The cold rush of night air hit his face as he slid into the back of the Benz. His eyes adjusted to the interior's dim light, the faint scent of leather and expensive cologne clinging to the seats. Molly was behind the wheel, her eyes glinting in the rearview mirror as she flicked the ignition. She knew better than to ask questions when he returned in this state. She simply nodded, a quiet acknowledgment of his presence. She called him Mr. Nine—always had. She owed him more than she'd ever admit. After all, he was the one who had plucked her out of the gutter, given her a new path. He never asked about her past, only about her loyalty, and she'd given it to him without hesitation.
Number Nine stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur into streaks of yellow as they passed. Molly's voice broke through the haze.
"Mr. Nine, someone has recently been asking to book your service."
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his expression neutral. "Who?"
"Elias Wolfe," Molly replied, her tone clipped but calm. "He wants you to fix a broken pipe."
Number Nine's brow furrowed for a moment, and then he smirked darkly. "A broken pipe, huh? That's the kind of call I get these days?"
She didn't reply, keeping her eyes on the road as she maneuvered through the late-night traffic. The streets were empty, save for the occasional car speeding by or the occasional figure huddled in the shadows—another ghost in this city of misfits.
"Alright," he said after a moment of silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "Schedule a meeting. Let's see what this 'broken pipe' is about."
Molly gave a brief nod, taking out her phone to start the process. As she did, Number Nine let his mind wander, his thoughts drifting back to the city.
"Consider it done, Mr. Nine," Molly said, breaking his thoughts. She didn't look at him, but he could hear the quiet sense of purpose in her voice. It was something she'd learned from him over the years. "I'll set it up for tomorrow night."
Number Nine nodded once, a gesture that was both dismissive and final.
The dim glow of a streetlamp cast shadows on the cracked pavement as Number Nine stepped out of the Benz. The air smelled of rain, mingling with the scent of oil and city grime. The warehouse stood in front of him, looming like a forgotten relic from another time. Molly stayed behind, her hands steady on the wheel, ready to take off at a moment's notice.
Number Nine pulled his coat tighter around himself as he approached the building. The faint echo of dripping water inside reached his ears. A fitting sound, he thought, for a meeting about a broken pipe.
He pushed open the heavy door, the creak reverberating through the empty space. A figure waited in the shadows, his silhouette outlined by the faint light filtering through a broken window.
"Mr. Nine," the man said, stepping forward. "I'm glad you came."