[Z.47N: Mel got the drop, Directive A next.]

When the message signal read as sent, the man let a brief waft of air leave his chest. For now, that was likely the best he could do. He slipped down the open compartment and spilled out into a back alley. It was dark, the streetlight on his right was flickering menacingly and he picked up the pace, darting away from the part of town that gave him the foreboding feeling of despair and loss. He had no way of knowing for certain, but the car had circled his block three times and that was as good a warning as any.

"Damn it. C'mon."

The taxi car he'd called wasn't quite to the street corner yet. The sign read Euclid going one way, and Andromeda going another. The man tapped his foot nervously, drawing the coat tighter around his face and shoulders. There weren't so many people who knew Zayn's place of living and that meant he was already pretty sure who it was. Still, he allowed the dark of night to cloak him and waited on the corner where the driver said they'd be. Eventually he heard the sound of a car approaching and the anxieties in his chest slowed some.

If he could get a cab to the other side of London, he had a contact there which might be able to help him. So the wheels pulling over the concrete were music to him as he allowed a short glimpse up through the windshield. When he recognised the sharp silver colour of the Nissan Altima, his heart dropped so low he could feel the pressure in his stomach.

"Fuck."

The breath left him as final testament when the driver rolled down a window and Zayn spotted the glint of something metal just under the hand at the stranger's hip.

"I'm here to pick up a Zayn McKay?"

The man feigned uncertainty well but Zayn knew better than to believe it. He gulped, staring blankly at the driver and making no sound of confirmation. Perhaps someone would drive down the street and he could at least have a witness.

Crickets. Flickering streetlight. Andromeda and Euclid. Nothing.

"Back seat's cosy enough, there's a water bottle if you're thirsty."

The stranger's hand stroked the metal object atop his thigh to make a point and Zayn pulled the door open, taking a seat in the back. When the door shut behind him, he noted there were no handles on the inside.

Zayn's last thought before the water bottle hit his lips,

"Ahh hell."

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When the man regained consciousness, the first sensation he took note of was the way the rough knapsack bag felt against the scraggly hair of his beard. The second sensation was the ties at his hands, bounding him to the cold metal chair. He kept his breathing slow and made sure not to move too much. Surely there was someone in the room watching him and he figured the longer they thought him to be unconscious, the longer he had to think himself out of the situation.

Soon- too soon, the jig was up and they pulled the bag from over his head. The room was dim enough that his eyes took no time to adjust as they scanned its content. It was completely empty on the side he faced. No furniture, no miscellaneous wall decorations, no other rickety metal chairs. The floor and walls were cement. Zayn was pretty sure it was a basement somewhere, and his heart began to harden in his chest.

"Zayn McKay."

The voice came from behind him. The man figured he could turn to see whoever was speaking if he tried. He didn't. He didn't have to, the voice was a familiar one.

"He got away."

Zayn cringed slightly but kept his lips tight in a line. So that's what this was about. The room smelled of wood shavings, sort of like when you run a pencil sharpener for too long. He hadn't meant to let the boy get away, there were just too many intricate other forces involved that helped him. Too many fail safes and backup plans. The boy was one smart bastard, he'd give him that.

"Not only did you betray him-"

A hard object poked the back of Zayn's neck, a gasp escaped him.

"You failed to do what I asked."

Now Zayn was at a loss. They had paid him to kill the boy, but they used the word betray as though Zayn were the one in the wrong.

"I betrayed him?"

The smooth voice cracked slightly as the low chuckle escaped them. Zayn could feel the goosebumps on his arm rising.

"You told me his location and orchestrated his death."

Zayn furrowed his brows, lips feeling dry.

"You paid me to have him killed?"

The question was weak and flimsy against the accusation, but it was true. Yes, Zayn had helped them to get to the boy. However, they had paid him to do so.

"Why would you pay me to kill him if you didn't want me to?"

To this, the gun pressed harder against the back of his skull. He was sure it was a gun now, by the way they kept pressing it into him. The gravity of the situation hit Zayn all at once. He was most probably going to die. Not only that, he was to be killed in a carpenter's basement where nobody would ever know it happened.

His chest began to ache and he could feel a sob growing in the back of his throat. Not so much over the fear of dying- no. Zayn had been in several deadly situations. He'd narrowly escaped the reaper's grasp on several occasions and never felt much more than relief at doing so. This time was different though. This time there was something he had actually wanted. Something he was trying to live for.

"Yes, I've paid you to kill him on this occasion, but the only reason I hired you in the first place was to help him."

Zayn accepted the madman's explanation with little more protest. It didn't matter what he said now. It didn't matter what he did. The gun was already to his skull and he was going to be killed. Instead he allowed his mind to flee the moment.

He recalled fondly the letter he'd gotten in the mail two days prior. It was from a close friend, regarding his ex wife. Typically he tried not to focus on the woman, being that she had left him and he missed her quite terribly. This letter in particular mentioned her having a child. Not a young one either, a child ten years of age. A daughter, one who shares Zayn's brilliant ginger hair and her mother's pretty green eyes.

When he'd gotten the news, he felt disbelief. Malla surely would've told him. Perhaps she'd found some other ginger to copulate with. Angry as the notion made him, it was far easier to believe than the possibility that she'd kept his child without his knowledge for so terribly long with no word. Still, after the initial shock had left him, he'd been secretly overjoyed. Malla had always wanted a child, and as much as he argued against such a thing, he had wanted it too.

It had been so. They had a child, a girl. Zayn tried to picture the girl in his head as the gun cocked behind him. There had been no picture attached to the letter but he felt as though he could still see her. A tall and skinny thing, bowed at the legs like Malla but a bit softer in the smile. Malla would have trouble chasing after the girl. She'd sigh and lecture the girl, dark brows drawn in that intimidating way Malla had. He missed them. He missed his daughter even though he'd never met her.

The trigger fired and everything went black. Zayn McKay was dead.

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