Waking up in an unknown place, he has no recollection of being here. Daimon's vision slowly adjusts to the darkness around him. The smell of stale air and old leather invades his nostrils. He lets out a low groan, his body aching from whatever rough handling he endured after passing out.
As his senses become clearer, he realizes he's lying on a narrow, creaky bed in a dimly lit room. His head throbs painfully, and his mouth feels dry as sandpaper.
Sitting upright with a grimace, he rubs his temples, trying to soothe the pounding in his skull. Glimpses of the previous night trickle back—the adrenaline-fueled fight, the electrifying dance with his victim.
Daimon hadn't forgotten about how he lost to Esper, whom he himself preyed upon; his pride is bruised by the humiliating defeat under the hands of that weakling. Grunting shamefully at this before sighing heavy, contemplating the result that led him here and wondering about what his unknown savior wanted from him in the first place.
Taking a good look around his dimly lit abandoned bedroom, resembling a great tomb in appearance, its air is thick with the scent of decay and neglect. Faded, peeling wallpaper clung to the cracked walls; once-vibrant hues are now dulled to a desaturated gray.
The sagging, metal-framed bed creaked beneath Daimon's weight, springs poking through the stained mattress like accusing fingers. Shadows danced along the ceiling, cast by the lone, flickering bulb dangling precariously from the rotted fixture, casting an eerie glow over the barren room.
Moth-eaten curtains hung limply at the windows, translucent with age, allowing slivers of moonlight to pierce the gloom.
A tattered rug, worn smooth by time and foot traffic, covered the linoleum floor, a faint pattern barely discernible beneath the dirt and debris.
In the corner, a rusted, coal-burning stove stood cold and lifeless, its grates coated in a layer of soot. The entire space reeked of abandonment, neglect, and despair, reflecting the reflecting the crumbling state of the world outside.
As his gaze wanders over the decrepit room, his thoughts inevitably drift to the Esper who had bested him. Was he enjoying his victory right now? Or had his humiliation brought him pleasure? These questions gnawed at Daimon, fueling his resolve to find and defeat his nemesis once more.
But first, he needed to regain his strength and uncover the identity of his mysterious benefactor and their true intentions. With this in mind, he was ready to get out of bed until he heard the door opening by itself before someone emerged from the outside.
Switching his attention completely, he watches a familiar figure enter the room, wearing a large, hooded coat that conceals most of his features, the only thing visible being his piercing eyes. At first, the assassin didn't recognize this person until the man began to speak in a disappointing tone of voice.
"You failed." His words, sharp as knives, cut through the musty air, each syllable laced with contempt. It was no other than Mason, his contractor, who had sent Daimon to assist their target on behalf of their disbanding group.
Smirking slightly at the sight of this miserable excuse of man standing before him, his eyes gleaming with mocking curiosity, "Am I wrong or do you seem to be enjoying the discomfort of your current situation quite a lot?" taunting remark slipped out of his lips as if reading the mind of this defeated man, knowing how much he enjoys pain and humiliation in defeating his foes.
"Does it bring pleasure for you to be in a position of weakness, hmm?" Daimon enjoyed his moments of dominance too much to deny it; after all, suffering only made him stronger, smarter, and hungrier.
However, with Mason looming over him, those excuses were gone, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in a way he detested as he took over his hood, revealing the face of Mason: "You have a lot of words when we heard your failure directly from the horse's mouth."
Anger fueled his words, not at all happy about their revenge mission, "especially coming from someone who is nearly covered with bandages over their body," motioning towards the assassin's defeated form with a disappointed look, clearly unamused at how much he overestimated this person's capabilities.
Dropping back down on his bed, Daimon understood the defeat of this mission. "I didn't expect him to be a powerful Esper," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, frustration evident in his posture. "If it weren't for my reflexes, I would've been dead by now." Remembering the fight with Danny was a stinging reminder of how his wounds became constant reminders of his failure.
"Those strange constructs of his... they nearly overwhelmed me." Flashes of random events attacking him from unexpected angles, squeezing him relentlessly, until he was barely able to hold on, struggling just to stay alive in that desperate battle is a sight to remember.
Crossing his arms, Mason leaning back against the wall, giving a begrudging nod, "but you failed nonetheless," reminding their assassin of the harsh reality, "so, here we are, discussing your little misstep," a cool, detached tone dripped from his words, conveying a deep disappointment.
"Do you have any explanations or justifications for this pathetic performance?" I wanted to hear every excuse and reason this broken man could possibly muster, ready to laugh in his face or crush his spirit, whichever came first.
Mason had completely trusted this assassin for his mission, betting hundreds of folds they would get their revenge without much trouble. Now that their expectations have been drowned out by how it was concluded in the aftermath of the fight between them, he has grown to regret even hiring this person, let alone saving him.
"I'm waiting." Deep down in his heart, he wants to kill Mason for this absolute failure. But knowing well that he wouldn't be able to do such a task due to how dangerous this person is, he simply chose to let this slide for now.
"Then why save me?" Amusement rang clear in Daimon's voice as he spoke, his fingers curling into the frayed sheets and a smirk playing on his lips. "I can tell how much you want me dead for not living up to my reputation as Esper Killer, but I could confess that I actually enjoy seeing you flustered," a gloating remark slipped out, entertained by the notion of how displeased Mason is with him.
"You wanted to use me, exploit my abilities to wipe the slate clean, and I know you very well," grinning from ear to ear, "because of that, you gave me a second chance in life, and I truly appreciate it. Now, lets negotiate our terms."
Straightening his posture, a cold glint appeared in Mason's eye. "You dare to negotiate with me?" Mockery dripped from his tone, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "After failing so miserably? You have no leverage here, Daimon." The mere audacity of the assassin's request seemed to infuriate him further. "You should be grateful that I saved your worthless life, considering the circumstances of your failure," he continued, his voice taking on a sinister edge from how everything went by.
But what the man didn't expect was when Daimon said this: "I want to have a brain replacement," he demanded without looking away from him, his eyes gleaming with cold determination, "an artificial intelligence created by your finest scientists that could enhance my already formidable skills, abilities, and tactical thinking, basically making me an unstoppable killing machine," calculating a proposal that not only surprised his contractor but also motivated Mason to take this decision into account.
Stepping away from the wall, he quickly turned and looked straight at the purple-haired man laying down comfortably on his bed. "You want Infinitum?" An astonished exclamation burst out from his own lips, a look of surprise clearly painted all over his face. "Are you crazy? Don't you realize how many resources it will take for that to occur, along with the huge risk involved?"
Urgent caution was thick in his tone, a mix of disbelief and concern. "My organization has been disbanded, yes, but we are still holding some of the goods for our future retirements. To think we would waste all of that on one failed assassin is beyond absurd."
A dry chuckle emanated from the assassin's lips, amused by the unexpected reaction of his contractor: "Oh, come now, don't act coy with me." A taunting remark poured out of his mouth like venom: "You're not curious about the prospect of having an enhanced killing machine on your side, aren't you?"
Allowing a sly grin to spread across his face as he continues, "after all, what good is an assassin if they cannot have the proper tools to defeat such a monstrous Esper?" Pride radiated from his words, knowing full well the impact of his proposal.
As the assassin spoke, Mason's expression remained inscrutable, a battle of wits unfolding between them. After a long moment, the contractor went over to get a lone chair before placing it at the side of Daimon's bed before sitting down and asking.
"How can we be sure you will get the job done this time? I could simply get another hitman to do it cheaper," he said, throwing the idea of expendable assassins into the conversation like a throwaway comment, yet not entirely unfounded as a whole.
Taking a short glance at Mason, Daimon suddenly smirked before returning back to facing towards the ceiling. "Well, you see, I would give myself a guarantee, so to speak," he explained casually, almost bored by the prospect of his contract's skepticism.
"Just think, because I failed once, I will fail again? Don't you realize how many Espers I killed before I became the way I am?" The assassin oushed a breathy chuckle, reminiscing about the past glory days, the thrill of the hunt, and the satisfaction of his victims' final moments. "I can assure you, it won't happen again," a declaration laced with confidence bordering on arrogance.
"Fine." Giving up his resistance to the proposal, Mason finally yielded, though the grim set of his jaw betrayed his internal struggle. "You'll get the Infinitum," agreement spurted out from him abruptly. "But understand this, Daimon," his voice took on a threatening edge.
"If you fail me again, there will be no second chances." His eyes bore into the assassin's form with deadly seriousness. "I will personally send you back to the hole you were rescued from; mark my words," he declared ominously, the threat hanging heavy in the air between them.
"Second chances? My dear contractor, you know how invested I am in killing this Esper!"
Eyes narrowed dangerously, he said, "What do you mean?" Mason feels something odd stirring within him—an itch at the base of his spine that he hasn't felt from this conversation.
The assassin's relaxed demeanor hadn't escaped him, nor the subtle glint of amusement in those eyes. "What are you trying to say here?" Cautious like a slithering snake, he wants to understand the meaning behind Daimon's words.
Turning to face him, Daimon's expression wasn't full of pain or terror but unyielding arrogance and excitement. "I will hunt down Danny and those who associate with him until the last breath draws from my corpse," a grin crept on his lips as he spoke.
"But," pausing to emphasize his point, "once I successfully kill him, let me keep his head for trophy; those are my terms for sacrificing my entire life for this mission," a proposition so ruthless, so dedicated, so insane, it sent down shivers to anyone's spine from how determined his in killing that Esper.
Hearing this, Mason was lost for words. Killing not just one target but also all who associate with him is beyond brutal and obsessive; the level of dedication is commendable yet terrifying, like watching a cornered animal plot its revenge with singular focus.
In a harsh, predatory smile, he responded back with, "you want his head as a trophy? Once you finish the job and show his corpse to me, then I will reconsider it." Hope filled his voice from hearing such a promise to waste their entire lives for someone like this.
"And hunting down anyone who knows Danny? This brings a smile to my face." The thought of watching that young man experience the same things Mason and his members of the organization had to die from brought him happiness.
"How will you do that?" Curiosity pushed him to ask about the assassin's plan, not out of revenge but wanting to know how someone like Daimon could find all of Danny's friends, allies, and loved ones when people are entirely scattered throughout the wasteland.
Instead, Daimon gave further information for this nearly impossible task: "during my little visit before my untimely defeat, I took a glance at where he came out, and to my surprise, the warehouse where he was staying is full of people!"
Jolt of recognition from mention of the place. "His surrounded by survivors," chuckling darkly, "makes him easier to track down than I thought." That laughter was both sinister and full of excitement, his mind already planning his attack on this seemingly harmless gathering of people.
"So who are you going to kill first? Him or them?"
"Both."
Mason leaned back on his chair, clearly unamused by this once more. "Both? How can you kill two birds with one stone?" He couldn't hide his incredulity at the sheer audacity of Daimon's plan: "Are you even capable of taking on an entire community by yourself?" His voice was laced with mocking disbelief, "because from where I'm sitting, you look like a man barely holding together from his recent injuries," finding it such a sucky and wasteful look after hearing this assassin's answer.
However, Daimon stated something else that had completely caught Mason off guard, "its simple plan, I will have my little dance with Danny while a horde of Renegades attacks their little community," the assassin shrugged casually, "making them priority targets is much simpler than focusing on one guy alone."
Pausing a bit to let his words sink in to the contractor, he then added, "plus, watching his friends die right before his eyes will break him if he manages to defeat me, of course," revealing his master plan for total annihilation of his target's innocence.
Caressing his own chin in deep thought, Mason had lost for words from hearing this plan of his. "That... that doesn't sound so bad," he said, nodding his head. "Though, how exactly can you lure those machines to the community without getting attacked first?"
Merely starting a conversation with one of those robots will result in death because of how hostile they are to humans. The mere idea of it sounds almost suicidal. "You must be this crazy if it will work out for you," chuckling obliviously at the mere idea of getting those freaks to be part of this outrageous plan.
"Oh, I have my ways."
