Phase 3

She slipped two long, serrated daggers into her belt and pulled a black trenchcoat over a tight black top which hugged her small, malnourished form suffocatingly. The cold darkness about her eyes was in stark contrast with her pale skin, her newly-shaved head shining in the pale moonlight glancing through the holes in the tarpaulin which covered the window frame.

She glanced briefly at the small pack on the chair, but ruled out taking it. It was only a meeting, and she'd have her knives. And -

"Morgolloth," She murmured. A dark shape on the mattress behind her stirred sluggishly, and a face appeared from beneath the blankets. "Ven conmigo. They aren't local."

The male grunted, but climbed up from the floor and began, clumsily, to pull on clothes. His own were just as black as hers, but sported logos from a bygone era. They looked well-loved, fitting neither their owner nor the Visith image, but comfortable. Besides, nobody would see them beneath his trenchcoat.

She sighed slightly as he almost fell pulling on his boots as she laced her own thigh-high boots from a crouching position, before pulling them tightly, wincing slightly as they gripped soft flesh. Morgolloth stashed his blades and pulled on his own trenchcoat, flicking out his dark shoulder-length hair as he did. He tried to flatten the unruly uppermost hairs futilely, until the female pulled a brush from somewhere and did it for him, savagely.

"Gracias," He looked at her straight on. "No pack, Kirsev?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to scare them. This job will help us. If it turns nasty Shelob's promised us a pack of Alephs will be outside. But ..."

Morgolloth nodded. They had the knives, four of them in all, so unless the Outsiders had guns there wouldn't be much left for the kids to finish off anyway.

The room stank of dust and sex, and Morgolloth considered untacking the scrap of tarpaulin across the window. The day had been unseasonably warm for autumnal Catalonia, so the long night would be hot too. If the smell was bad now, it'd be worse when they came back, tenfold. He walked across to the pane and undid a tack or two, but Kirsev shook her head again.

"Leave it," she said, slowly. "We're late."

Seconds later, the pair walked out of the front door of the apartment. Kirsev took the key from a pocket and locked it. She turned away and Morgolloth made an abrupt laughing sound somewhere in his throat, remembering when they'd found the apartment. It hadn't been the first empty one in the building, but Morgolloth hadn't needed to kick in the door. When he'd pushed it open, the stench of death and decay had overpowered even them, two Visith assassins. Within minutes they'd found the body of the owner twisted in agony and slumped against a wall. Zero Day had passed eighteen months before that day, and putrefaction had set in and done its worst on her and her three cats. Only the cockroaches remained, but Kirsev didn't mind them, so they had taken it. There was even a key.

The pair of them walked down the stairs. They were on the eight floor, and it took them several minutes to make it all the way to the bottom. Morgolloth was hungry but didn't mention it; he didn't expect Kirsev would care, and even if she did, there was naught as could be done about it. He'd ask Shelob when they made it to the rendezvous.

They'd reached the lobby. Morgolloth saluted to the skull of the concierge that Kirsev had placed on the counter and she laughed slightly. He grinned, and pushed open the door, letting in the night air. Kirsev stepped out into the dark street with Morgolloth following, letting the door to the apartment block close softly behind him.