The Reckoning

Elias Wolfe, a businessman deeply connected to the underground, sat in the corner booth, the low hum of conversation filling the background, mingling with the clink of silverware and glasses. The restaurant was dimly lit, an intimate place with red velvet chairs and dark mahogany walls, offering an air of quiet elegance. His fingers drummed absently on the polished table, eyes darting from the menu to the clock on the wall. The man who had set this meeting had yet to show up.

He was a businessman—a man who thrived in the underworld, who made deals in the shadows and didn't mind getting his hands dirty. But there was one thing he couldn't stand—uncertainty. That's why he'd set up this meeting. He'd heard the rumors, of course. The whispers that Number Nine had retired, gone into hiding. But in this world, the retired don't stay that way for long. And when the monsters crave more, they don't just stay in their cage.

The waiter arrived, holding a notepad in his hand.

"What can I get you, sir?" the waiter asked, his tone courteous but a little too eager. Perhaps he was new.

Elias looked up, his lips curling into a thin smile. "Nothing for now," he replied smoothly, settling back into his seat. "I'm waiting for someone."

The waiter nodded and turned to leave, but then, as if on cue, he paused. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the waiter turned back toward the table and slid into the booth across from Elias, sitting down with a casual ease that didn't belong in a fine restaurant.

Elias' eyes narrowed. He knew instantly something was wrong. The man who had just been a waiter a moment ago now seemed far too composed, his posture too relaxed. It clicked too fast—this wasn't a mistake, and it wasn't a coincidence.

Before Elias could react, the waiter's hand moved under the table, pulling something from beneath his coat. A gun.

Elias froze, his heart skipping a beat. He knew this feeling—the sudden surge of danger, the shift in the air. He didn't panic, though. It was a reflex, a survival instinct honed over the years.

The man across from him, cool and unruffled, set the gun on the table with deliberate slowness, the barrel pointing directly at Elias' chest.

"I started thinking," Number Nine said, his voice calm, low, as though they were discussing the weather. He leaned back slightly, observing Elias with those cold, piercing eyes. "I figured something out. It was you, wasn't it?"

Elias' eyes widened, a momentary flash of disbelief crossing his face before he masked it. He knew what this was about. Number Nine, the infamous enforcer, the one no one could touch, the ghost who slipped through every trap. He'd survived too many assassination attempts, but now it seemed the tables had turned.

"You've been busy, Nine," Elias said, leaning forward, trying to maintain some semblance of control. His hand twitched, instinctively ready to reach for the gun hidden under his jacket. But he stopped himself. The man in front of him wasn't just any ordinary threat.

"Thought you could finish what you started, huh?" Number Nine continued, eyes cold, unblinking. "Set up this meeting in case I survived. Thought you'd finish the job yourself if you got the chance."

Elias, ever the manipulator, smiled, though it was thin and lacking its usual confidence. "You think I'm behind the hit?" His voice was soft, almost amused, as if he couldn't believe Nine had figured it out. "You've got me all wrong."

But Number Nine wasn't fooled. His lips barely twitched upward, his gaze unwavering.

"I know it was you," Number Nine said, his tone like a quiet verdict. "You don't take risks unless you're sure. You had to know someone would survive, but you didn't care. You set the trap. You made sure that if I lived, I'd walk right into your hands."

Elias held his ground, even as the gravity of the situation pressed down on him. "You're paranoid. I'm not the one who—"

Number Nine leaned forward, his voice cutting through Elias' words like a blade. "Cut the crap, Wolfe. You ordered the hit on me. Not just to eliminate me, but because you knew I'd survive. You're not smart enough to think I wouldn't. So you set up a meeting to finish the job. Or maybe you just wanted to watch it all unfold."

Elias' expression faltered for a split second before he regained his composure. The realization hit him like a freight train—this wasn't just a confrontation. This was the reckoning. Number Nine knew. It wasn't just about a hit anymore. It was personal.

But Elias wasn't going to let it go that easily. He couldn't. Not yet. "And if I did?" he said, forcing a casualness he didn't feel. "What are you going to do, Nine? Kill me here? In a restaurant full of witnesses?"

Number Nine didn't flinch. "I'll do whatever it takes. The game's over, Elias. You've been playing with fire, and now it's burning you alive."

A brief silence settled between them, thick with tension. The other diners around them seemed unaware of the looming danger, lost in their own worlds. But Number Nine and Elias knew—this was the end of the line.

For a moment, the world outside the booth seemed to slow. Elias could feel the weight of Number Nine's stare. The gun on the table was a silent promise of death. His heart hammered in his chest, but he didn't let it show. He was used to being the one in control, the one pulling the strings. But now? Now the strings were in Nine's hands.

"You're too smart for your own good," Elias finally said, trying to buy time. His eyes flickered toward the door, calculating the distance, mentally mapping out the escape. "But you're not the only one who plays the long game."

Number Nine's lip curled into a faint smile. "I don't play games, Wolfe. I win them."

Elias shifted in his seat, but Number Nine's eyes never left him. The silence grew deafening, heavy with the knowledge that this conversation was nearing its conclusion.

"I don't give second chances, and you of all people should know that," Number Nine replied, his voice dangerously quiet. He tilted his head. "And worse of it all, you killed my fucking assistant. Not only did you try to kill me, now I've got to find a new one." He sighed dramatically, as if the inconvenience of it all was too much to bear. "You took my eyes."

Elias stiffened, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He tried to keep his composure, but the man before him—this ghost, this legend—was all too real. Number Nine had a reputation that preceded him. Stories of brutality. Of precision. Of things done in the shadows that no one could even fathom.

He let the silence hang for a moment, then began to speak again, his voice taking on a mocking tone as he leaned closer to the table.

"You want to know why I'm called Number Nine?" he asked, his gaze never leaving Elias. "It's not because of some cold-blooded killer nickname. Nope, it's because I killed my older sister when I was nine. Does that surprise you, Elias? Does it shock you?"

Elias' eyes widened, and for just a second, he was taken off guard by the sudden shift in tone. His mind raced, trying to process what he'd just heard, but before he could form a response, Number Nine let out a loud, guttural laugh.

"I'm joking," he said, his voice filled with amusement as he pulled back. "You should see your face. You actually thought I was serious." He shook his head. "No, Elias. The truth is, I never had a sister. I never had a family. I was born into this life. And from the moment I could walk, I knew what I was. A predator."

Elias exhaled, trying to steady his nerves, but his voice wavered when he spoke again. "What do you want from me?"

For a moment, the two men just stared at each other across the table. The air was thick with tension, with unspoken threats. Number Nine didn't seem to be in any rush to end the conversation, taking his time to savor the fear that was slowly creeping into Elias.

"Consider this your warning," Number Nine said finally, standing up and placing his gun back inside his jacket.

Elias' hands clenched into fists, his mind working fast. He knew this wasn't a negotiation. Number Nine was a storm, and no amount of words or deals could stop it. Elias might've been powerful in his own right, but Number Nine wasn't just a man—he was a force of nature. And in this game, Elias had just realized he was outmatched.

As Number Nine turned and walked toward the door, Elias Wolfe sat back in his seat, staring at the empty space where the man had just been. His heart still pounded in his chest, but he couldn't ignore the sinking feeling that he'd made a fatal mistake.

Number Nine turned to leave, his steps slow and deliberate as he made his way toward the door. He had already made his point, and Elias Wolfe was left to stew in the aftermath, trying to steady his breath, trying to regain control. But just as his hand reached the door handle, Number Nine stopped.

He turned back, his gaze locking with Elias's.

"I almost forgot," Number Nine said, his voice cool. "I need to take something from you."

Elias furrowed his brow, a knot forming in his stomach. He stood up slowly, instinctively reaching for the weapon under his jacket. "You can have anything," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Money, influence—whatever you want. I can make it happen."

Number Nine didn't flinch. "I have money." His tone was flat, devoid of any emotion. "I don't need yours."

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. He raised a finger and pointed directly at Elias's face.

"That's what I want."

Elias froze, his mouth dry. He knew the look in Number Nine's eyes—it wasn't a request. It was an order. And he could feel the weight of it.

For a moment, Elias let out a nervous laugh, trying to mask the growing dread. "What are you—"

Number Nine's expression didn't change. His face was as cold as stone, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Give me your eye."

Elias's heart skipped a beat. The chill in Number Nine's voice, the raw demand—it was too real. And for the first time in the conversation, Elias felt the full weight of his mistake.

"No... no," Elias stammered, stepping back, his mind racing. "You can't be serious."

Number Nine's gaze never wavered, and the silence between them thickened, suffocating. The only sound was Elias's own breath, shallow and rapid, as he tried to grasp the reality of the situation.

Number Nine took a step forward.

Elias's stomach churned as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He reached up instinctively to protect his face, his fingers trembling.

"I—I can't…" Elias whispered, his mind fighting against the inevitable. He'd never imagined this. Never thought it would come to this.

Number Nine's eyes gleamed with a detached cruelty. "You took something from me. Now, I'm taking something from you."

There was no room for negotiation. No room for escape.

Elias's breath came in ragged gasps. He reached up with shaking hands, but his fingers wouldn't touch his eye. Not out of defiance, but because he knew he couldn't stop it. He could see it in Number Nine's eyes: the unflinching certainty, the coldness, the emptiness.

For a long moment, there was only silence. And then, with a final, resigned breath, Elias slowly lowered his hand, his eyes locked on Number Nine's.

"Do it," Elias muttered. The words felt like acid on his tongue. "If you're going to do it... just do it."

Number Nine stepped forward, his hand outstretched. Elias didn't flinch. There was no point in resisting.

And as Number Nine gripped his face, Elias Wolfe knew that he would never be the same.

Number Nine stepped closer, his movements smooth and fluid, as if he had all the time in the world. Elias's breath quickened as he saw the glint of something sharp in Number Nine's hand—a simple, ordinary fork.

Before Elias could react, Number Nine drove it into his left eye with a sickening crunch.

The world went white-hot with pain. Elias screamed, a sound born of terror and agony, his hand instinctively reaching for his face, trying to claw the fork out. But Number Nine twisted the utensil, gouging deeper, and Elias's scream turned into a garbled, guttural cry.

It was a cold, brutal punishment, something far worse than anything Elias had imagined. His body jerked with the force of the twisting, his vision blurring as he fought to comprehend the reality of his own suffering.

"Please!" Elias managed to choke out, blood streaming down his face. "You—you can have anything... just—"

The door to the restaurant slammed open.

A pair of security guards rushed in, their weapons drawn, ready to deal with any threat. But by the time they entered, the room was empty. Number Nine had already disappeared into the shadows, vanishing as silently as he had come.

Elias's screams filled the air, but no one could stop it now.