Spys

The bitter tang of coffee clung to Zale's tongue as he stared across the table at Jared. The disbelief in his friend's eyes was almost amusing if the whole situation wasn't so bleak.

"So," Zale started, his voice low but steady, "you want to know what happened? Fine. I'll tell you. But I need you to listen and not interrupt. It's going to sound insane, but I need you to believe me."

Jared's mouth opened, ready to spill some snarky comment, but the serious look in Zale's eyes silenced him. His gaze hardened, hands resting tensely on the table. "Alright, man. Hit me with it."

Zale took a breath and began recounting the events of that night. The betrayal. The attack. The feeling of his own life slipping away, drowning in pain and darkness. How his own body had been shattered, left to rot in a place where no one would ever think to look.

He spoke of the dark, empty space he had fallen into—an abyss where only his thoughts existed. The feeling of utter hopelessness mixed with rage, a longing for vengeance that burned so brightly it hurt. Then, the encounter with that ball of light. The message it left him: "The Sin of Sloth." How it had healed him, granted him power, and pulled him back from the brink of death.

Jared's expression shifted from confusion to outright horror as the story continued. His jaw clenched, eyes wide as Zale explained how he had returned with newfound strength, his body repaired and enhanced. Yet the weakness, the exhaustion, still clung to him like chains. The details of his recovery and the twisted experimentation with the creatures he had encountered were shared, though Zale kept the most gruesome aspects to himself.

By the time he finished, Jared's knuckles had turned white from gripping his coffee mug too tightly. His eyes bore into Zale's with a mixture of anger and shock. "So… you're telling me… they tried to kill you? The company?"

"Yes."

"And they left you for dead. And instead of dying, you came back with powers like some… some messed-up experiment gone right?"

"I guess you could put it that way," Zale said, his voice flat. "The important thing is, I'm alive. And I'm going to make sure they pay for what they did."

Jared's lips twitched. "Shit, man. This is… this is some crazy horror movie stuff. And the company just… threw you away like trash?"

Zale's gaze sharpened. "Like trash. They planned it all. And they're not going to get away with it."

Jared stared down at his trembling hands, his breathing shallow. "How are you still so calm? How can you just sit here like nothing's happened?"

"Because I'm planning. Because anger alone isn't going to get me the revenge I want."

Jared looked up, eyes glinting with a dark determination. "And you're not going to do it alone."

"What?"

"You heard me," Jared said, his tone fierce. "These bastards are throwing some kind of celebration party about your death, right? Like some kind of sick joke? Fine. Let's make it a night to remember."

"What are you saying?" Zale asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm saying we go to that party. They won't recognize you if we disguise ourselves. We get in, find the bastards responsible, and we make them pay. But if we want to send a message… we can't just beat them up. We need something stronger."

Zale's expression turned icy. "Finish them."

"Exactly... but you didn't need to sound so stupid," Jared said, his smile bitter.

" Ok, okay, something quick, clean. Not just for the manager, but for every single one of those corrupt assholes who think they can walk all over people like us."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The darkness of their conversation felt out of place in the warm, bustling café, but neither of them cared.

"Alright," Zale said. "Let's do it."

They spent the next few hours hammering out their plan. Jared knew enough about the company's operations to figure out which catering service was being used for the event. It wasn't difficult to get their hands on uniforms for the waitstaff. A few calls, some forged credentials, and a lot of preparation were all it took.

Days later, the night of the party arrived.

Zale and Jared moved through the back entrance of the high-end hotel where the event was being held. Their waitstaff uniforms were clean, professional, and perfectly inconspicuous. The trays they carried held champagne glasses, hors d'oeuvres, and a vial of clear, deadly liquid carefully hidden in Zale's sleeve.

"Remember the plan," Jared muttered as they moved through the opulent hall. "Get close to the VIP tables, slip the poison into the drinks, and get out before anyone realizes what's happening."

Zale nodded, his expression blank and cold. "I remember."

The party was in full swing. Music played softly over the expensive sound system, mingling with the idle chatter of executives and investors toasting to the company's "progress." The arrogance and self-satisfaction in their voices made Zale's blood boil.

As they moved through the crowd, Zale's eyes settled on the VIP table at the center of the room. The manager sat there, laughing and drinking like he didn't have a care in the world. Beside him, other high-ranking members of the company raised their glasses in celebration.

None of them even looked at the waitstaff bustling around them. Why would they? To them, Zale and Jared were nothing more than ghosts.

"This is it," Jared whispered as they approached the table. "You ready?"

"More than ready," Zale replied, his voice cold as steel.

Moving with calculated precision, Zale approached the table and subtly uncorked the vial, letting the poison drip into each glass as he placed them in front of the executives. Jared did the same on the opposite end, his face a mask of professional indifference.

Once their task was complete, they withdrew to the corner of the room, waiting for the poison to take effect.

It didn't take long. One by one, the executives' faces twisted with pain, their bodies seizing as the toxin coursed through their veins. Panic erupted among the guests as people began collapsing to the floor, their lives snuffed out in mere seconds.

The manager's eyes bulged as he choked on his own breath, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. But Zale's gaze wasn't on him. It was fixed on the man standing behind the table—the CEO.

Unlike the others, he didn't drink. His eyes narrowed as he took in the chaos, his expression turning to fury and something else. Calculation.

He turned on his heel and fled the hall, leaving his dying associates behind.

"Damn it!" Jared hissed. "He got away!"

"Let him," Zale said, his voice low and dangerous. "He won't escape forever. Tonight was just the beginning."

Jared's eyes met his, the fire of vengeance burning just as hot. "Then let's make sure the rest of them pay, too."

And Zale could not agree more.