"Est-ce que tu me le promet?"
"Mais voyons, tu parle comme si c'étais la dernière fois que-"
"Oui ou non?"
"...oui. Oui, je le promet."

The alarm clock rang loudly, but, before it could wake everyone in the room, a hand shot out from under the blankets and slapped it quickly, silencing the clock for the evening. A small, masculine groan could suddenly be heard in the darkened bedroom as Richard slowly sat up in the bed, rubbing the temple between his eyes. He barely got any rest, what with his mind banging on about a hundred different things all at once, and his body was aching because of it. The desire to go back to sleep was almost too tempting to resist, but the Spy got up before his body slumped over, and he tried to shake any fatigue out of his system. He couldn't sleep now. Not today.

It was already that time of the year again. It felt like it came sooner and sooner every year.

Richard glanced down at Laura, who was silently sleeping next to him, with a tired eye and a faint smile etched across his lips. She seemed so peaceful and serene, sleeping cozily without a care in the world. God, he envied her right now. The RED Spy silently wished her pleasant dreams before looking over to the bedside table, seeing the moon's light shining on the clock, showing that it was indeed two in the morning. With a small stretch, he began to get himself ready. He didn't want to miss his rendez-vous. He'd feel awful with himself if he missed it.

He looked back towards Laura as he picked up the clean clothes he had stashed earlier that evening. It was funny, really. He had often left a woman's bed in the early hours of the morning...but she was the only one he would return to before she woke up. With a small smirk, he left the bedroom and entered the bathroom, sneaking by Nathan's room as he did so. After turning the lights on and locking the door behind him, Richard stared at his reflection in the mirror. A middle aged and tired looking man with a toned physique wearing a pair of boxer briefs, holding a pile of clothes, stared back at him, the red mask stretched over his face hiding most of his facial features. Slowly, Richard placed his clothes on the bathroom counter and grabbed the bottom of the mask, slowly rolling it up over his face until he could completely remove it. He wore it so often that it always felt like he was peeling off his own skin.

Silently, the Spy placed his mask down on the bathroom counter and looked back up at his face. The man in the mirror gave a soft smile as he saw that age had affected his features a little, but he was still aging quite gracefully. His slick black hair had a few white strands over his ears, but otherwise remained as smooth as ever. A five o'clock shadow was growing over his lower jaw, but it was nothing a straight razor couldn't fix. His piercing green eyes and his rugged smile were still quite present, and he had used both often to convince a few women for coffee over at their place. Finally, he flashed his teeth at the mirror. Yup, still as straight and as white as last time. He was amazed he managed to keep his charisma despite his cutthroat job. Maybe he simply had the respawn machine to thank for that.

Richard sighed once more, before grabbing the clothes on the counter. He had thought of bringing a simple shirt and jeans, but he decided against it. This meeting required a fancy black suit. Slowly, he dressed himself up, adjusting his tie and suit coat, slipping on some old gloves over his hands, rearranging the belt around his dress pants, and tying up his fancy black shoes, before looking himself again in the mirror. Fancy suits always made him look even more stunning. It was why he had insisted on wearing a suit during his work when he was hired by Reliable Excavation and Demolition. Stuffing his work mask into his pocket, he stepped out of the bathroom and down the stairs, towards the front door. He didn't pick up his car keys, preferring to walk to his destination, with the warmth of a cigarette against the cool night breeze.

He let his mind wander as he walked down the streets, taking the fastest route to his destination, with his hands in his pockets. His mind jumped from thought to thought, like an overexcited child wanting to tell their parents about their big day. He thought about his meeting, the person he was going to meet again, how it felt like that last meeting happened only last week, his past, his childhood, his upbringing, all the way up to where he was right now, in that order. He chuckled a little, surprised by how far he has made it in life. If he told his younger self where he'd be in a few years...well, let's just say that his younger self would be a lot less polite than he was now. His thoughts almost made him walk right past his destination, but he caught himself just in time.

Anyone looking at him would find it quite odd that such a well dressed man was about to enter such a seedy looking bar in such a poor looking district. Indeed, it seemed like this bar was built at the beginning of the century and hasn't been fixed up or improved since then. The bricks making up the bar were old and chipped, with the cement between each brick having seen better days. That, of course, was for the bricks that Richard could see that weren't covered in graffitis. The windows looked like they haven't been cleaned at all this year, and the name of the bar, "The Drunken Maiden", was written on an old sign that just barely hung over the door. Definitely not some place someone as refined as Richard would spend his free time...but, then again, he wasn't here just for a drink. He tossed his cigarette butt on the already littered ground and stepped forward.

The Spy pushed the creaky old door, and his nose wrinkled as it was assaulted with the smell of watered down booze and cheap cigarette smoke. The bar was barely lit, only a few hanging lightbulbs stopping the place from being black as pitch. A few punk kids were playing around with the old pool table, while at the bar, the miserable and lonely men who drank at this hour were barely conscious in their stools, with only the occasional sips of their stiff drinks proving they still had a pulse. Behind the bar, an old, moustached and balding man with a build that reminded Richard of the Heavy, was wiping a dirty glass with a dirtier cloth. He seemed like the kind of bartender that had done nothing else with his life but serve drinks behind a counter. He stopped "cleaning" when he noticed the Frenchman stepping towards him, his fancy suit sticking out like a sore thumb in this backdrop of drunken desperation.

"An' what can I get for ya?" the bartender asked, eyeing the suited man with a weary look, using the same cloth he used to clean the glass to wipe the countertop.

"Oh, just something to send me far from this place. Perhaps a light, but powerful whiskey?" Richard spoke, in a simple tone. The expression on the bartender's face made it clear he understood the code words. He gave a small nod and ducked below the counter, pulling out a much cleaner shot glass and filling it with a brown liquor. "On the house, for an old friend." The bartender said, and Richard smiled. That was the code words he wanted to hear as well.

Slowly, Richard's gloved hand reached down for the glass, lifting it up to his nose for a second. It smelled normal, which meant there was no risk of getting poisoned by an enemy. Not that he expected poison in his glass...you know what they say, old habits die hard. Slowly, he tipped the glass into his mouth, but made sure to keep his lips sealed well enough. He didn't want to accidentally swallow the small key hidden in the brown liquid. "Many thanks" said the Spy, discreetly grabbing the key from the cup before putting the empty glass back onto the counter. "May I use your bathroom?"

The bartender simply pointed in the direction of a small hallway in the corner of the room, and Richard gave a nod before walking towards it. Once in that hallway, he looked around to make sure he was alone, before opening the door that said "Staff only". Silently, he crept down the stairs, to the basement. The old wooden stairs were creaky and old, but Richard was able to go down them with minimal noise, until he reached the bottom of the stairs.

The basement looked like any normal bar basement, with large barrels of different alcohols, resources such as planks of oak, nails and paint, and some extra barstools and tables littering the area, making it quite hard for anyone to move around down here. In the corner of the room was a security camera overlooking the entire room, and eagle eyed observers could notice that this security camera seemed more expensive than what this dinky bar could afford. But the security was just there to make sure that one thing in particular wouldn't be touched. Sure, you could probably get a pretty penny for a few of the things down here, but none of them interested the Frenchman in the slightest. Instead, what really interested Richard, and the reason he was down here in the first place, is that, in one of the corners of the room, there lied a small, easy to miss crate, used as a fourth leg for a broken table. And inside that crate was the most expensive thing in this part of the neighborhood. The Spy walked to it, his fancy dress shoes kicking up a bit of dust along the way. After pulling it out from under a small table, Richard pulled the crate lid off and took out...a red toolbox.

At least, that's what it would simply seem to be to the casual observer. But to people who had the key that the Spy was twirling around in his fingers, this "toolbox" would become something different entirely. Slowly, Richard slid the key into a slot on the front of the toolbox, and, after turning it, he took a step back. Slowly, the toolbox revealed its secrets, unfolding itself onto the cold cement floor of the basement, whirring and twirling, pieces locking together and positioning themselves, until, finally, two sensors began to spin faster and faster, forming a platform of red light. Richard smirked to himself. "I should make a mental note to bring a wrench" he says to himself with a chuckle, as he straightened his suit, and stepped onto the working teleporter.

Seconds later, and hundreds of miles away, in a small European village, a well dressed Frenchman slowly stepped out of the basement of a small Catholic church. The early morning sunlight could be seen shinning through the tinted windows that showed the Savior in different moments of his divine life, illuminating the holy building in an almost spiritual glow. The old wooden pews hadn't been changed in a few decades, and most of them were scratched up beyond belief. They were all facing the front, with the pulpit standing tall and proud right next to the door to the basement, and, on it, an old, leather bound Bible was resting there, clearly used but still sturdy. Richard never considered himself as a pious man, but he still did enjoy the aura and feeling of this place. It reminded him of his childhood, and how he would often be dragged here every Sunday to "repent" for his weekly actions. In fact, he smirked to himself as he saw the very same priest that had heard his weekly confessionals, currently kneeled in prayer in front of a dozen lit candles and a large marble statue of Jesus on the cross, at the opposite corner of the building. The religious leader didn't move as Richard stepped towards him.

"Pardonnez-moi, mon Père, car j'ai vraiment péché. Et je ne crois pas que je vais arrêter bientôt." he said to the old priest, who only sighed and slowly turned around to face the Spy. Richard could only grin as he saw this familiar face of his younger days staring back at him. Years ago, this priest, Father Jacob, had a young baby-like face and short blond hair, both of which were the subject of many mockeries. Now, however, the middle aged adult became an elderly man, and his body changed as a result. The smooth face now had the wrinkles of age, and what little hair that was still left on his head became a silvery gray in color. The only real proof that Richard had that this was Father Jacob was those piercing brown eyes, looking at him with an all too familiar stern expression. The same black cloak and white collar was on his body, with a golden cross around his neck. It wasn't the same one that Father Jacob wore when Richard was young. The Spy had stolen that cross years ago and sold it to some pawn shop for a bit of spending money. The priest's expression seemed to be a mixture between joy at seeing a familiar face, and annoyance at being disturbed during his morning prayer.

"Richard. You know ful' wel' that you must never disturb a man of God during his morning prayer" the priest said with a very distinct french accent and a frown on his old face, while still stepping forward to shake the Spy's hand. Richard simply smiled and shrugged as their two hands met and shook. Just another sin to add to the pile. "Practicing on your English, Father Jacob?" He asked, surprised. He had expected a conversation in French, judging by the fact that they were in a small French village and were both frenchmen. That question made the religious man groan audibly and shake his head. "There's so many tourists these days, so much more than there used to be...and they're all staring around, slack jawed, asking all sorts of stupid questions...and mocking me and ze Church in English, thinking I can't understand them...figured I should learn ze language to properly tell them that they can go...uh, se faire foutre." That comment ripped a hard laugh out of Richard. That's what he loved the most about this old priest. Never afraid to speak his mind.

After he had calmed down from his laughter, he looked up at the Priest, who stared back as him, as they allowed the calming silence of the early morning to settle in a bit. The birds chirping outside were the only sounds that Richard could hear in this dusty old church. Slowly, Richard stepped towards a pew, giving an almost sympathetic rub at the the initials he had engraved on the wood with a knife, nearly 35 years ago. Still present...along with the other initials. A small sigh made the Spy look back at Jacob, who had a much more saddened expression on his face. "You're here to see him again, aren't you?" He asks. The only answer that Richard gave back was a smile of his own.

"Richard, you know that I'm always 'appy to see you, but you should stop coming here for him. Please, just go home." The old priest said, stepping forward to put a gentle hand on the Spy's shoulder. Richard, however, simply closed his eyes and shook his head. "A promise is a promise, Father. And I promised him we would meet once every year, at this spot." Seeing that Richard was persistent, Jacob stepped back. "I understand, Richard. You and him...hah, you were inseparable, back then. You could rarely see one of you without ze other. And I remember seeing ze two of you running around like ze children you were, causing a havok wherever you went. You two were ze topic of many anger filled conversations in this old village."

"He's like an older brother to me." Richard said, as he glanced back at his engraved initials on the pew. RB. For Richard Black. And, right beside it, LB. For Laurence Brossard. It had been there, all those years ago, that he had made that fateful promise to his older friend, with the initials being almost like a binding contract. "Well, if you're still determined to go see him, I won't stop you. He's waiting outside." Father Jacob replied with a nod, before making his way back to the statue of Jesus, slowly kneeling in front of it and resuming his morning prayer. Richard knew that the priest would keep him and his friend in those prayers, and made a mental note to try and return the favor whenever he decided to pray again, which might not be for a while. Richard gazed towards the old man one last time before making his way towards the large double doors at the front of the Church.

Stepping outside into the refreshing breeze of the morning air was a feeling that just couldn't be compared. While it was nearing 3 AM in Boston, it was nearing 9 AM in this little town, and it was already bursting with life. The mailman and milkman were doing their rounds, a young kid was walking his dog, and the nearby bakery was airing out their fresh loafs of bread, making the Spy's mouth water just a little. He would gladly stop to eat a bite at some small cafe, but he had other things to do, and eating now would make him have a hard time going back to bed later or eating Laura's breakfast. He took a small sigh, enjoying the morning silence. To think that in just a few short hours, he'll be in the middle of a bloody battlefield, ready to stab people to death...it was almost surreal.

Instead, he focused on his destination, and he walked with a purposeful step down the church steps and onto the sidewalk, going towards the small spot of land behind the church. He had visited this little backyard more often than he could remember, but it always felt strange to do so. As he walked along, passing from the sidewalk to the small walkway found behind the building, his eyes caught a familiar looking face...but not in a good way. Across the street, found on an outside cafe table, a man was sitting there, wearing a black suit similar to what Richard was sporting, who stared at the Spy while sipping on a mug of coffee. He was very tall, easily over six feet in height, and he was clearly middle aged. The top of his head was covered in brown, messy hair that didn't seem to have seen a comb in ages. Bright blue-turquoise eyes were over dark bags, a visible proof that he didn't sleep as much as he should. He looked like the kind of guy that could be a beast of a man if only he worked out a little. The simple sight of him sitting there infuriated Richard, and he had half a mind to storm across the street and demand to know the reason for his presence. Instead, he tried to ignore the man, stepping into the church's backyard for his planned meeting. And, of course, the coffee drinking man placed his money on the table and followed Richard into that backyard.

"Spy." The man called out, walking at a faster pace to catch up with Richard. A tired, annoyed and furious groan escaped the backstabber's lips as he turned and faced the brown haired man. "Ah, Mr Mallet. Pleasant day, isn't it?" He replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But, you know, it's funny. When I signed up to work for RED, I could've sworn - and please, correct me if I'm wrong - I could've sworn that I SPECIFICALLY MENTIONED that, if you wish me to do a job, you could contact me anywhere in the world...EXCEPT. HERE." He said, gritting his teeth as he stared at the other man, who was standing here, his expression unchanging.

"We know, Spy. And trust me, I'm not happy to break this one request." Mr Mallet said, trying to explain himself to a fuming Richard. "But this is a very important mission, requiring the utmost secrecy, that you need to accomplish as soon as possible. It comes straight from the top. Straight from...her."

Richard's expression changed from an angry stare to an angry, but curious stare. What could be this important? He was going to find out soon enough, as, after having spoken, Mr Mallet reached into his suit and pulled out a small folder, which he discreetly handed to the RED Spy. After opening the folder, Richard stared at the mission for a total of five seconds before closing that folder and throwing it on the ground.

"No."
"I'm sorry?"
"I said no, Mr Mallet. I refuse to do this."
"This isn't up for debate, Spy."
"I don't care. Why? What on Earth could RED possibly get out of this?"
"She has Her reasons."
"Well, fuck Her, then. Laura is innocent. She has nothing to with any of this."
"Mr Black, I believe it's your turn to correct me if I'm wrong. I think you agreed that you would do any job we give you when you signed up for our company. Or must I also remind you of all the things that we've done for you? You wouldn't even be here this morning if it wasn't for us. So do what we ask, or not only are you being fired...but you'll go back to that prison. And you won't be coming out of it."
"Soit maudit."

With that French insult, Spy reached down and grabbed the document off of the ground. He looked at his briefing again, and sighed. "Fine. I accept. Now get the fuck out of my face." He said furiously, a request that Mr Mallet had no trouble obeying. The Spy waited until the RED agent left, before turning around and making his way down, still fuming. He didn't want to do this, especially not to Laura...but he had no choice. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before opening his eyes, and smiling as he finally saw his old friend again, waiting for him at the same place that he had left him last year.

"Salut, Laurence." he said, staring down with a sad smile at his friend's tombstone, in the middle of the Church's graveyard. After the introduction, he simply stood there, smiling and watching his friend's grave. As per every year, he had so many things he wish he could tell him...but Laurence was gone. It had been 34 years, but it still felt like yesterday.

After an hour of standing there, silently thinking about all the good times he had had with his "older brother", he rubbed his eyes a little, wiping away the small tears forming at the bottom of his eyes. And, before turning and leaving back for the teleporter in the Church, he whispered the same words of farewell that he had given every year.

"Bonne fête, mon maudit imbécile. On se revoit l'année prochaine."