A biting wind funnelled down the alley swirling the powdery snow around Hanan’s feet as he walked past the cheery gathering crowds on their way to morning sacrament. Moving quickly towards the industrial district, he unbuttoned his coat and loosened his scarf, pulling it from around his neck, and then carefully tucked it into his pocket.
Hanan didn’t mind the cold. He found it rather invigorating, especially before a job like this. As his boots crunched over the snow, he reached under his jacket to pull the dagger from his belt. Then stepping onto the stone floor through the wide entrance of the mill, he began to twirl the blade in his hand, passing it deftly through his fingers.
He had been more than tolerant this time, even extending the deadline twice. But now, enough was enough. It’s time to pay up, he thought as he went down one murky corridor, and then turned up another. Crossing a rickety platform before descending several creaking steps, Hanan knew exactly where he was going.
“Mm… wealth and power,” he mused sarcastically, as he breathed in the thick musty smell of the place. A blend of acrid and subtle fumes in the stale air assaulted his senses as he neared his destination. Money and power he had, plenty. It was the principle of the matter now. No one shirked on Hanan Falquor ...and lived to tell the tale. Walking purposely through the empty building, whirling and tossing the blade in his hand without error, he moved swiftly past the droning machinery, its continuous thud resounding through the airy halls like giant footfalls. Orders followed, good, he noted. …enough to drown out the noise. “But did they get the rest right?” he muttered, tossing the dagger high and then catching it effortlessly by the handle in a firm clasp.
The sound of a hoarse sputtering cough suddenly echoed down the hall from a nearby room, catching Hanan’s attention. “…and so they did,” he murmured, answering his own question. With a wide smirk spread across his lips, he slowed his pace and stepped inside. There in the dim light, sat a man with his back towards him tied to a chair.
Watching as the captive’s body stiffened and pulled more rigidly upright upon hearing him enter, Hanan resumed his intimidating knife play, and began to stroll casually towards him. “I’ve come to collect,” he said, his voice strong and clear, filling the small room. Then adding more elaborate spins and flips to his intricate finger passes, keeping the blade perfectly balanced at all times, Hanan came to a stop. He turned to face the bound man, fixing him in a hard stare.
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