually in the service of a more interesting kill.
Blissfully, the music started, and he quickly perked up, swiveling to find his targets: the father of the bride, a wealthy media mogul who owned some news company, and the bride herself, who was next in line to inherit the thing in the event that daddy croaked. If Bullseye had truly cared, he would’ve hazarded a guess that his secret client was the middle brother, second in line of this little media empire, but he didn’t feel like playing detective. He lined up a shot, then waited patiently as father, daughter in arm, walked to the altar and gave a humble bow of his head to the priest.
Just as the music stopped, he pulled the trigger, a satisfied smirk crossing his lips as the bullet, a depleted uranium round supplied by an old army buddy, passed messily through the father’s neck and then into the bride’s jaw. In an instant, a much more pleasurable noise, screams of terror, overtook the wedding, and he quickly swiveled to spot middle brother, giving his best shocked performance, then fired again, the round blowing a hole clean through his chest. Unfortunately for him, his scheme would’ve worked better if the youngest brother, third in line, had not offered him just a little bit extra. He considered hitting him with a grazing shot as well, something to avoid arousing suspicion, but figured it would be best to let him evade suspicion on his own.
He quickly disassembled a rifle, clicking his tongue and shaking his head as he did so, then quickly departed the rooftop.
“Such a shame to turn on family like that.”
As he quickly departed to his car, tossing the briefcase containing his rifle into the rifle, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He warily glanced at it, intrigued by the caller ID being blocked, and answered with a cheery, “If this is about the hit, you usually wait a couple hours before you start wiring money.”
“It’s not about the hit, Mr. Pendergrass. We represent a coalition of wealthier clients with an opportunity for you.”
Bullseye sat down in his car and quickly made to leave, phone still to his ear.
“Well, by all means, pander to me.”
“How does a job to the tune of thirty million dollars sound?”
“Neat. And?”
“You’re…you’re saying “and?” to the highest offer we’ve ever made to a contractor?”
“Buddy, I’ve got that two times over in an account in the Caymans and I haven’t touched a dime of it. If you want me, sell me the job, not the payday. Now, I’m hanging up-“
“Wait!”
He smirked at the quiet hint, just a little tad, of desperation dripping off the caller’s voice, and the man quickly regained composure and continued, “The target is a former US army policeman, highly decorated and with a sizable kill count in both active duty and civilian life, actively seeking a piece of valuable intel in a contained area. We’re hiring you to eliminate the man by any means necessary and, if you can, acquire the case before any other contractors acquires it.”
Whistling and stroking his chin as he drove past a fleet of police cars, Bullseye nodded, weighing the information over.
“So, I’m hunting somebody who hunts dangerous, highly trained sickos for a living, and I gotta deal with a bunch of other hired guns trying to shoot me in the back?”
The caller sighed.
“Mr. Pendergrass, if you’re not interested, please just say so, so that I can move o-“
“You shitting me? That’s the kind of gig I’ve been waiting for. Wire me the details and I’ll be on the first plane over.”
With that, Bullseye hung up and tossed the phone into the passenger seat, excitedly whistling to himself as he took the next exit heading towards the airport. No more potshots on corporate scumbags or junkies who pissed off the wrong mob boss, he was about get himself some real action.
Elsewhere, in a mansion in sunny Los Angeles, an angel rested, dreaming of a world to come. In time, the old world, one of cruelty, monstrous men doing what they wished and only growing stronger, would be over, and in it’s place an era of vengeance, a rebalancing of the scales of justice, would come. All she needed to do was wait patiently to see it through. With a pleasant yawn, she awoke, stretching as she felt the sunlight on her face and heard the gentle rhythms of the pool beside her, then gazed at her surroundings. Jesus and Miguel had been dealing with business inside, so she felt she’d earned a relaxing swim. But, alas, all fun things must come to an end, and she supposed she should see what the boys are up to.
She stood to her feet, letting her toes soak up the warmth of the poolside tiles, then threw on her robe before heading into the house, smirking to herself as she felt the occasional lecherous glance thrown her way by the cartel men. They could look all they want, but the moment Jesus was around, she was effectively invisible to them, for fear of what would happen if a glance lasted just a moment too long. She quietly padded into the living room, where Alfonso, a lieutenant, quietly assembled his gun, bobbing his head along with the tune of music playing from a local speaker, then leaned over the couch and whispered to him, “Where is Jesus?”
Without looking at her, he froze, then gently nodded in the direction of the basement. She gave him a catlike smile and replied, “Muchas gracias,” before heading that way. There was a time where Alfonso would’ve been with them, listening to their plans and offering his own, quietly but surely gaining Miguel's ear, but she and Jesus had long since beaten that ambition out of him. He didn’t even look her way as she walked past, putting more exaggeration into the sway of her hips as a silent test of character.
In the basement hung a man, hands chained together and hoisted into the air as his head, bruised and bloodied, his lips swollen to the point that any sound that left came out as a pained murmur, hung low, blood dripping from his wounds. Yaritza noted that the pool of blood beneath his feet was fairly sizable, shining dark in the dim lights, and grew larger with each hateful lash of Jesus’s whip against his back. As the whipping continued at its ferocious pace, the man barely twitched, no longer cried out, simply groaned from time to time. For his part, Miguel simply sat in a folding chair and smoked a cigarette, watching the man with a glare.
As Jesus reared back for another blow, a hand caught his wrist, and he turned, eyes full of fury, only to instantly soften as he saw that it was Yaritza that had stopped him. She nodded towards the numerous lashes across the man’s back, then explained, “He doesn’t feel it anymore. Let him rest, then salt the wounds and go again. He will speak more in time.”
Miguel grunted a simple, “Fuck that,” before tossing his cigarette aside, drawing his gun, placing it to the man’s temple, then pulling the trigger. Neither Yaritza nor Jesus flinched at the shot, nor at Miguel letting the corpse fall to the ground and spitefully spitting at it. He sat back in his chair, scowling, before adding, “Los Zetas wants to try and cut us out of this shit, we’ll fucking show ‘em what happens. We’ll see what those smug pricks think about trying to swipe our money when I send them their fucking kids heads in boxes.”
He looked to Jesus, who looped the whip back into his belt, then snapped, “Put the word out. I want our best guys headed out to that hotel right fucking now, tell ‘em to burn the goddamned thing to the ground if it gets us that case. And have someone meet the Zetas men at their meetup spot with guns and blowtorches.”
Jesus nodded, then replied, “You sure want to make a move on this?”
“Fuck yes I do. We get that case, we get dirt, money, all of it. We’ll have everyone, whoever put their name on that shit, by the balls, then we’ll fucking see whose really in charge. I better not hear back from any of ‘em til they’re halfway back from the Artemis, case in one hand and this “Reacher’s” head in the other.”
On that note, Miguel stormed out, leaving Jesus and Yaritza alone in the basement, the blood of the dead man beginning to pool around their feet. Jesus turned to see his wife give him a small smile, then say, “I’m going to be leaving for a little while, bebé. A little trip, just for me.”
Jesus looked down at her, confused.
“Where do you have to go, mi amor? You have everything here.”
She smirked, and in an instant, without a single movement, her entire posture seemed to change as she gently dragged a nail down from his cheek to the small exposed bit of his chest. His expression of confusion was replaced with one of quiet obedience, and he stayed silent as she traced a pattern into his neck.
“Are you saying that mommy can’t go where she pleases, el niño?”
Her nail traced further down, and she smiled quietly as she saw him swallow nervously, then stammer, “No, mommy.”
The nail went further down and she leaned in and whispered, “Are you sure, el niño? Do you I not return whenever I wander? Am I not here to take care of my beautiful boy when he needs me most?”
He shook his head, deathly silent, earning a catlike grin from her. Her hand stopped travelling downward and instead went back up to his cheek, stroking it gently as he closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
“Good. Now, be a good boy while I’m away and you’ll get a surprise.”
She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, then left the basement, leaving him standing there, silent and shaking. As she ascended the steps, she did her best to suppress her glee, the feeling of power, dominance, radiating over her, and instead focused on her plan. She hadn’t heard the full details of this case, but she was certain the cartel’s men would give her what she needed before she delivered justice upon them.
The rain beat down heavily on the awning of the sushi restaurant, its neon sign illuminating the passerby as they hunkered under umbrellas and rushed past, but the lack of business seemed to have no effect on its chef, who hummed along with the upbeat J-Pop playing through the speakers. Eyes closed, he tapped his knife against the cutting board in tandem with the chorus, then tossed it into the air before catching it as it spiraled downward. He’d worked in worse, killed in worse, and to him the sound of rain represented a peace, a moment of stability before chaos.
As if in answer to his internal musings, he heard a familiar click-clack of heels on sidewalk, then the service bell rung behind. He pivoted to see none other than the Adjudicator, clad, unsurprisingly, all in black, sitting at the bar, and he gave them a respectful bow before quickly setting a premade meal, a bowl of chirashi topped with a small caviar and garnish atop it. Instead of eating, they quietly removed a small, but distinct, coin from their pocket, set it upon the bar, and slid it towards him. Zero’s welcoming smile vanished, and he quipped, “So, the High Table has need of me again?”
The Adjudicator waited, letting a silence hang over them before replying, “The High Table has uncovered a…complication. Someone shared too much information with the wrong person, and it could lead to outsiders stumbling into our organizations. The traitor has been dealt with, but we felt it best to let you-“
They reached into their bag and set a manila envelope on the bar, sliding it gently under the coin.
“-deal with the blowback. The folder has the full information. We’ll be in touch.”
Before Zero could give any response, they stood up and walked away, seemingly vanishing into the rain. Curious, Zero flipped through the folder, stopping on a blurry picture of a clean-shaven, muscular man titled, simply, “Reacher”. He read the man’s history and nodded, impressed. Maybe this favor would have a little bit of entertainment for him as well.
Joy Meachum breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she shut and locked her apartment door behind it. Her day had been…tumultuous, to say the least. A day of stressful corporate negotiations and tense meetings with lawyers and PR departments, but that’s entirely what she had expected when she had decided to get into business on her own. Even in the chaos, what she had earned was hers and hers alone. As she went for a glass of wine, she jolted at an oh so familiar voice saying, “Hello, Meachum,” from the shadows.
Exasperated, she turned to see Walker, recognizable by her ponytail, lounging on her couch. The mercenary gave her a nod, and Joy simply frowned and put her hands on her hips in response.
“You know, you could just knock, or even text me? Like I’m very confident you have a phone with my number on it, seeing as how you literally work for me.”
Walker ignored the snark and sat up straight.
“Just came by to inform you I’m heading out of town for a little while. Shouldn’t be more than a week, two at the max.”
Joy stared at her, both surprised and confused, before stammering out, “W-what? You’re leaving?”
Walker nodded, standing up and picking up a black duffel bag that she slung over her shoulder, and casually walked past her nominal employer, who was still letting the information soak in.
“Figured you deserved the heads up, in case you get in trouble while I’m away.”
She left, the door slamming shut behind her, and Joy blinked several times before glancing anxiously at the door. When Walker did not reappear, she breathed a much deeper sigh of relief and sat down on the couch.
Perhaps she would actually get a chance to relax, for once.
Paying no mind to the music playing outside, Gotma sat down, eying his phone as he waited for a call. Apparently, some shit back in the States had rattled his bosses in the Triad, and whatever made them rattled had him plenty nervous. Four years later and the group was still recovering from Ito’s stunt, so the last thing they needed was some sort of issue that affected cash flow. After a long silence, the phone buzzed, the caller ID labelled “Win Son”, and Gotma quickly answered.
Win Son coughed, then asked, cautiously, “You alone?”
Gotma smirked and replied, “No, figured I’d have this call with some friends around.”
“Don’t get quippy, smartass. I’ll take that fucking tongue of yours right off.”
The idle threat earned an eyeroll from Gotma, who nevertheless mumbled an apology. Seemingly satisfied, Win Son continued.
“Bosses are spooked because some fucking detective in the States has apparently stumbled on our connections there. Fuck if I know how, but somebody managed to put him in the ground before he could take it to anyone serious.”
Gotma, confused, replied, “So, if he’s dead already, the hell they need me for?”
“I wasn’t done, idiot. Apparently, a friend of the detective is on the case, supposedly scary motherfucker named Reacher. He’s headed to a hotel called the Artemis, apparently his old buddy stashed all his dirt there.”
Gotma nodded, the assignment suddenly making much more sense to him.
“So, go there, put a bullet in him, take the case?”
Win Son chuckled, seemingly impressed.
“You learn quick, now get a move on. We’ve already sent you the plane ticket and what we could dig up on this “Reacher” prick. Shit wasn’t easy, so you better not fuck this up. Bosses will have my head on a platter. Call me when you land.”
Before Gotma could say anything else, Win Son hung up, leaving him alone. He scoffed at the demand, then tossed his phone aside before standing up to get ready. Since when had he ever fucked up? He was one of the goddamned Six Seas, which meant that if the Triad was calling him in on this, shit was serious. Maybe if he pulled this off, they’d get off his back for once. Supplies hastily packed into a bag, Gotma stepped out of his room and into the apartment complex, ignoring the stares from loiterers and junkies with nothing better to do as he descended the stairs and walked to his car.
He sat inside, starting the engine, and as he went to adjust the mirror, he stopped, noticing a slight movement in his backseat, realizing the threat a moment too late as the Operator sprung her trap, springing up from the backseat and wrapping a garrote tight around his throat. He struggled weakly as the wire quickly cut off circulation, then glared back at her, croaking a baffled, “Fuck…how?”
She leaned in, tightening the garrote’s grip, and simply replied, “I bugged your phone, then all I had to do was wait.”
As his vision faded, he began to thrash, flailing at her as she calmly waited, then harshly pulled back, the distinct snap of Gotma’s neck giving her confirmation of a kill. She released him, letting the corpse slump forward, then turned at the sound of his phone buzzing. Cautiously, she glanced around, feeling overexposed in the backseat, then grabbed the phone to see a text from Win Son.
Here’s the code for the plane ticket and the info on Reacher. Don’t screw this.
She tucked the phone into her coat, then awkwardly dragged Gotma’s corpse out of the front seat before switching places with it. Calmly, she pulled out of the parking spot and into the traffic of the city. Frankly, that text had made her job far easier.
I won’t dance, you won’t sing/I just wanna love you, but you wanna wear my ring.
Stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, Barry Berkman anxiously hummed along to the music, something hastily turned on to distract himself, and tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. He glanced from side to side, hoping to find some sort of opening to get off the freeway, but found no such luck. As he contemplated commute options, alongside a hasty excuse to Sally as to why he missed his dinner, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he quickly dug it out of his pocket, hastily turning off the music. Not recognizing the number, he very cautiously accepted the call, then mumbled, “Hello?”
“Barry! Thank goodness, buddy, was very worried you wouldn’t pick up.”
Barry’s eyes went wide with shock at the familiar, perpetually jovial Eastern European accent on the other end of the phone.
“Hank?”
“Yes, it is Hank! Phone is dead and charging, so borrowed Cristo-I mean, using back-up burner for business. You know, classic stuff.”
As he, blissfully, was able to inch the car forward about two feet, Barry rubbed his eyes, already exasperated with the conversation. Not waiting for any reply, Hank continued talking.
“Now, listen, I know you killed whole bunch of my buddies, and Cristobal’s buddies, and also our buddies from Burma, but I do have a super special mission for you. Think of it like favor: you do this, I tell my boss somebody else killed all my guys.”
Barry stayed silent, weighing his options over as he inched forward in traffic. On the one hand, he very much wanted to be done with the Chechens. But on the other, keeping contracts going would keep him occupied, and his mind off…recent events. With a weary sigh, he finally spoke.
“What’s the job, Hank?”
“You like travel, yeah? Well, so, turns out one of my guys kinda sorta maybe gave a little information to a detective investigating our activities, so now we need you to-“
“Kill him and the detective? Got it.”
“Whoa, easy. No, someone already killed detective (yay), so we just need you to go to place called Hotel Artemis and kill the detective’s buddy. Think of it like resort vacation, except not a resort and you’re working.”
“Wait, why am I killing his friend?”
“Because friend is looking for case containing evidence, and my bosses would very much like it if no one found case, because then lot of us would get in trouble. Big trouble.”
Barry sighed again as more details of the job came in. It was rapidly growing more complicated by the minute, and he once again did not want to get embroiled in the Chechens business. But, somehow, a nagging part of him won out over his better judgement, and he replied wearily with, “Send me the details.”
Hank clapped his hands together excitedly and exclaimed, “Will do! And also, just so you know, other people will be looking for case, so be careful!”
“Wait, wha-“
Hank hung up, earning a curse from Barry, who was reacting to both the last minute information and also the realization he had missed a perfectly viable exit. He sat in annoyed silence jolted until he heard a muffled scream from his trunk, an apparent cry for help from the entire reason he was driving, and simply turned the radio up to drown them out, returning to his routine of waiting for an exit.
Only wanna be with youuuu
Alejandro Gillick pushed past the crowd, a mixture of partiers and people just going about their day-to-day routine, as he worked his way to the meeting point. He’d been largely keeping to himself, prepping for his next mission, when Matt had texted him out of the blue, asking to meet at some rundown bar at the edge of the city. A strange request so late at night, but that was the job.
He entered the bar, squinting to spot his handler through the smoke and neon. The initial scan of the room failed, and he, assuming he’d somehow beaten him there, had a seat at the bar, gesturing for the bartender to pour him a whiskey. The bartender, a young woman, nodded, quickly pouring the drink and sliding it over. He gave her a courteous nod, then quickly tossed the drink back and checked his phone for any sort of follow-up from Matt. Seeing nothing, he set the phone on the bar, then glanced up as he saw the bartender refill his drink.
“I didn’t-“
“Courtesy of the gentleman in the back. Said he owed you one.”
He looked up to see a smirking Matt, sitting at the furthest table to the back, raise a glass to him, and Alejandro quickly left a tip on the bar before heading his way. He sat down across from Matt, who paid him no mind as he finished his drink before sliding the glass away. Straining to be heard over the music and conversation, Alejandro leaned in and quipped, “Surely we could’ve met somewhere quieter.”
“Well, thought about stopping by your apartment, but didn’t feel like getting shot.”
“Wise. So, what’s the job?”
Nodding appreciatively at cutting straight to business, Matt reached into his coat and tossed a manila envelope onto the table. As Alejandro thumbed through it, noting the pictures of both a tall, muscular man and the layout of what appeared to be a hotel, Graver explained.
“Contact in Los Zetas gave us a ring, let us know some detective had built a case concerning the cartel’s ties to international syndicates, trafficking, money laundering, whole nine yards. Somebody managed to put a bullet in him before it got too far, but trouble is, he had a briefcase full of evidence stashed somewhere and this guy-“
He reached over and tapped the picture of the muscular man.
“-is en route to try and retrieve it. Agency obviously doesn’t want official resources on trying to clean up this shitshow, so I’m sending you to retrieve it first. Gonna be a real “hush hush” gig. Minimal contact or resources, just get in, eliminate the detective’s pal here, and hopefully snatch the case.”
Alejandro eyed the intel in front of him skeptically.
“You really want me on a job like this?”
Matt nodded grimly.
“The amount of time and money poured into Los Zetas after their little meltdown in 2014 means it’d be a hell of a lost investment. Plus, rumor is everyone has a stake in this. Chechens, Chicago outfit, hell, even the Rojas Cartel.”
At the mention of cartels, Alejandro closed the folder and slid it back over to Matt before replying, “Do you really expect a no?”
Pleased, Matt slid the file back across the table and chuckled coldly.
“Attaboy.”
Chapter 1[]
The moment his boots touched the carpeted floor, Reacher could tell the Artemis was a hotel for a less than reputable clientele. A lobby in clear disrepair, a rustic aesthetic that he guessed was from the early 60s, and the lack of more than one or two staff members in the lobby painted a clear enough picture. It didn’t matter to him. Once you’d slept in a bunker where you had to check your boots for scorpions, every bed became a king-sized mattress with silk sheets by comparison. He stepped up to the counter, clearing his throat to catch the attention of the desk clerk, an older woman who didn’t look up from her paperwork until she had finished signing, then looked upwards to the big man standing in front of her.
“Can I help you?”
He dug into his wallet and set cash down on the table before responding.
“I’d like a room for two nights, three at most.”
She eyed the money, then Reacher, her face betraying no expression, then simply nodded, swapping the cash for a key labelled “B13”. She slid the key towards the Reacher, then calmly explained, “Second floor. Check-out is 11 AM, housekeeping comes by request only, and no, we don’t have breakfast. Enjoy your stay at the Artemis.”
Reacher chuckled at the curt answer and took the key, looking it over for a moment. On top of being a hotel without a keycard system, the key he did get had clear wear and tear. Either they were committed to the aesthetic, or they just didn’t care. He was glad he’d packed light, just a backpack with a change of clothes and a gun for safety reasons, because he very much doubted he would get help with any bags. He headed towards the elevators, stopping as he noticed two things. The first was a sign labelled “Pool”, pointing further down one of the halls, which stretched downwards before turning towards the outside, while the second was a quaint-looking hotel bar, sparsely attended save by its bartender, who quietly nodded along with the music as he polished a glass.
He supposed a quick drink wouldn’t hurt.
Just as Reacher walked towards the bar, Yaritza, having bought a room of her own, stepped into the elevator and pressed the button labelled “5”. Jesus had been wary of her leaving on a trip, but any resistance quickly fell away once she reminded him who was in charge. Now, all she needed to do was find this “Reacher” (hardly a challenge, if the descriptions given to her by the cartel’s men with their last breaths was any indication) and let him find the case for her. Then, the case and all its secrets would be hers to do with as she pleases. Perhaps she’d put it towards expanding resources, truly challenging evil. Or maybe she’d simply burn it. The choice, after all, was hers.
The elevator dinged as it reached the first floor, and Yaritza felt a strange aura wash over her as the doors opened to reveal a short, dark-skinned man, who eyed her warily before stepping into the elevator and pressing the button labelled “L”. Seeing that the elevator was going to take its sweet time going to her floor first, Jatemme sighed and slouched against the elevator. He glanced over to see the girl staring at him with a wry smile, and he raised a wary eyebrow before asking, “Help you with something?”
Yaritza shrugged, stopping to brush her hair off her shoulders, then giggled warmly and replied, “You here on business?”
He stayed silent for a long moment, then tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, ensuring his gun was still there.
“Something like that.”
Yaritza watched his hand settle in his pocket, noting how it seemed to stay there, and she did her best to suppress a catlike grin. So, this man had secrets of his own. Perhaps she’d play with this one before going for the kill.
“I’m here on business of mine. Very important.”
He simply replied, “Good for you,” and made a silent prayer that the elevator would pick things up a little.
“Would you like to know what I do?”
“Nah, I’m alright.”
“I punish the wicked.”
At that, Jatemme glared at her, a mixture of annoyance and confusion crossing his face as he saw her stand up straight, burying her hands in her pocket. He’d been at this hotel for an hour and between this and the rude clerk, he was hoping he could finish off this “Reacher” asshole quickly and go home. Jamal would be pissed about the case, but as long as no one else found it, they could write it off. Not content with his silence, Yaritza reached up and slowly began to unzip her jacket, revealing the lack of a shirt underneath.
“And are you wicked?”
He tensed, grip tightening on his pistol, and continued ignoring her. He had intended to continue this until she took a step towards him, at which point he bristled and snapped, “How the hell would you know?”
Her smile grew wider.
“Because I know you have a gun in your pocket.”
At that, he turned, drawing the gun from his coat, only for her to lunge first, grabbing his arm and holding it to the side as she swiftly drew her butterfly knife and jabbed into his throat. She repeated the stabbing motion three more times, turning Jatemme’s cry of shock into a pained gurgle as he fell back, slumping against the wall of the elevator, and she quickly swapped the knife for a handkerchief, pressing it to his neck to stop blood from covering the elevator’s interior. The gun fell from his grip, and Yaritza gingerly moved it out of reach with her foot before crouching down to watch the light from his eyes.
His head slumped forward, and she waited for the bleeding to slow before removing her hand, smile still across on her face. The Angel of Death had claimed another.
In the other elevator, Alejandro hummed quietly to himself, tapping his finger in tune against the handle of his suitcase as he waited to reach the third floor. There was another on the elevator with him, a woman with short hair and, from how only four fingers gripped her bag, a missing finger, but she had stayed largely quiet. That was fine for him. He had never been one for conversation when it wasn’t needed.
His mind wandered to the task at hand. He had not spotted any sign of Reacher as of yet, nor did he have an exact idea of the case’s whereabouts. His best bet, given the small area and limited number of guests, would be to simply patrol the area and eliminate Reacher the moment he showed himself. It would only be a matter of time.
Unbeknownst to him, similar thoughts went through the mind of the Operator. She had been worried initially when she’d heard the target had checked into a hotel, especially given her limited time spent in America, but a scan of the premises showed that she had less to worry about than another initially anticipated. All she had to do was let her target lead her to the case and, assuming no outside intervention, she could easily slip in and out in a quick timeframe.
The elevator came to a stop on the second floor, and its doors opened to reveal a bald, lanky man clad in a leather jacket and matching gloves, who gave them both an eager smile as he stepped inside.
“Afternoon.”
Zero waited for a response, and upon receiving none, shrugged, smile not vanishing from his face as he pushed the button for the ground floor. Not content with silence, he looked over his shoulder and asked, “What brings you two around here?”
The Operator didn’t respond, but after a pause, Alejandro explained, simply, “Business.”
Zero nodded, ignoring Alejandro’s clear effort to avoid making eye contact with him.
“Same here. You know how it is. Lemme guess, you do…”
He raised a glove hand, pointed towards Alejandro, and hesitated as he thought it over.
“Accounting?”
The elevator dinged again, and Alejandro stepped off, pushing past Zero without a word. The assassin shrugged again, turning to the Operator with a wry smile and chuckling.
“Not much of a talker, huh?”
Walker sighed as she set her bag on her bed and quickly re-examined the contents. The hotel was a dump, frankly, but she doubted she’d be here long enough for it to matter. Ensuring that she had everything she needed, from tranquilizers to her garrote to her machetes, she gave a content nod, then zipped the bag shut. She contemplated leaving now, but from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the hotel pool. It, for some reason, gave her pause, and for a moment she watched it, focusing on the filter as it pumped new water into the pool, the sound of running water echoing through her head as it-
She squeezed her eyes shut and shut the blinds, taking deep breaths as she forced Mary back into her place.
Not now, damnit. We have a deal about this shit.
Forcing thoughts of water out of her mind, Walker grabbed her bag and left the room, shaken but doing her best to push past it.
C’mon, where the fuck is this guy?
Barry internally grumbled to himself as he exited the stairwell back into the lobby. He’d checked into the hotel two hours prior and done a sweep, in the largely optimistic hope that he’d stumble upon Reacher, quickly kill him, and then leave. Of course, that did leave the fake name on the hotel registry, but he doubted that the staff cared enough to really try and run any form of background check on something like that. What truly vexed him was that Reacher, despite being an apparent goliath by what little descriptions Hank’s people had given him, was nowhere to be found.
Had he checked in too soon? Had he already grabbed the case and left? Had he not even made it to the hotel, eliminating the entire purpose of the contract and accidentally wasting a considerable amount of travel miles? As he paced the hotel lobby, he eventually noticed the lobby clerk staring at him, her face a difficult to read combination of annoyance and concern, and he forced a smile as he walked towards her. She tried to find work to do in hopes of ignoring him, but he quickly closed the distance and said, hesitantly, “Hi.”
A dreadful silence hung over the two as she stayed looking down, slowly working her way through a crossword puzzle, before glancing up at Barry and responding, “Hello.”
She went back to writing in the crossword, and Barry’s smile immediately dropped from his face as she started humming to herself. His eyes traveled the desk, hoping to find a way to get her attention without causing a disturbance, and he settled on ringing the bell. She ignored the first ring, sighed at the second, and finally put her hand in the way of it before he could go for a third ring. Sliding it out of his reach, she asked, “Is there an issue with your room, sir?”
Barry chuckled awkwardly and sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.
“Yeah, uh, hi. Nothing wrong with my room, I think, I’m just…uh, in town to meet my friend. He, uh, checked in here, and I was gonna ambush-I mean, jump-fuck, I mean just kinda surprise him for his birthday. He’s like this tall-“
He held a hand slightly above his head, and after looking at it for a moment, raised it slightly more.
“-short hair, kinda muscular. Well, not kinda, but-“
The desk clerk nodded with her head towards somewhere behind Barry, and he whipped around to see none other than Reacher, sitting at the hotel bar, eating a steak and chatting with the bartender.
Holy shit, this isn’t gonna be that easy, is it?
Satisfied with his meal, Reacher set his fork down and pushed the plate away, giving an approving nod to the bartender, an older, white-haired man with a similarly white mustache, who smiled slightly as he went back to polishing a glass. A solid first test for any dining establishment, at least to Reacher, was to see how they did with a simple task: a steak, medium-well, and the bar, shockingly, had passed it with flying colors.
“That was good, thank you.”
The bartender shrugged.
“Ain’t the Ritz, but I can cook a thing or two.”
Reacher chuckled.
“After Afghanistan, any good steak is the Ritz to me.”
This earned a nod from the bartender, who quipped, “Took you for a soldier.”
He crooked a thumb at himself.
“Vietnam, three tours.”
Reacher raised an intrigued eyebrow. He had took the man for a kindred spirit, but it was nice to have some confirmation.
“How’s a Vietnam vet ending up bartending in a rundown hotel?”
The bartender shrugged.
“It’s quiet. Meet the occasional strange character, and I don’t gotta do none of the hard stuff. Like clean that shithole we call a pool, for instance.”
He set the glass down and grumbled, “Not that anyone goes near that thing, regardless.”
Reacher thought it over, taking a sip of his drink, then replied, “I can understand that. Spend a couple years shoulder to shoulder and dodging bullets, the quiet gets a lot more precious.”
The bartender grinned and pulled his shirt down slightly, exposing surgical signs.
“Wished I’d dodged 'em all, if I’m being quite honest.”
Reacher had to laugh at that, but the conversation was quickly interrupted by a jovial, bald man with a bizarre bullseye tattoo on his forehead taking a seat by Reacher and giving him a clap on the back.
“We comparing battle scars? Cuz trust me, I can keep you two here all day with mine.”
Reacher tensed, hand slowly reaching for his knife, while the bartender, smile vanishing at the sight of the new arrival, mumbled something about needing to stock the back and quickly vanished behind the kitchen door. The two men eyed each other, silently appraising each other before the bald man broke the tense silence.
“Nah, I’m fucking with you. Army lawyers tended to avoid the exciting stuff. What about you?”
Reacher ignored him, mumbling a response of “Private conversation,” as he went back to his drink. Not one to be ignored, the bald man snickered and said, “C’mon, we’re all vets here. Here: name’s Pendergrass. Sheldon is my first name, but not sure if we’re on first name basis yet. My buddies call me Bullseye, but we’re definitely not buddies-”
He offered his hand to Reacher.
“-yet.”
The big man glared at it before reluctantly reciprocating the handshake and replying, “Gary Gentry.”
The response seemed to amuse Bullseye, who slapped his hand on the bar with a laugh.
“No shit. Just like the pitcher for the Knicks!”
Reacher’s hand tensed around his glass. Seemingly sensing the tension, Bullseye leaned in, smile growing wider, and snickered again.
“Crazy coincidence, that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re just feeding me bullshit so I’ll go away and you can get back to the real conversation.”
Reacher took a sip from his drink and quipped, “You’re pretty perceptive.”
Pendergrass laughed out loud, a cold, empty laugh that Reacher had heard one time too many. Stopping to catch his breath, he leaned forward again and said, “And you’re funny too. I think we’re gonna get along swimmingly, eh, Reacher?”
A long silence hung between the two, Reacher’s cold glare meeting Pendergrass’s unbroken smile, then in an instant, it was broken with violence as Jack noticed the bald man’s subtle attempt to pull something from his coat. Thinking quickly, he smashed his glass against the hitman’s head before slamming his head into the bar. Dazed, Bullseye groggily drew his pistol, and Reacher grabbed him by the wrist and forcefully pointed the gun away, grimacing as several shots hit the ceiling. Grinning sadistically, Bullseye slammed his head into his target’s repeatedly, forcing him to let go, and attempted to raise his pistol again, only for Reacher to sidestep the shot and force Bullseye’s arm onto the bar before driving a steak knife into his wrist.
Gun clattering out of his grasp, the assassin hissed, trapped in place as Reacher grabbed him by the collar and punched him in the face, nearly knocking him off his feet if not for the knife keeping him pinned to the bar. As he readied another punch, Bullseye managed to pull the knife free, ignoring the blood pooling from his wrist as he slashed, forcing the big man to dodge just in time. Bullseye slashed and thrusted several more times, locked in a deadly dance as the two circled each other. He swung upwards, seemingly aiming for Reacher’s throat, only to duck low at the last second, landing a clean stab to his gut and twisting the knife for good measure. As his would-be assassin pushed forward, hoping to drive the knife deeper, Reacher grabbed his arm, wrenching the knife free, then grabbed Bullseye by the throat and tossed him onto one of the tables located around the bar, shattering it underneath the force.
Bullseye laughed as he tried to stand to his feet, only for Reacher to bring his boot down on his wrist.
“Christ, I can tell this contract is gonna be a blast.”
Watching the brawl from the sidelines, Barry, pistol at his side, hesitated. For a brief moment, he contemplated merely shooting Reacher in the back, but he was increasingly unsure if a shot could even kill him. Suddenly, Reacher turned and locked eyes with him, a frosty rage turning into mere confusion, and Barry meekly mumbled, “Nope,” before turning on his heel and heading for the elevators.
He’d probably get another shot.
Probably.
The momentary distraction gave Bullseye time to lean forward, lift Reacher’s pantleg, and sink his teeth into his ankle. Surprised, Reacher lifted his boot slightly, giving the assassin enough freedom to grab his boot with both hands and shove backwards. Reacher staggered back, grimacing as Bullseye grabbed the knife and hurled it into his shoulder as he leapt to his feet. Licking blood from his teeth, Bullseye smirked at Reacher as the two circled each other.
“See, isn’t this way better than any cat and mouse bullshit? Quick, dirty, and to the point. That’s why I like you, Reacher. You fight like a soldier. Not just-“
Reacher took advantage of the monologue and lunged forward, landing an uppercut before chaining it into a brutal right hook. Bullseye stumbled back, trying to parry, but the bigger man moved too fast, hitting too hard until he ducked to the side and landed a blow to the stab wound in his gut. Reacher crumpled slightly, but just enough for Bullseye to elbow him in the chin. He stumbled away, trying to create distance between himself and Bullseye. Sensing weakness as his target leaned against the bar, resting his foot on an overturned stool and trying to catch his breath, Bullseye took a step back, gave an appreciative nod, then charged forward.
As his foe charged ahead, a small smirk spread across Reacher’s lips, and he quickly kicked the stool forward before stepping to the side. Bullseye gave a surprised yelp as his legs tangled with the stool and he tumbled forward, slamming his neck into the bar with a sickening crack.
Reacher winced as he pulled the knife from his shoulder, then waited for Bullseye to stand up again. He, slightly, lowered his guard as he realized Bullseye wasn’t standing, only to take a step back as Bullseye coughed weakly.
“F-fuck…think I…might need a sec before I can stand.”
Bullseye tried to stand, only to grunt weakly as his body refused to cooperate. As he realized he couldn’t feel his legs, or his arms for that matter, he laughed weakly.
“Motherfucker…you took my legs away. Fighting dirty with that stool. I…I gotta respect it, to be honest.”
Reacher crouched, glaring into Bullseye’s eyes, and held the knife to his neck.
“Who sent you?”
Bullseye thought it over, then leaned forward as best he could and whispered, “Fuck if I know.”
Reacher rolled his eyes, then slit Bullseye’s throat, letting the assassin’s head hit the floor as he stood to his feet, adrenaline wearing off. He heard the sound of the kitchen door creaking and turned to lock eyes with the bartender, who seemed stunned by the destruction in front of him. After a few moments, he soberly nodded towards the exit, and Reacher gratefully bowed his head as he headed towards the back. He needed to get back to his room and patch his wounds, but he had to lose any tails first.
He'd assumed he’d had more time, but if that fight was any indication, it was gonna be a long night.
Chapter 2[]
Threading the needle through the stab wound in his shoulder, Reacher grimaced, doing his best to ignore the pain as he contemplated the brawl in the bar. If that psycho had known he was here, there’d be others, far more competent and reserved, meaning he had to be even more wary of his next move. He was, as a small positive, safely back in his room, having grabbed a medical kit from the bar kitchen during the chaotic escape, but he wasn’t any closer to finding the case, and worse, he had effectively put himself on a short timer. The police would respond to the reports of a fatality any minute, and then he’d have to-
He paused, realizing he had not heard sirens in the nearly half hour since the fight. No reputable, law-abiding establishment would take that long to call the cops…unless, of course, the establishment in question had a reason to keep the police away at all costs. He gave a satisfied grunt as he tied off the needle, wincing slightly as he tried to avoid splitting the improvised stitches. Standing up and pacing his room, he made a mental checklist of things to keep an eye out for:
- The location of the case, obviously.
- The fact that the police had not shown up.
- The strange man who had been watching him at the bar. Reacher had noticed the gun in his hand, but the man had simply fled rather than taking a shot. A potential ally (unlikely) or a rival assassin who didn’t want to make the kill (almost certainly).
Reacher sat back down on the bed. He’d give the wounds a few minutes rest, then it was back to it. He didn’t have time to hang around.
“Okay, okay. Fuck, holy shit, okay, just breathe.”
Pacing furiously by the pool, Barry tried to calm his nerves, making quick, frantic breaths that he tried his damndest to mellow out, remembering Cousineau’s various exercises for nerves. Admittedly, he wasn’t too familiar with them, as getting the full exercise required buying a $50 book, but he’d picked up a few things. After a few moments, his frantic breathing steadied somewhat, enabling him to plan a next move beyond “fuck this assignment”. His panicked expression changed to one of rage, and he quickly dug his phone out of his pocket, scrolled to his contacts, and picked out a specific name.
After a few rings, No-Ho Hank answered, chipper as always.
“Barry, buddy! How is mission? You have case already?”
Glancing anxiously around to make sure he wasn’t being listened on, Barry hissed, “No, Hank, I don’t have the fucking case. And, also, there’s other fucking assassins after this guy! What the fuck?”
Hank sheepishly chuckled.
“Well, yeah. You really think case that important and only my buddies would want it? Thought you were, you know, ultra badass professional. Like a Leon? You know, Luc Besson? Great mov-“
“Yes, Hank, I’ve seen the Professional. That doesn’t have shit to do with the fact that I just watched Reacher slit a dude’s throat in a bar fight!”
“Whoa, a bar fight? That’s pretty cool.”
“It’s not!”
Barry’s yell drew the attention of a passing by cleaning lady, who exchanged eye contact with him, then quickly went about her business when he raised a hand in an awkward greeting. He sighed, then lowered his voice again and continued, “You better double whatever you’re paying, because this whole job is fucked. I’m gonna kill Reacher, and then I’m out, no case, no extra assassin shootouts, understood?”
Hank paused, clearly mulling it over.
“Wellll, I would have to talk it over with bosses, but I bet we could get you a little more money since you’re clearly stressed. Not a good look for you, Barry, you should take it more easy.”
“Hank, for fuck’s sake-"
“Ope, got to go. Told the crew we were going to California Pizza Kitchen, my treat, and you know how traffic is. Good luck buddy!”
With that, Hank hung up, leaving Barry sitting by himself, poolside. He contemplated tossing his phone into the pool as a form of stress relief, but then he’d be without a phone in the middle of nowhere, so instead he put his head in his hands and groaned. He sat in silence for a few moments, then exhaled, stood to his feet, and headed back into the hotel, newly determined. If he wanted to get out of here, he had a job he needed to get done.
Hands on his hips, Alejandro surveyed the carnage at the bar, stepping over the corpse as he took stock over the scene in front of him. Naturally, he’d had his cleanest shot at Reacher occur while he was bringing his damn bag upstairs, but a quick call to Matt had gotten him set up with the right credentials to continue investigating without arousing suspicion. As far as the (relatively small) crowd that had gathered was concerned, he was merely a detective responding to a fight that had escalated into manslaughter. He glanced over to the bartender, who simply eyed him for a moment before shrugging and returning to working behind the bar, not looking up as Alejandro approached and flashed a badge, stowed in his briefcase for such situations.
“Detective Sheridan. Care to talk about what exactly…happened with this mess?”
The bartender shrugged.
“’Fraid I didn’t see much of anything, officer. I was out back when it happened.”
Alejandro glared at him skeptically, then turned to look back at the messy crime scene of overturned tables, shattered glass, and blood stains. He clicked his tongue and glanced over his shoulder back at the bartender.
“So, a fight comes along and wrecks your entire establishment and you saw…nothing? Not even a shadow of a suspect? Surely someone as strong as this was pretty distinct.”
The bartender sighed and set down the glass he was polishing before snapping, “Look, detective, I’m pretty goddamn sure that I’d tell you if I saw whoever the hell made this mess, seeing as how my “establishment” is gonna have to close for the rest of the week for repairs. Now, if you wanna ask me questions, you can have the other officers bring me on down to the station. As a matter of fact-“
He gestured to the crime scene.
“Sure is odd they only sent one officer to investigate all this.”
Both men fell silent, locking eyes, and after a few seconds, Alejandro, to his own surprise, blinked first, cursing under his breath as he stepped away, waving off the bartender.
“I’m going to go speak with the other staff. Ask for me if you have questions, sir.”
He pushed through the crowd on his way to the lobby, paying no mind to any of the gawkers, not even the short, curly-haired woman in dark shades watching the scene curiously. As he pushed past, the woman shifted her attention from the scene to the one investigating it.
Making a note to find a way to make the bartender talk later, Alejandro stopped at the front desk, ringing the bell to get the attention of the lanky, shaggy-haired young man running it. The man shifted awkwardly under the “detective’s” cold gaze before breaking the silence.
“Uh, can I help you with anything, officer?”
Alejandro leaned on the desk, coming uncomfortably close to the clerk, and replied, “Ideally, yes. Don’t suppose you can be helpful and tell me anything about the suspect in the business over in the bar, can you?” He drummed his fingers on the desk, and the clerk’s eyes anxiously flitted to them before glancing back up to Alejandro, who waited for a response.
“Yeah, the…suspect. Um, so he checked in a little earlier, I think the name was-"
A woman’s cough, harsh and deliberate, cut him off, and he froze as another clerk, shorter and much older, exited an office from behind the desk and stood next to her subordinate. The clerk mumbled a greeting and looked at the floor before continuing to mumble a half-hearted apology and quickly leaving to “check on the cable”. Alejandro watched him leave, his frustration growing with every step he took away from the desk, then turned back to glare at the older clerk. He crooked a thumb at the young clerk.
“He and I weren’t finished.”
The older clerk rested a hand on the desk.
“Yeah, well, Greg’s pretty new. We don’t want him saying the wrong thing to the wrong people and ending up in jail. We can’t give jobs to felons, unfortunately. You want information, you can talk right to me. I don’t bite.”
Alejandro nodded.
“So, in that case you’ll be happy to tell me about the suspect? I believe “Greg” was about to tell me his names.”
She shrugged.
“Well, I’m afraid we can’t give up the names of our guests. Invasion of privacy and whatnot, detective.”
Alejandro frowned, letting his hand rest on the badge on his hip.
“Well, as a detective, I can assure you it’s a matter of importance to the ongoing investigation."
She chuckled, making a show of sliding the guest book closer to herself and closing it, before leaning in close and snapping, “Well, detective, if it’s a matter of importance, I can assure you that we’ll gladly turn it over with a warrant. You shouldn’t have too much issue getting your hands on one of those, yeah?”
His hand traveled from his badge to the butt of his gun, and he let it rest there, thumb tapping, as he thought over his options. If he wanted to cause a scene, he could “book her” and simply dispose of her elsewhere, but of course, that left witnesses, and then he’d have to deal with a paper trail and Matt’s bosses scolding him. He could try and steal it later, but something told him this clerk wouldn’t let it out of sight. That left a clear option for him, and one he was certain he could make happen: he’d just have to go and get a warrant. He forced a smile.
“Well then in that case, you can expect a warrant shortly, ma’am. Don’t be afraid to reach out if you’re feeling more competitive.”
She went to work on a crossword puzzle and gave him a smirk.
“I’ll do that, detective.”
He scowled and trudged out of the lobby, seemingly too focused on pulling out his phone and giving Matt a call to notice Yaritza quietly following him. She could feel it, just from how he moved, the way his eyes read the room, the way he carried himself, this man was no cop. He was something else, just like her. An avenging angel of his own, perhaps, but more likely just another dangerous man in her way. It wouldn’t matter. She’d take care of it, just like she always did.
Walker stalked the hallways of the hotel, machetes tucked safely into her laptop bag. She hadn’t spotted any sign of Reacher, or much else in the way of guests for that matter. The hotel was sparsely populated, which raised the question of how it even paid to justify its own existence, but that was hardly her concern. It did, however, make things frustrating, since she somehow couldn’t find a target in a small, abandoned location. She’d heard mumblings about some sort of disturbance downstairs, so her new priority was getting to the lobby before the authorities arrived and really made things difficult.
She stepped into an elevator and hit the button for the lobby, resting her head against the elevator wall as it made its way down. Her quiet contemplation was interrupted by a ding, and the doors opened to let a large, blonde man in a plain gray tee walk in. The man gave her a nod, then glanced towards the buttons and hit the one for the second floor. His back turned, he seemingly didn’t notice Walker, eyes narrowing, taking a more ready stance. What, genuinely, were the odds that Reacher himself would walk right into the elevator, and turn his damn back to her no less. No tailing, no sizing up a fight, just gift-wrapped for her. All it would take was a machete to the heel and another to the throat, then the job was done.
Of course, that left the issue of the case. It was more important to secure the intel, and if Reacher was supposedly the ace detective her contacts had said he was, her best bet was to let him lead her right to it. She slouched back into her resting position just as the doors dinged again, opening so that a bald man clad in a black leather jacket could enter. Zero, humming to himself, gave them both a small wave, and Reacher asked, “What floor?”
Surveying his target, Zero smiled and glanced at the buttons before answering, “Well, turns out we’re going to the same floor. What a coincidence, huh?”
Reacher eyed the man warily, then grunted in reply and backed up slightly, keeping both of his fellow occupants in his line of sight. After an agonizing few moments of silence, the elevator came to a stop, and he stepped off, followed after a few moments by Zero. Walker considered following both, but she hesitated, letting the doors come to a close. Whoever that other idiot had been, he just made potentially tailing a lot more challenging. She’d wait a floor, then circle back and take the stairs, praying silently that Reacher would stay put.
“The hell you mean you need a warrant?”
Sitting in his car, Alejandro sighed at his superior’s incredulous reaction.
“Entire staff is uncooperative. It’s either this or-“
His explanation was interrupted by the sound of polite clapping on Matt’s end, and he raised a quizzical eyebrow as he heard Matt give an enthusiastic compliment to someone slightly out of hearing range.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Matt chuckled, his tone dripping with insincerity and annoyance, then replied, “Nah. Just dealing with political bullshit about funding, so I gotta join on a senator on a golfing trip. Blast and a fucking half.”
At this, Alejandro cracked a small smile.
“And it’s going well, I take it?”
“About as well as this part of the job goes. If all else fails, we’re just gonna send the senator pictures of his wife’s jogging route and where the bus drops his kids off, so I’d say we’re set. Anyway, on the topic of this “warrant” nonsense, I can get a judge on the phone if you wanna give me an hour or two, though, to be frank, I wouldn’t like a big paper trail for this, so, if you can just shake em down, that’s accepta-“
As Matt talked, Alejandro glanced at his rearview mirror to see a woman, clad in a flashy jacket, approaching. She slowly pulled her zipper down, reaching in and drawing a small pistol that she quickly hid behind her as she got closer. Alejandro nodded, then cut Matt off with a simple, “Hold for a moment.”
Yaritza approached the “detective’s” car, flashing a flirty smile and making sure to move her hips just right as she leaned down and gave the window a knock. To her surprise, the driver’s seat was empty, save for a cellphone, apparently set down mid-call. Uncertain, she took a step back, noticing a moment too late that Alejandro had moved to the back seat. She raised her pistol just as he fired his, and the round shattered the window before tearing through her throat. The impact knocked her to the ground and she gurgled weakly as she held her bleeding throat. Alejandro, a look of disdain on his face, stepped out of the car and surveyed his would-be killer for a moment. Her other hand weakly grasped for her gun, only for him to kick it out of reach before calmly putting another round between her eyes.
He looked at the shattered window, clicking his tongue in annoyance before picking his phone back up.
“What the fuck was that?”
“An attempt to kill me. Judging by the suspect and her weapon, almost certainly cartel.”
Matt let out a whispered curse, then replied, “Of course they sent their own people on this one. Alright, new objective: I’m letting you off the leash on this one. Get me that case and dispose of anybody else who tries to slow you down. And don’t make a goddamned mess. You get caught up in any of this Smokin Aces bullshit, I can’t guarantee we can get you out. Alright, we’re going to the next hole so I gotta bail. Don’t call me til you have that case, got it?”
“Understood.”
With that, Matt hung up, leaving Alejandro standing over the dead girl’s corpse. He crouched down, using the still hot silencer to move her head as he looked over.
“Your bosses owe me a new window.”
Reacher walked the hallways of the hotel, doing his best to keep his head down as he passed the identical looking doors of the various rooms. There wasn’t anything he actually needed on this floor, of course, but the instant he’d stepped onto the elevator he’d known he needed to get off of it. Both the woman and the man who had stepped on later had overplayed their hands, signaling too much interest in him, and he’d felt it, hoping that stepping off would’ve gotten them off his trail. Judging by the man following him, doing his best to act casual, he hadn’t quite succeeded.
He passed by a housekeeping cart, hearing the sounds of the cleaner working diligently inside, and took a mental note of it. So, the hotel did have some sort of cleaning staff after all, even if it appeared to be relatively minimal. He stopped, thinking it over to himself. So, the cleaning staff was present, but didn’t bother with the pool. Meaning, no one ever looked there.
Just as realization started to dawn on him, he heard a sound, ever so slight, of a blade leaving it’s sheath, and he spun on his heel, drawing his gun just in time to use it to block a strike from Zero, who grinned at him as they came eye-to-eye.
“Damn, you heard that? I’d say good catch, but to be honest, I got kinda sloppy there.”
Reacher made no effort to respond, shoving the assassin away and bringing the gun up, only for Zero to lunge for him with the sword, slashing at him as he forced him to duck and weave away. As he brought up the gun again, this time Zero closed the distance, kicking it out of his hands. The two looked each other over, waiting for the other to make a move, and Reacher broke first as he saw the cleaner exit the room and freeze. He lunged, shoving her back into the room and pulling the door shut just as Zero stabbed forward, slashing across Reacher’s back. The big man hissed in pain, then lashed out, driving his elbow into Zero’s face. He stumbled back, holding his nose, and he attempted to follow up the attack with a spinning punch, only for Zero to duck under the strike and sweep the leg out, sending Reacher to the floor.
Reacher rolled onto, hoping to get back to his feet, but turned just in time to grab Zero’s blade as it aimed for his throat. He ignored the pain as the blade cut his palm, blood trickling down it. Zero pushed down with all his might, gritting his teeth sadistically as he tried to go for a killing blow.
“Honestly, I would’ve preferred a more fun fight here, Reacher. Your reputation preceded itself, but alas-“ He nodded towards the cleaning cart.
“-you took your eye off the ball. That’s the problem with you “heart of gold” types, really.”
The blade inched forward, closer and closer, but just as he was to give a final push, Zero cried out in shock as a machete blade pierced his shoulder. He took a hand off the hilt of the sword to block a follow up strike from Walker, grabbing her wrist as she attempted to stab again, and Reacher used his distraction to land a blow to his throat and toss him aside. Zero staggered to his feet to see Reacher and Walker both standing before him, and he gave the woman a surprised look that she returned with an icy glare.
Walker mentally cursed as she locked eyes with Reacher. Any potential cover or subterfuge she could’ve gone for, ruined because some idiot had decided to go for an early kill. Now an eerie silence hung over the three, each waiting for another to make a move as they appraised their foes. The silence was broken by the ding of the elevator, and all three turned to watch as it’s doors opened to reveal a sheepish Barry, whose eyes widened in a frantic mix of terror and recognition before he began furiously mashing the button. The doors slid shut just as Zero made the first move, lunging forward with a stab towards Reacher’s chest that Walker hastily parried with her machete. Reacher gave the red-haired assassin a surprised look, and she simply responded with a stoic nod before pressing the assault on Zero.
Keeping Reacher alive had not been her intended priority, but she could see from how he moved that he was wounded while the other assassin was very much in top shape, meaning he would be a more difficult obstacle when only one of them was left standing. Thus, she found herself blade locked with Zero, who looked her over approvingly.
“Damn, don’t wanna share the kill?”
He pushed forward, smile doing little to hide the murderous glint in his eyes.
“Me neither.”
His gloating was cut off by Reacher charging forward and landing a staggering punch to the side of his head. Zero, ears ringing, stumbled away, slashing blindly at his two foes and managing to deflect another slash from Walker. As she tried to follow up, he caught her by the wrist and tossed her towards Reacher, who casually shoved her aside as he advanced. Another punch whizzed by Zero’s head, and he gave an impressed whistle as he saw the indent in the wall where his forehead had been moments prior. As Reacher reared back, this time Zero pressed forward, landing a chop to his shoulder and grinning sadistically as he watched him try to shrug off the injury.
He continued the assault, prioritizing speed over power as he weaved and aimed for weak points on Reacher’s body. A chop to the shoulder. A knee to the gut. An attempted kick to the head, cleanly transitioned to a kick to the chest. He faked-out another strike, smirking as he transitioned it into a stab with his katana, but the smirk quickly vanished as Reacher sidestepped it, grabbed Zero by the collar, and lifted him up before slamming him into the wall, leaving a considerable indent. Winded, he tried to give another impressed chuckle as he fumbled for his sword, only for Walker to dive down and drive her machete through his palm.
Cornered, Zero stumbled to his feet, confident smile gone as he pulled the machete from his hand and warily glanced between the two as they backed him into a corner. Reacher and Walker shared a mutual, knowing glance, then moved as one. Zero kicked Reacher away, then hastily slashed at Walker, who ducked underneath and sliced across his gut. He kneed her in the nose, sending her reeling, only for Reacher to grab his face and drive his head into the wall. He drove the machete into Reacher’s shoulder and used the force to shove him away just as Walker, staying low, slashed his leg, bringing him to his knees. He gasped just as Walker leapt to her feet, parried his weak stab at her, then drove the machete blade into his neck. Trying to hold back the geyser of blood, Zero made a weak effort at standing, only for Reacher to drive his knee into his face, not reacting to the sickening crunch as he felt the bone in his nose shatter and drive inward. The assassin’s body hit the floor, leaving a panting Reacher and Walker, who merely glared at each other.
The momentary relief on Reacher’s face turned to one of resignation as Walker squared up with him, pulling the machete from Zero’s corpse. He sighed as she dashed toward him, then drew his gun, recovered while Walker had provided had momentary distraction, and fired, the force of the blast knocking her back into the wall. She slumped by Zero’s body, glaring at Reacher with a fiery hatred as he raised the gun and fired again, making sure to put the round between the eyes. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he glanced cautiously around the hotel, making sure that no other surprise assassins were going to burst out, then calmly walked to Walker’s body, rooting through her pockets until he found her keycard.
Wincing as he stood up, he limped in the direction of the elevator. He’d had enough fights for the moment, so he’d head back to his room, grab his medical kit, then hide out in Walker’s room for a while.
Then it was on to the pool.
Chapter 3[]
The Operator crouched down, gently moving the head of one of the bodies she’d discovered in the hallway with a gloved hand as she analyzed the wounds. She’d been searching around when she’d heard noises upstairs, chaotic sounds of fighting and thumping that she’d quickly moved toward only to find the two corpses here. She’d hoped that the source of it was Reacher, and while it was almost certainly his handiwork, he was long gone. With a frustrated sigh, she let the corpse fall to the side, standing up to survey the scene around her. She was, effectively, back to square one, once again just missing Reacher.
It was a small hotel, so she’d have to keep looking. He couldn’t have gotten far.
Her strategizing was disturbed by the now deeply familiar ding of the elevator, and the nervous, rambly voice of a bellhop.
“Yeah, so we, uh, got a couple noise complaints from below this floor, something about sounding like a fight. So, I figured, hey, if there’s a cop here, I should grab the-“
The bellhop, a gangly young man with a “Greg” name tag, came to a stop as he saw the Operator standing between the bodies, and his companion, a weathered looking man with a police badge and his hand on his pistol, locked eyes with her. There was a long silence, and then Alejandro drew his gun and fired, ignoring the panicked screams of the bellhop as he advanced after the Operator, who ducked and weaved out of the way to avoid fire. Alejandro cursed as he reloaded, hastily following after her as she turned a corner. Just as she turned again, he squeezed off a shot, angrily tossing an empty clip aside as the round just misses her head.
Determined, he moved towards the bellhop, grabbing him by the shoulders and hissing, “Tell your boss to lock down the hotel. No one goes in, no one goes out unless it’s me.”
With that final order, he left the young man, holding his head and mumbling to himself, as he pursued the Operator, attempting to find her amidst the hallways of the hotel.
Reacher let out a quiet hiss in pain as he worked his way down the stairwell and used a bandaged hand to open the door to the lobby. He was doing his best to ignore the various pains across his body, from the slash marks across his back to the reopened stab wound in his shoulder, and he just had to soldier through it until he reached the pool. The case was there, he could feel it.
He exited the stairwell into the lobby, catching the eye of the desk clerk, who looked him over with mild concern before going back to her crossword puzzle, and headed towards the pool area. Just a few more steps and he was there.
He was so focused on his goal that he failed to notice another woman emerge from the opposing stairwell, nor the man sitting poolside on the phone.
“Hi, you’ve reached Sally Reed. I can’t come to the phone right now, most likely because I’m working on my new series Joplin, streaming this fall on BanShe. If you need to talk to me, just leave a message, or just call my assistant, Natalie, and I’ll be happy to find time from Joplin to talk to you. Wait, is this too long? Should I go back and record a shor-“
The voicemail finished with a beep and Barry, staring dead ahead at the pool, sighed before speaking.
“Hey, Sally, it’s Barry. I was just, uh, hoping to hear your voice. I’m okay, the job is going…”
He briefly flashed back to the two separate brawls he’d almost gotten caught up in.
“…fine. They’ve got me at this weird hotel, but it’s interesting. Anyway, hope you’re doing okay, I’ll probably be home-“
He stopped as he witnessed Reacher, moving slower than either of the times he’d seen him last, enter the pool area and glance around. Barry quickly looked down, doing his best not to make eye contact, and whispered, “Actually, we might be wrapping early. Gottagoloveyoubye.”
He hung up the phone and watched Reacher’s reflection in the pool, hand slowly reaching for the gun under his seat. Just as Reacher turned his back, fumbling for something in the cleaning area, he drew the gun and levelled it, only for his determined glare to turn into a dismayed look of shock as a woman he hadn’t seen before lunged at him. Reacher, case in hand, turned and blocked her stab from her sword with a briefcase. Almost certainly ‘’the’’ briefcase. Watching the fight for a few moments, Barry calmly let his hand fall to his side, then sighed, angrily tucking the gun into his pants and grumbled, “Fuck this.”
He turned and walked away, shaking his head. He’d had his fair share of martial arts bullshit, so Hank was just gonna have to deal with his bosses on his own time.
As the newest assassin, a short woman wielding what appeared to be a kodachi, unleashed a flurry of slashes and stabs, Reacher used the case to block the various attacks thrown his way. Naturally, he would not be getting a clean exit, but he hadn’t really expected that in the first place. He swung with the case, hoping to knock her out, only for her to drop to the ground and attempt to sweep his legs out from under him, a sweep that he narrowly averted by leaping back. With a grunt, he tossed the case aside, freeing up both his hands. As he steadied himself, he noticed an uncertainty to her movement, the way her eyes alternated between looking at him and looking at the case, the way she attempted to position herself closer to it without him cutting her off, and a small smile spread across his lips. He could use that.
He stepped aside, seemingly giving her an opening to the case, only to shoulder check her as she moved forward. The force sent her stumbling back, and he followed up by grabbing her by the back of the head and hitting her in the jaw hard enough to send her to the ground. As she groaned in pain, a confident Reacher limped to the cleaning station, grabbed a towel, then made a makeshift garrote of it, wrapping it around her neck and pulling back with all his might. Gasping, feeling the strain on the bones in her neck, the Operator clawed weakly at the tightening towel, her efforts futile. As her vision faded, she instead grasped at the hilt of her kodachi, then lifted and cut furiously at the towel. Just as Reacher went to place his foot on her back, the towel gave way, tearing into two as the Operator swung around and stabbed him through the leg.
Withdrawing the sword, she rolled away and practically leapt to her feet as Reacher reeled, gritting his teeth to ignore the pain and blood pouring from his leg. He swayed slightly, meeting the Operator’s determined glare with one of his own, then let one of the towels fall from his hand. The Operator stabbed forward, but he managed to lean to the side and wrap her wrist with the towel, pulling back and forcing her to drop the sword, then drove his knee into her elbow with a crack. As she cried out in pain, he spun on his heel, using the momentum to release her and send her flying into the pool.
As soon as the Operator hit the water, Reacher turned and practically dragged himself to the case, picked it up, and turned to head for the exit. This woman, whoever she was, was fast, lethal, and he was rapidly running out of tricks. He headed for the door, only to stop as the Operator climbed out of the pool, a furious look on her face, and shakily tried to take another fighting stance, ignoring the pain in her arm. The case was there, the mission success was there, all she had to do was bring down Reacher.
Just as she started to lunge, a silenced gunshot rang out, bringing her to a stop, and she glanced down at the rapidly spreading blood spot on her chest. She turned just in time to see Alejandro fire again, putting a round clean between her eyes. As the Operator’s corpse tumbled back into the pool, blood rapidly spreading through the water, Reacher looked up at the new assassin, who gave a cold smile as he fired three rounds into the big man’s chest. Reacher stumbled back, then tried to charge, only for Alejandro to empty the clip into him. The body hit the ground, and Alejandro stopped to reload, putting another shot into the target’s head before finally walking over, grabbing the case, and heading for the door.
Matt would be pleased.
Barry grumbled to himself, tearing through his bag as he realized he’d left his phone charger in the hotel room. He could go back and grab it, hypothetically, but then he’d have to go inside. Maybe he’d stop at a gas station and buy a new one, but he’d heard a story about how unofficial phone chargers degrade battery quality faster, so maybe it would be best to go inside, then of course he’d have to deal with the creepy desk lady, which was its own can of worms.
His internal debate was interrupted by Alejandro, the briefcase by his side, exiting the hotel, and Barry froze in place as he watched him stroll into the parking lot. Alejandro hummed calmly to himself as he walked to his car, then stopped as he felt eyes on him. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a stressed looking man staring at him, then raised an eyebrow quizzically. The man seemed to mumble something to himself, stare at his passenger seat for a few moments, then simply grumble, “Fuck,” before starting his car and speed out of the parking lot.
As the car skidded around a corner, Alejandro simply shrugged and continued walking to his car, case in hand.
Expert’s Opinion[]
8th Place: Jatemme Manning. Much of Jatemme’s menace came from his resources, reputation, and connection to his brother, and without those, he was effectively a small fish in a much larger pond than he usually operated in, meaning the craftier, more dangerous warriors were able to make short work of him.
7th Place: Bullseye. Bullseye had some of the most combat skill of any of the competitors, but he was also deeply psychotic and stood out like a sore thumb. Once he had Reacher in his sights, he gave up the game too soon and was ultimately outwitted and outmatched.
6th Place: Yaritza. Much like Bullseye, Yaritza’s specific brand of psychosis (supernaturally gifted or not) made her stand out, and against opponents that were far more clever and prepared than her usual fare, her “unassuming seductress” schtick was ineffective and left her easily disposed of.
5th Place: Zero. Zero was another warrior whose skill was undone by his own arrogance, and his emphasis on melee combat meant that his options for getting the kill were limited to either a stealth kill on the infamously alert Reacher or overpowering him in melee combat, both very difficult propositions.
4th Place: Mary Walker. Walker had a lot going for her, but like Zero, she was limited to melee combat against a much larger, tankier foe that was unlikely to fall into any traps. Even a weakened Reacher could outmove her and bring her down, causing her to fall just short.
3rd Place: Reacher and The Operator. Reacher performed incredibly well against the variety of targets he was up against, and what ultimately cost him the win was that he just didn’t have the raw stamina to keep competing. He’s only human, meaning that eventually someone was going to catch him at the end of his rope and get the kill.
As for the Operator, her lack of ranged options also brought her down, while her vendetta against criminals cost her valuable time as she was left on-guard against the other less savory competitors, meaning she caught Reacher at the wrong place and the wrong time.
2nd Place: Barry Berkman. Barry placed second because he was one of the only people here clever (and cowardly) enough to just call it a day when the situation escalated out of his control, meaning he was effectively able to place second by doing nothing, Luigi-style.
1st Place: Alejandro Gillick. Alejandro won because he’s an incredibly ruthless and efficient assassin, prioritizing completing the objective over any crusades or obsession with a good fight. He worked quickly and brutally, eliminating any potential threats before they could react and having the stealth skills to blend in until most of the field had eliminated itself for him.