Los Santos.
Pushing open the heavy doors of the Agency, Lady surveyed the stripped-bare hall and couldn't help but let out a cold laugh. "Ha. How did I never notice before? Dante's cleaning skills are actually impressive."
The entire lobby was empty, save for an old record player in the corner that had somehow survived the purge.
Sephirot had just finished escorting Patty safely back to her apartment and was stepping through the door carrying an extra-large deluxe pizza and two strawberry sundaes.
As he reached the entrance, he heard Lady muttering discontentedly while staring at the spot where Dante's desk used to be. "Fleeing to dodge his debts is one thing, but not even leaving a note? That old bastard..."
"He'd better pray I don't catch him in some woman's apartment."
Before the words had even fully left her lips, Lady suddenly whipped her head around and locked eyes with Sephirot as he entered.
Pinned by that murderous gaze, Sephirot felt his scalp tingle with tension.
"Don't look at me like that, Lady."
He quickly held up the bags to demonstrate his innocence.
"I swear, Dante was gone the moment I got back. Not only is there nothing left in this place, but I've had to hold my nose and pay off that long list of outstanding bills he left behind."
At this, Sephirot sounded a bit indignant himself. "Who would have thought that even his usual pizza and sundae money was being charged to the Agency's account!"
Hearing this, Lady's expression turned playful. Her gaze fell on the grease-stained box in Sephirot's hand, which was currently radiating the scent of melted cheese. "Oh? You paid off his tabs and yet you can still afford an extra-large pizza and sundaes?"
"It seems someone has come into some money lately. You're looking quite flush."
Sephirot's heart skipped a beat. He gave a dry, forced laugh. "I took on a few commissions. Just some hard-earned pocket change."
"How much?" Lady pressed.
Sephirot immediately sensed trouble.
Back when Dante was around, more than half of his commission fees would be docked by her for various reasons.
Now that Dante had skipped town, was this karmic debt about to fall on his shoulders?
"It really wasn't much..."
—--
A few minutes later.
After a "friendly" conversation, Sephirot looked at the notification on his phone confirming the transfer of one million US dollars. His heart was bleeding.
"Don't pull that long face. Just consider it a gift to your elder."
Lady pocketed the money with a clear conscience and patted him on the shoulder. "I'm not taking your money for nothing. Since you're striking out on your own now, once this business is settled, I'll introduce you to an arms dealer."
"The guy has some wild connections. He can get his hands on top-secret commissions that even the government can't touch."
As she spoke, the front door swung open.
Morrison walked in with a cigar clamped between his teeth. He looked slightly surprised to see the woman standing in the hall.
He gave a small nod of greeting. "Lady? When did you get back?"
Lady leaned back in a chair, wiping down a gun barrel. "A few minutes ago. You two talk business, don't mind me."
Morrison turned to Sephirot and asked, "That Ogre commission in Poho County, how did it go?" Sephirot nodded. "Taken care of."
Morrison blew a smoke ring and asked quietly, "And the sports car I specifically rented for you? How come I didn't see it at the door?"
"..."
Sephirot's expression stiffened, and he fell into silence.
Seeing this guilty look, Morrison seemed to have expected this outcome long ago.
He gave a helpless chuckle. "You and Dante really are cut from the same cloth."
"Since this is our first time working together, I'll deposit the full official commission into your account; we'll call it even on the car."
Hearing this, Sephirot couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration.
Morrison had always been a highly reliable middleman, cleaning up Dante's messes for years without ever unfairly skimming the rewards. He was a true gentleman in the industry.
He leaned forward inconspicuously and muttered under his breath, "I'll pay you back for the car later."
Having said that, he gave a subtle look, signaling the man to keep it down.
If Lady, who was currently cleaning her gun nearby, found out he had spare cash to cover a car, his newly saved vault would likely suffer a massive hemorrhage.
Morrison, having spent years navigating society, immediately read the survival instinct in his eyes and nodded with an understanding smile.
He pulled a new file from his briefcase and handed it over. "As it happens, there's a new job."
"Some supernatural trouble in the city, and the pay is decent. Want it?"
Sephirot took the file, glanced through it, and pushed it back with little interest. "I've got other things to deal with lately. I'll contact you when I'm free."
Morrison didn't push. He tucked the file away, tipped the brim of his hat toward Lady, and turned to leave the Agency.
...
—--
Inside the elevator.
John Constantine lifted his foot and crushed a cigarette butt he had tossed onto the floor.
He looked at the no-smoking sign in the elevator and gave a cold sneer.
*Click.*
The lighter flickered with a flame as he skillfully lit another cigarette for himself.
"Whew..."
Constantine tilted his head back, exhaling a cloud of stale smoke.
He looked into the reflective mirror of the elevator, staring at his own dissipated face.
Since birth, he had been burdened by a curse; his mother died giving birth to him, and his father shifted all the blame onto his head.
When he grew up, his own arrogance led to the tragic deaths of an innocent girl and his close friends, one after another.
After enduring all of this, he chose to end this pathetic life by suicide, only to be resuscitated by doctors.
Since then, he had become a cigarette-addicted bastard.
"Pal, forcing people to breathe in your secondhand smoke is going to keep you out of Heaven when you die."
Constantine suddenly remembered a freak he had met before, someone raised by a demon and a human.
The hand holding his cigarette tightened slightly, and he let out a dry laugh.
*Go to Heaven?*
That smart-mouthed kid had no idea that the gates of Heaven had already slammed shut the moment he committed suicide; there was no need to wait for secondhand smoke to seal his conviction. According to Catholic doctrine, suicide is an unforgivable mortal sin; for any believers who take their own lives, the gates of Heaven shall be closed to them.
"Ding!"
The elevator doors opened.
Constantine suppressed those cluttered emotions.
Now, all he wanted was to banish a few more demons from this godforsaken world to buy himself a ticket to Heaven.
He was met by several men and women with anxious faces, young and old alike, who looked as though they had been waiting here for a long time.
"Where is the child?"
Constantine asked, a cigarette between his lips, his voice slightly raspy.
"Please... please follow me," a haggard mother choked out, hurrying ahead to lead the way.
She pushed open the bedroom door. Though it was midday and the sun was at its peak, the room was extraordinarily cold, like a walk-in freezer.
In the dim light, a girl with her eyes rolled back into her head was buckled tightly to the bed with restraint straps.
Her entire body struggled and convulsed; her face was contorted into a hideous mask as she snapped her jaws, ferociously biting at the air.
Constantine set his cigarette on the corner of the table and walked forward to rip away the curtains, brightening the room considerably.
He pulled a set of eight-in-one Catholic medals from his pocket and began to test them one by one.
This cross-shaped portable ritual tool originated during wartime.
The Church, wanting front-line soldiers to receive the protection of multiple patron saints simultaneously, had specifically fused eight different holy totems together.
After all, different keys open different locks.
When facing demons of different factions, one required the corresponding method to drive them out and destroy them.
When he reached the "Miraculous Medal," the demon-possessed girl on the bed finally had a violent reaction.
The origins of this medal could be traced back to a nineteenth-century Parisian Abbey.
Rumor had it that the design of the holy relic was bestowed upon a nun by Maria herself; it contained a forced grace that could compel hidden demons to reveal their true forms.
Constantine straddled the little girl, pinning her down.
He leaned in, staring into those pupil-less eyes and whispered, "The name's Constantine. John Constantine, you interloping bastard."
The demon possessing the girl's body couldn't understand a word he said. It tilted its head back slightly, a string of bizarre syllables spilling from its mouth: "Sisiksikan ko sila (I will kill them all)."
Constantine let out a cold snort. Without wasting words, he pressed the Miraculous Medal directly against the girl's forehead.
*Sizzle–*
The acrid scent of searing flesh immediately filled the air.
The girl vibrated and convulsed frantically.
A few seconds later, her body gave a violent jolt and went still.
Constantine frowned, watching as the veins beneath the girl's exposed skin bulged and turned black at a speed visible to the naked eye.
He started to lean down to listen for a heartbeat.
Right then.
The skin on the girl's neck suddenly tore open, revealing a gaping maw filled with needle-sharp teeth.
"FUCK!"
Constantine cursed, throwing a punch at the monster while shouting at the top of his lungs,
"Get me a mirror, now!"
The neighbors outside, who had been emboldened enough to peek in and watch the spectacle, were all terrified by this horrific turn of events. They stood frozen in place, paralyzed with shock.
"Hurry up!"
Constantine roared again without looking back.
Just as the hallway descended into chaos, a voice that sounded familiar to him drifted in from outside the door:
"Constantine, how are you still alive?"
(Translated by yourtl.app)