Late night.
City of Bant.
Western Quarter.
J.I.P.F. #04 Jakon Industrial Production Facility.
-
The night was calm and eerily still.
So few were the stars in the sky that one could scarcely see one's own hand before their very eyes.
It was just as Telith's Golden Gypsy had predicted.
"The night will be as black as ink..."
She had said.
And so, it was.
Bray Esquire was glad for it.
The price of being caught would be death.
Light and noise made him nervous; that's why he had made the conscious decision to work only after nightfall, and only on the darkest of those nights.
He loved his job.
It paid him well.
He got to meet the boldest, most interesting folk.
Well... Before he killed them, that is.
He also got to sleep all day.
What more could a Freelanced Saboteur like himself ask for?
Bray stood from the crouched position that he had been in for the past hour, and silently checked his gear from behind the thick hedge under which he had chosen to make his final approach.
He had counted and recounted the guards as they passed him by, fully unaware of his presence and the immense danger that had sat like a statue mere yards from the trodden trail.
Bray was a well-traveled man.
The Guild had seen to that with their constant list of targets.
So he was fully accustomed to being outdoors in nearly any type of weather.
It seemed more now than ever that no amount of cold, heat, rain, nor snow really bothered him.
As long as it didn't make his job more complicated than it had to be, he hadn't encountered a weather event that would turn him off to a job.
The weather this night was perfect.
The air was thick with the sweet and sour smell of pine and freshly greased gears from the lush forest and the great factory that loomed before him.
The wind was warm, yet nearly nonexistent, adding to the silence of the night.
And the sun had been down for a handful of hours, leaving behind a nice residual warmth that seemed to emanate from the earth itself.
It was a great night to set a series of highly destructive traps.
The skilled Saboteur stepped lightly as he removed himself from his concealment.
His mood was made better by the weather's blessing.
He would have to get across the trail and into the low bushes alongside the factory walls before the next patrol came by.
In all, there were 20 pairs of two.
They passed beneath the target's window every five minutes, and Bray estimated that it would take him at least half those minutes to cross the 15-yard expanse of loose gravel between his current location and the northern wall of the formidable structure if he were to move at a pace that was soundless.
He wasn't a fan of using his Aether when he didn't have to, and he wasn't going to waste any on magically padding his footsteps.
It was a challenge that he had no option but to accept, for his coin purse was getting lighter and lighter between missions, and he would need every ounce of his Aether for what was to come.
It seemed as though this particular target had a potential payoff that he simply couldn't turn down.
If he pulled this off, he could retire at 25.
That was currently his plan.
That was almost ALL of the plan he had...
Alas, even the most well-conceived plans can run into unforeseen snags, and as you may have guessed, Bray was about to encounter his first of many.
He probably should have conceived a bit more...
As the fifth patrol strolled by, he realized, a few moments too late, to his dismay, and just as he was about halfway across the open path, that the sixth pair of soldiers was approaching slightly ahead of schedule.
Like, just under two minutes ahead of schedule.
The part of him that hated randomness was deeply displeased...
On the contrary, the other part, who simply relished in a good bit of violence, was very, very pleased.
He had but a handful of seconds to act.
His right hand went swiftly to one of the dozen tiny pouches that lined the three belts that hung at his waist.
From among the dozens of pockets, he produced a pair of miniature glass vials so larger than his thumb.
Inside the enchanted containment units was a highly corrosive acid that was so volatile that it would consume nearly anything it touched within seconds of contact.
The Golden Gypsy had promised him no less, and her advice had been quite right up until this point.
With only a handful of the extraordinarily hazardous things to work with, he would have to be careful not to be wasteful.
The second pair of soldiers made their approach from seemingly out of nowhere, leaving the man little choice but to put the woman's words and lethality to the test.
The first of the pair spotted him as the moon's light beamed from behind the clouds that had once held them in check, casting the crouching man into full view.
Unfortunately, the startled soldiers' response time was not nearly as fast as this situation had called for it to be, and that would cost both him and his partner their lives in a short time.
Bray snapped into action, his hands meeting for a split second behind his back before both shot forward faster than either of the stunned soldiers could perceive.
The vials flew through the air in unison, one launched from each of the highly trained killers' hands.
The glass containers were shaped to a point and made thus for throwing in just this way.
Neither man was quick enough, and although the first had raised his shield in an attempt to halt the missile, his efforts had simply not been made with enough haste.
Both vials slammed into the unprotected faces of the pair of men in unison, the thin glass shattering on impact with as little noise generated as was possible without the usage of magic, which would have offset the properties of the volatile liquid.
The glowing orange acid went to work immediately, searing and melting shut the eyes and mouths of both of Bray's unfortunate targets before either of them could do as much as whimper a scream of alarm.
A moment later, their headless bodies slumped to the ground with a soft pair of plops, the rest of their corpses quickly succumbing to the extremely corrosive effects of the concoction. The acid ate away at anything that wasn't organic, leaving behind only what was crafted by hand.
"Well, shit..."
Bray said to himself as he glanced at the eight other vials tucked away on his person.
He would be well careful not to bump into anything too hard...
He carefully gathered the men's clothing, weapons, and shields, and quietly made his way back to stash them behind the hedges from which he had come.
He had used a bit too much time on that encounter, and the next patrol would be about soon...
He crouched low and hurried along across the path towards the barred windows of the J.I.P.F. (Jakon Industrial Production Facility); the acid was so good at what it did that not even a drop of blood stained the ground before him in the pale moonlight.
"Poor bastards... Never pays to be early in this field."
He whispered to no one in particular as he thought aloud.
He was almost in.
His real dirty work was about to begin.
This would be the real fun part.