Chapter 26: Lazarus Facility

Avery's heart was calm as he scanned the bustling city streets. Where on earth was this Lazarus Facility? After nights of poring over the previous cleaner's documents, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, he'd finally found its location.

The entrance? An ordinary photo booth smack in the middle of downtown.

"You've got to be kidding me," Avery muttered, eyeing the long line of tourists eager for cheesy vacation pics.

Tugging the edge of his fox mask, he took his place in the queue. A group of giggling high schoolers shot him curious looks.

"Cosplayer?" one whispered loudly. "Nah, just another weirdo," her friend replied with an eye roll.

Avery doesn't give a damn.

After what felt like an eternity, he squeezed into the cramped booth. His fingers dropped in two tokens. The camera flashed, momentarily blinding him.

Click.

A hidden door slid open to his left.

This was it – the entrance to the Night Gallery's Lazarus Facility.

The door sealed shut behind him with a hiss. Lazarus Facility. The name was pure irony, a sick biblical joke. Because once you entered, you were as good as dead.

It was up to the Butcher whether you'd be "resurrected" or not.

Avery stepped into what seemed like an empty void. But his instinct as an assassin screamed otherwise. Someone was definitely here, lurking in the shadows.

A faint, controlled breath tickled his ears. Whoever it was, they weren't actively trying to hide. No, this person was one with the darkness itself like him.

Avery's skin prickled. Whoever was watching him was good. Maybe even better than he was in his current condition.

"Hello?" he called out, feigning ignorance. "Anyone here?"

Silence. Thick, oppressive silence.

Then—movement!

Avery's eyes have always been adjusted to the gloom, he caught a glint of metal. Darts, whistling straight for his eyes!

With a grace that surprised the attacker, Avery twisted. The darts sailed past, missing by millimeters.

"Well, well," a voice purred from the darkness. "I didn't realize Cleaner 8827 had such... interesting skills."

A figure materialized from the shadows. A man, probably late twenties, with eyes that gleamed like a predator's.

"Looks like this job just got a whole lot trickier," the man—undoubtedly the infamous Butcher—said with a wolfish grin.

Avery's eyes widened as recognition hit him. He often encounters his poster on the liquor section of their convenience store. "Wait a sec... You're that guy from the liquor ads. Rex Fontaine?"

The man's lips curled into a smirk. "Ah, my claim to fame. But here, I'm just the Butcher. And you, my friend, have royally screwed up."

Avery's stomach clenched. This was bad.

Rex's voice turned ice-cold. "Your sloppy work led to an info leak and two dead artists. Sure, I killed Lacuna myself, but you catch my drift. The higher-ups want you six feet under."

"Don't I get a say?" Avery asked, carefully watching Rex's every move. The guy moved like a cat – all deadly grace.

"Nope." Rex adjusted his sleeve, revealing a glint of metal. "The bigwigs made their call after the Sheriff's statement. But something's bugging me..."

Avery raised an eyebrow, feigning casual interest. "Do tell."

"You're way too chill for someone staring death in the face," Rex mused. "The org trains 'em good, I'll give 'em that. But I gotta wonder... What's your real game here, Enigma?"

Avery didn't even blink. It was like he'd been expecting this all along. He knew that it will be difficult to fool the Butcher.

Rex fell silent, thrown off by Avery's utter lack of reaction. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. A chill ran down his spine as realization dawned – the man before him wasn't prey.

He was another predator.

"So, what happened to the real Cleaner 8827?" Rex asked, slipping on a pair of gloves like he was prepping for surgery. He widened his stance, ready to pounce or dodge at a moment's notice.

Avery shrugged, keeping his voice casual. "Who knows?" No way was he spilling those beans. The less Rex knew, the better.

Suddenly, Rex exploded into motion. A flurry of needles shot from his sleeves, nearly invisible to the naked eye. Avery's body moved on pure instinct, twisting and ducking. He could smell the sickly-sweet stench of poison. One nick, and it'd be game over.

"Not bad," Rex muttered, a hint of respect in his voice. "Looks like I'll have to up my game."

With a flick of his wrist, Rex produced what looked like souped-up ninja stars. No, not stars – boomerangs. With wicked sharp blades.

The first one screamed through the air. As Avery dodged, Rex launched the second, aiming for where Avery would land. The third followed in a blind spot.

Avery's mind raced. This guy was good. Really good.

By the time the third blade was airborne, the first had already returned to Rex's hand, ready for another round.

Avery moved like a shadow, fluid and unpredictable. The dance of blades stirred a memory – a fighter from the Tang family he'd faced in another lifetime. Same weapon, same deadly grace.

But Avery's body felt clumsy, out of sync. He'd been training hard, but it was nowhere near the level of his past self.

Rex worked the boomerangs like a master puppeteer, guiding them with terrifying precision. He watched Avery intently, waiting for that split-second slip-up.

Something nagged at Rex. Enigma moved like a seasoned pro, but... something felt off. Call it a hunter's instinct.

Then – there! A tiny hesitation in Avery's step.

Rex pounced, a predatory grin spreading across his face. His blades sang through the air, aimed at Avery's weak spots.

"Gotta admit, you're good," Rex called out. "Too good, actually. But your body's not keeping up with your brain. Weird for someone like you, Enigma. Maybe that name fits better than I thought."

His smirk vanished as fast as it appeared. Where he expected to feel blade meet flesh, there was only air. Somehow, impossibly, Avery had parried the strike.

A glint of metal flashed in Avery's hand. He'd drawn his own weapon faster than Rex's eyes could track.

Avery couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the Butcher. The guy had instantly picked up on the disconnect between Avery's skill and his body's limitations. Only a true pro could spot something like that.

Time to stop playing defense. Avery shifted his stance, readying for an all-out assault.

Rex's eyes lit up at the change. "Now we're talking!" he crowed. "Give me a fight to remember before I put you six feet under!"

They clashed in the center of the room, a blur of blades and deadly precision. Rex moved like quicksilver, always a breath ahead of Avery's strikes. His boomerangs became extensions of his body, slicing through the air in dizzying arcs.

Avery's mind raced, calculating trajectories. Even the way the blades returned was a threat, aiming for his exposed back. One wrong move and he'd be diced to ribbons.

Then – an opening! Avery's blade flashed towards Rex's head. The Butcher jerked back, but not quite fast enough. A thin red line appeared on his cheek.

First blood.

Rex's playful grin vanished, replaced by a look of cold fury. Playtime was over.

Avery tightened his grip on his weapon. This was where the real fight began.