The Heist

AN: Hey guys, so I revamped the entire 2 chapters that I had up previously. There seemed to be some interest in me continuing this story, so I spent the entire month writing an entire outline for the story. In order for me to get to where I want it to go, however, I had to make some adjustments to the chapters I already wrote.

The main change is that I broke up the chapters into more reasonable lengths. Those 20-paged chapters were just pushing in too much.

Main changes for chapter 1:

• cut out the last scene where Ling and Lan Fan introduce themselves and talk about the failed operation

Operation Greed did not work. That should have been unsettling enough in itself, but with the girl bleeding to death in his arms, that was that last thing he needed to worry about. For now. He'd get another chance in the future... if he lived through this. With the smell of blood and refuse assaulting his nose, Ling rushed through the labyrinth of the underground sewers; his pursuers had been at him for almost an hour now, persistent even in this cold. The last gunshot he'd heard was only several minutes behind them, not far enough that he could stop.

Ling didn't see the muck, and only felt his weight give in as his left foot skidded over the paved walkway of the sewers. The next thing he knew, he and the girl were spitting out foul-tasting fluid, as they flailed to get back up on the walkway from the sluggish current of the sewage water.

Damn, damn, damn.

He grabbed her around her torso and almost tossed her up like a ragdoll onto the pavement. The gash where her left arm should have been was gaping open, the cloth he had tied hastily around it now swimming away with the rest of the filth down the sewer.

Damn it. If that wound hadn't been infected before, it definitely would be now.

Ling climbed to follow her, then picked her up from the ground where she writhed in silent agony. He ran to the nearest corner he could find, where he settled her down. Her face was pasty, and he could no longer tell if the wetness damping her skin was sweat or sewage. Quickly, he ripped away her shirt down the left shoulder; the stump was an ugly mess of blood and severed flesh and bone, and there were some slight burns evident on her skin. He took off his mask, his coat, then his shirt. He hadn't sunk low enough in the sewer water for the top part of his clothes to be tainted, and though far from the sanitary bandage this girl needed, it was the best he could do, the best he had. He covered the wound first with his mask, then wrapped his shirt around the stump, as tightly as he could, wincing against her voiceless scream. When he'd tied the knot, he settled her on his lap, as he crouched in the corner, trying to be as small as possible. His breathing and the slush of the water were the only sounds present, and Ling strained his ear to hear any signs of pursuit.

After several tense moments, he slumped down against the wall, clutching the girl to him. It was cold. He was shirtless and tired, scared and more than a little disappointed. In himself. In everyone else. In his father. But what else did he expect?

I expected it to work.

Was that it? Had he been over-confident? Had he overlooked something in his plans, a loophole, a careless mistake, anything? He knew the operation had been dangerous, but if they were risking more than they could afford, the plan had been to stop and surrender the documents.

No, he hadn't overlooked anything. But he'd been naïve. He hadn't expected them to kill Shai even after he'd offered to give them back the notebook, and then Ling had been too angry to stay at his hiding spot. He'd attacked the three men, took the notebook from Shai's pocket, and thought he'd make it to Roundhouse Avenue, where some of the military men had been strategically placed late this night.

But the explosion had been unexpected. And he couldn't leave the girl behind. She was the only one alive when he came to where the explosion had taken place. Three of the dead had been members of the Dealers Guild, including their leader. The others had been innocent, like this girl, caught up in the street ruckus. And now Greed was on the verge of exposure, with the remaining three dealers hot on his heels.

He looked down. He didn't even know her name.

"It's okay," he said. Lied, more like it. Her arm was severed. There was nothing okay about that. "I'll keep you safe, don't worry."

He only realized the croaking, dry sound he was hearing was her voice, when he felt her breath against his cheek.

"Leave me."

He chuckled though it wasn't funny. "Ha ha. For someone bleeding to death, you've got a sure sense of

humour."

"Please, leave me. You have to go."

He ignored her. He wasn't about to leave someone who needed help, someone who suffered because of his carelessness. There had been no helping the others, but he'd seen her, struggling against the weight of a crushed, upturned vehicle, and unfortunately pulling her out meant leaving behind an arm. Despite that, she could still live. She still had a chance.

"What's your name?" he asked, but if he did so out of a sad attempt to pacify his racing heart or to stop her from passing out – maybe both, since he'd always wanted too much – he did not know. She stayed quiet, observing his face for a moment, a puzzled look coming over hers. Ling realized this was the first time she'd seen it. But she didn't say anything, and after a while, she just looked away.

Well, duh. She wouldn't say her name. She'd already lost an arm, why would she want to get further involved?

"Don't you have family?" he asked. "What would happen to them if you died today?"

Her eyes gained a brief spark, as if half remembering something important, but she still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Just think of them," he continued. "You won't be dying for them today."

She'd already closed her eyes. Not a good sign. Ling braced himself, and stood back up, muscles protesting against the cold. If he could just get back up, Mei might still be waiting at Roundhouse Avenue with Hawkeye, but they'd attract too much attention. Their smell alone might make anyone reluctant to help them. They were already far from the financial district, so telling someone they were innocent passersby who got injured might seem a little incredulous.

And he couldn't afford it. People would ask for his name. He'd already lost his mask. His father had never been one to mind him, but he would wonder what Ling was doing there at the same time the document was stolen and the clients got killed. How was he going to get help for this girl?

He's just going to have to leave her with someone he could trust while he made the slip. He'd have to call for Hawkeye to discreetly collect the girl, make a story as to why an injured girl had been loitering in the Amestrian sewers for an hour, and they could both be saved.

Ling placed the girl down, trying to get her comfortably settled against the wall, but this time she insisted on standing on her feet. Well, at least this was a tough one he got caught up with. All the more reason she wouldn't die, he told himself. He shook his pack off from his shoulders, opened it and dug around for a cellphone. Hopefully at least one of them was still good, even after the small dip in the water. There wasn't any signal, however, where they were standing.

"Stay here," he told her, though he doubted she could have moved far even if she decided, for some unfathomable reason, to run away from him. "I'm going to get you some help."

"Aren't you going to run away? They could still be looking for you," she rasped.

Sucks that the person who had to be around to help her was the one the thugs had been after.

He didn't know where the explosion came from. It wasn't in the plan, and Ling's team didn't bring the kind of equipment required for that kind of destruction. But half the members of the Dealers Guild died in it. Did someone else want them dead? Or perhaps his father...

An explosion was not his father's usual style. He usually kept things on the low, out of the radar of the State Military, but even when things got sticky, his top-notch lawyer could pluck him out of any jar, and really, the hardest thing about XYZ Ltd. was that it was actually legal. Was it pleasant? Nope. Was it corrupted? Yep. But it was legal. It was actually really difficult to get his father thrown in jail. Something Ling was just learning.

Who would take the blame for the bomb now? Ling shuddered to think about it.

"If they were still after me, we couldn't have stopped," he said, which was true. "I think they gave up. At least, I think they've stopped chasing us. They could be waiting, trying to sniff me out. But don't you worry about me. I'll slip through this."

Ling found another manhole with a few small holes. He positioned himself near it, and luckily, the signal bar increased a bit from nothing. He dialed Hawkeye's number, and she sounded as calm as she normally was when she answered. Ling didn't know how she could keep up such composure.

"Emergency," he told her.

"I heard about the explosion. Last time you had called me about an emergency, you asked where you can find the nearest restaurant that sells maki sushi." He heard her sigh. "This was not what I expected."

"Believe me, none of us were expecting this." He paused, looking back at the girl. "Look, I need a big favour."

The lieutenant came after a few minutes. Ling hoisted the injured girl over his shoulder and emerged from the nearest man-hole he could find close to where Riza had parked. He laid her down in Riza's car.

"Who's this?" she asked. "We can't allow anyone else to get involved."

"She was still alive after the explosion," Ling explained. "I couldn't just leave her behind."

Riza still looked reluctant, but she didn't protest. "Where's Shai?"

Ling gulped. "He's gone." Easy-going, happy Shai. He'd been a very eager volunteer. Ling hadn't even known him a year, but the boy had quick hands and nothing else to look forward to in life. His family had been financially crippled by Ling's father's business, and he wanted to at least to dip his toes in some revenge.

"You were supposed to hide!"

"I know! But..." Ling pulled the small notebook from his pocket. "We were so close. Here, have that. Maybe there'd be evidence of the Guild's connection with my father in there. All of their contracts are supposed to be outlined in detail there."

Riza took it. "I'll hand it over to Mustang. Even if your father isn't mentioned, this would still provide us with their other transactions. It will be helpful." And before she drove away, she gave him a sad smile. "Thank you."

"Make sure the girl gets the help she needs," Ling reminded her.

"The best."

-o-

2 Years Later

Lan Fan swirled her straw in the plastic cup, trying to hone in on one of the tapioca balls at the bottom. When her straw managed to trap one, she sipped it up happily. She tried lichee bubble tea this time, on her persistent mission to fill up the nine stamps on her Tealicious card. The reward was a plastic water bottle, not much, but why not enjoy her time? Bubble tea was an inexpensive indulgence, something she could actually afford, and at least the water bottle was free. She could always use more free things in her life.

"Why not try a real drink?" A voice beside her called, and she looked to her left where the bartender was pouring a glass of whatever alcoholic beverage a customer had ordered. Lan Fan was sitting at the corner of the night club, near a small, less crowded bar. Nobody had bothered her all night, but she was basically a walking sign of "Not Interested," with her baggy sweater, even baggier sweatpants, and the set of unmusical bones in her body. She wasn't here to have fun. She was on duty.

"I can't," she told the bartender, a short, middle-aged man who looked slightly out of place in a night club frequented by college students from the community school down the block. She lifted a fancy phone provided by her client earlier that night. "I'm supposed to get them home safely tonight. Have to remain sober."

"Ah," the man smiled not unkindly, though he must have guessed why she held up a phone, rather than a set of car keys. "Smart. Though your friends should have called you over when they're done. You don't look like you're enjoying your time here at all, and a young person like you looks like you could use your time doing other things."

She shrugged, looking out over the dance floor, trying to pick out the trio of redheads she was assigned to watch. The truth was that she was hired to eliminate any trouble that may crop up, or prevent them in the first place. Mr. and Mrs. Gries were protective of their daughters, and woe was the person who'd scratch their precious little heads. One of the girls – Hannah, maybe, or Roxanna, Lan Fan couldn't quite get their names right – was swaying out of beat.

"I don't think they'd be sober enough to have called me," she responded.

The man nodded sympathetically. "Well, liquor isn't all that we sell. If you're still craving some tea after that, you're welcome to choose from our wide collections."

Lan Fan nodded, and pretended she didn't see his lingering look at the shapeless sleeve of her sweater.

She didn't mind doing this. It was good money. Usually she charged an hourly rate, depending on the type of job and who she was supposed to look after. If anything dangerous came up, she reserved a right to charge an additional fee for taking care of it. Normally her clients tended to be the ones who needed guarding, but tonight was different. The ones paying her were the Grieses, not their daughters. If something were to happen, she'd need proof of the incident to be able to charge the extra fees. It didn't look like the three girls would be credible witnesses, not in their state. She'd just have to be extra careful.

Lan Fan finished her bubble tea, and waited until the hands on her watch signaled 1:30 am. Then, as much as she hated to mingle in the crowd, she pushed her way between gyrating bodies to where the Gries girls were dancing. One of them – Roxana or Savannah, she long ago gave up trying to figure out which – gladly reached out for her, looking quite relieved.

"My sisters didn't want to go yet," she yelled, over the loud, pumping music. Lan Fan blinked her eyes against the flashing lights. "Maybe you can convince them."

It was easy to see where one of the sisters were; only several dance steps away, her bright red hair was unmistakeable. Lan Fan latched her only arm around the girl's shoulders, and steadily led her away.

"Hey!" she yelled. Lan Fan rolled her eyes.

"Time to go, Roxana."

"It's Anna!"

"Alright, Anna. It's 1:30. Your parents are waiting. I'll get in trouble if I don't bring you back on time."

One of the men who were dancing with Anna asserted himself right on her path. A good foot taller than her, it was unlikely that Lan Fan could slip gracefully around him, especially with Anna in tow, and a dozen bodies cramping up the space. She sighed. She wasn't really supposed to make trouble. If she started something, her clients would think that she did it on purpose so she could charge her extra fees. Nope, if Lan Fan was going to get any more clients, she wanted to be as honest as possible in how she handled her jobs.

"Hey, she and her sisters need to go home," she said, her voice steady and unyielding, but non-threatening. Gosh, how she hated having to talk people down like this. She wasn't paid to be a kindergarten teacher handling infants prone to temper tantrums. She was a bodyguard!

"Not if I say they're not," the man said, his words a little more than just slightly slurred. Lan Fan rolled her eyes. Did drunk people really had a penchant to sound like comic book characters?

"Look, I don't want trouble," Lan Fan said, though how much the guy understood by the way he was swaying, she couldn't tell. She tried to circumnavigate him, but a few other people, boys and girls, blocked her way.

This was going to give her a headache.

"Savannah, get your other sister and wait outside," Lan Fan called to the younger Gries daughter, who only pouted and said that she was Roxana.

"You want a taste of my knuckle sandwich, girly?" Again, it was the man imposing his six-feet self in their way.

"Are you kidding me?" Lan Fan said. "You got that line straight out of a movie!" She began inching her way forward, dragging Anna along with her. The poor girl was staring at the disco lights above, humming the rap out of tune. "Please move." Ugh, someone tell her she wasn't going to have to grovel.

He didn't budge. Lan Fan kept her head low, trying to fight the instinct to just kick his feet from underneath him, and scathe her way out of the club. Gosh, it would be much easier that way. Perhaps, she could. That would help her a lot, and she didn't need to charge the fee if she was giving herself less trouble.

But the consequences could be ugly, and she didn't want to be the instigator of any legal breaches.

She tried to force her way around him, but he grabbed her by her shirt and shoved her back. Good. As long as he made the first move. She tried again, and this time he shoved her harder. Lan Fan maintained her balance, but Anna went sprawling over the dance floor. Quick as lightning, Lan Fan snapped her phone out of her pocket and took a quick picture of the girl reclining on the floor, then flashed a shot at the man blocking their way.

Proof. It was all she needed.

She bent down on one knee and swept her other leg around, bringing three of the drunks down to their posteriors. The surrounding dancers finally stopped their twerking to look down at what was going on. One of the man's friends was now red-faced and growling, surely pissed – and embarrassed – that a young, one-armed girl had taken down his pals. They never learn, did they? Lan Fan had been in similar fights the past few years, and it had always been the same reaction. What would it take for people to stop associating size with strength and skills?

Red-faced boy tried to swipe a punch, which Lan Fan easily caught; she twisted his arm around his back, and motioned for Anna to stand up.

"Come on," she nodded her head toward the exit. "We're wasting our time. Your parents would be angry."

Anna pushed her bouncy hair out of her face, as if trying to ascertain that she really saw what she just saw. It didn't matter. Come tomorrow morning, none of the girls, except perhaps for Roxana – or was it Savannah? – would remember that there'd been trouble in the club at all. They probably wouldn't even remember her.

Lan Fan only realized that she was still twisting Red-faced-boy's arm when he let out a nasally yowl. She released him just in time as Anna stumbled in her arm, and she led the girl out of the club.

The cool air hit her hard, a stark contrast against the humid, sweaty atmosphere of the club. She could still taste lichee in her mouth, and the caramel flavouring of the tapioca. If there were no other incidents, it had been a rather easy night.

Lan Fan had called the cab before collecting the girls from the dance floor, and she could see it waiting by the curb. She packed the girls into it. She didn't have a car of her own, at least not at the moment. It was being repaired; the modifications for one-armed driving was quite expensive and difficult to maintain. And even if it had been available, she doubted that the Grieses, whose yearly income was surely six-figures, would allow their daughters to be seen in a run-down patchwork of metal.

It was about an hour ride to the mansion. When they rolled into the driveway, she helped the girls exit and maneuver their way to the front door, though really it was mostly Anna who was tipsily struggling along, even though her stilettos were dangling from her fingers, and she was barefoot on the cobblestones. Savannah, the sister she hadn't seen much at the club still oozed energy and radiance.

When Roxana unlocked the door, the Grieses came excitedly to greet them.

Heh, they stayed up to wait for their daughters? That was in a way quite endearing, but also a little overbearing, Lan Fan thought. What would she think if her grandfather hovered over her every outings? But then again, it was unlikely he'd catch her coming home at midnight drunk from a club.

Well... it was more likely he'd catch her coming home at midnight with one arm less and no explanation to boot. She refused to wonder which one was worse, because really, when it came down to it, those two things couldn't be compared at all.

Mr. Gries was a portly, balding man with red cheeks and an easy smile that belied a steel core. The Grieses didn't get to where they were by smiling at strangers.

"Now how much would it be?" He took out his cheque book from the inside of his pyjamas – eh, did they sleep on money too? "I distinctly remember your hourly rate to be 50 sens. That would total 200 sens for the night, unless of course... there have been 'incidents', as you call them." His pen hovered over the cheque pad.

Lan Fan took out her phone, which she had slipped into her sweatpants' pocket after the fight, and navigated to the stock of photos.

"Only one, sir." She handed him the picture she took of Anna on the floor, and the other of the obviously antagonistic young man hovering over them both.

Mrs. Gries peered at the pictures through her glasses. "Hmm... seems a bit nasty to me." Then she gave Lan Fan a once-over, before pursing her lip. "Though I don't see why he'd be a problem for you, if you really are as good as they say. As you say."

The Grieses had hired her through word of mouth; most of Lan Fan's clients came to her that way. She hadn't made a reputation yet to have so many offers at her beck and call, nor did she think it would be a good idea. To be known and popular... well, it worked quite ironically within her field. She'd be the first on the elimination list of any jerk with a grudge.

"No, it wasn't that bad. So let's say an extra two hundred." Lan Fan replied, glad to have had the first chance to name the price. She rarely got the advantage when her clients named it first.

"A hundred," Mr. Gries replied promptly.

"A hundred fifty."

The Grieses gave each other a look. Lan Fan straightened her stance, shoulders rolling back to assert her height, though she was only as tall as Mrs. Gries. Two hundred was a bargain already. And looking at that fancy door knocker, Lan Fan knew that the Grieses could afford it; wouldn't hurt them one bit if she guessed right.

"Alright," Mr. Gries finally said, signing the cheque and handing it over to her. Lan Fan gave a small smile, and nodded her head appreciatively.

"Thank you," she said. "It was nice working for you and the girls."

They only smiled back at her, and Lan Fan had a distinct notion that they knew they'd gotten away cheaply. She just bit her lip, and turned to go.

"Oh wait!" Mrs. Gries called out, and when Lan Fan turned around, a big cardboard box was shoved in her way.

"Some left-over pizza," she said, opening the box to reveal one still whole pizza, greasy with melted cheese, but looking quite the deluxe that it was. Lan Fan couldn't help but smile; normally, it might irk her to know how others tended to see her as a charity case, but she rarely refused an opportunity for something free if it came knocking on the door. "You look like you could gain a pound."

"Thank you," she said again, and meant it. She tucked the box between her arm and her hip, and started the twenty minute walk to the nearest public transit station. It would take her yet another two hours to get home, but she'd rather lose the three sens, than spend the entire hundred fifty bonus fee on a cab. She didn't mind. At least for the rest of the day, she and her grandfather wouldn't have to worry about what to eat. That was a breather, considering her grandfather had been getting worse lately.

-o-

"How about a boys' night out?"

"You know my brother kinda hates you, right?" Al's soft-toned voice came through the receiver, a little chuckle following the reminder.

"Then let's not bring him!" Ling suggested. "He's a party-pooper anyway."

"He'll never forgive me for ditching him."

Ling sighed, shuffling through the papers stacked on his desk. He'd foregone another night of sleep in favour of a a sudden hit of inspired planning. His mother sternly told him to turn the other cheek for now and get a life, his own life, but that was a little difficult, given everything that had happened, everything that he knew. She knew too. He wondered how she could sleep knowing she hadn't done anything about it.

Well, maybe she was. But she was a lot more patient than him, that was for certain.

"Look, I need a sounding board for ideas."

There was a pause on the other side, and he could almost feel Al slowing down his walk to the University.

"Ideas, Ling?"

"Ideas."

"Not for the new Operation Greed, is it?"

"And what if it is?"

He heard an obvious, exasperated sigh. "I don't even understand why you call it Greed!"

"It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Ling asked, though really he had often debated whether the operation was named after his father or himself. Perhaps both... or perhaps he really just had an affinity for the word, if one could, hypothetically, gain affinities for words.

"I don't know," Alphonse sounded hesitant. "Last time didn't work out so well."

"So we're just going to give up? That doesn't sound like an Elric at all." Ling lifted one of the papers, a blueprint of his father's new office. He didn't know yet what use it would be to him since his father tended to conduct business in places other than the office itself, but still. An office was bound to have valuables stowed away in there somewhere, and with the plan still in shabby frameworks, he didn't know what he would end up needing.

"Besides, even if Dad's business is still in tact, it didn't mean that the last mission had been a complete failure. We delivered the Dealers Guild's documents to Mustang, so at least that's–" he counted his fingers off, "eight cases solved." The Dealers Guild hadn't actually been a guild. It had been a name of an underground gang of drug dealers, who catered specifically to individuals of influence. Super stars, politicians, even doctors and lawyers... a dozen had been charged of the purchase and possession of illegal drugs after Mustang and his team had cracked the code.

The leader of the gang had a habit of writing down their dealings in a small pocket notebook. It had been coded, of course, but all the transactions were still aggregated into less than two hundred pages of pulp, an easy evidence if one could obtain it.

That notebook had been The Collateral.

"But all the members of the Dealers Guild were already dead," Alphonse reminded him.

That was right. Only those who had collaborated with the Guild had faced the law; none of the actual members had the opportunity to be tried. Ling remembered when he'd assumed that the remaining members, those who did not perish in the explosion, were laying low, trying to wait him out from the sewers. But after he'd gone up, later he found from Hawkeye that they'd been shot dead. None of the members had lived past that night.

There was also one person he never found again, but he tried to keep her out of his mind nowadays.

Ling pulled the elastic bounding his hair, and remade his pony-tail.

"It doesn't matter. We still made things better," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. Because honestly, if they didn't, he didn't know how he was going to sleep knowing he was just as much of a monster as his father was.

"Alright," Alphonse said, yet Ling still sensed the 'but' coming. "But don't you think it would be better not to get Mustang's new mission involved in all this?"

"Al, they're going to be investigating Auto-Mail," Ling clarified. "Even if we're not using it for Operation Greed, we'd still have to get involved."

"Yes, I know," Al said, sounding pained. Through the receiver, Ling heard another sigh. "It's just that, that would be complex enough. Adding your part in? It could get dangerous really quickly."

"Yes," Ling said, echoing him in all seriousness. "I know." But this could be the only opportunity they had.

Alphonse quickly bid him farewell as he approached his classroom. Ling heard the lingering angry honk of a car, before the sounds were cut off from his phone. Putting it down, he tucked the papers away in the drawers of his desk, but not before catching the insignia on the blueprint he'd been inspecting.

XYZ Ltd.

It was one of the richest money-lending companies in the continent, with clients hailing from Western Amestris all the way to the satellite nations east of Xing. It was also universally dubbed as 7-11; borrow 7 sens now, owe 11 sens by the end of the month. In exchange for the high interests, clients could borrow money whenever they wanted, however they wanted it. No questions asked. It was a gift and a curse for anyone desperate for money. Even the government borrowed money from it. It sounded well-meaning enough, and Ling had been fooled for the first decade of his life too.

But it was also one of the most corrupt companies in the world. The lynchpin of each agreement was a thing called The Collateral. Very important. Until the money and the interest could all be paid in full, his father required the client to provide him something that could ensure the loyalty of the payments. From Ling's research on his father's company, collaterals had ranged from precious family heirlooms, to family members themselves. It ground his gears.

Nobody else batted an eyelash. All the nasty stuff were swept under the carpet thanks to the government's involvement, and nobody was the wiser for it.

Ling wanted the Guild's collateral, because he'd assumed that their agreement with his father would be there. He'd been wrong. And he missed his chance to reveal to the world exactly what kind of business his father was running.

He stalked out of the study, and went to his bedroom, hopping on the bed with his laptop. Despite what Alphonse had said, Ling knew that Edward didn't hate him. No, they were friends, for goodness' sake! Grudging ones, but friends nonetheless, and the grudge part was not mutual anyway; only Ed carried it. Why, their last fight had only been about his height! Not much to cry about, if anyone asked Ling.

He fired up his email and sent a quick message to Ed.

'Needing a kind, supportive buddy right now,' he wrote. Well, what he really needed was a co-mastermind, but he doubted he'd find anyone up that alley. He'd settle for a passive consultant, or maybe anyone with a business streak. Either way, what he needed was someone knowledgeable in self-defense, with more than a variety of tricks up their sleeves. 'Someone who'd stick around 24/7.' This requirement was effective immediately, and he'd need to know that there was a potential availability. Especially when they got around to the final stages of his plan.

'And no, not you. Just asking for a rec.'

Sure, he and Ed had their differences. But Ling still trusted him enough to know that Ed wouldn't send someone who'd stick a knife in his neck while he slept.

-o-

Lan Fan stayed in bed until ten in the morning, though she did get up at six to administer her grandfather's medicine. She slept for only a couple of hours, but she didn't feel sleepy anymore. However, the comforts of her old, ratty blanket were a guilty pleasure of hers, and they coaxed her back to dawdle on her mattress.

She picked up the small, clear bottle of medicine she kept in her small cabinet. They were down to the last few drops of the red, gooey stuff. Perhaps it'd last till the end of the week. She had money to purchase another bottle, but each one lasted only a month at best. If her grandfather was under the weather more than usual, it lasted even less than that.

And this crap was expensive. It was getting more expensive every month. Lan Fan's fist tightened around the bottle, and almost began berating herself again for being a fool. She barely completed the payment last month.

Truth be told, Lan Fan's bodyguarding brought in decent money; they could have lived comfortably, still on the humble side perhaps if she decided to go to school, but with the medicine, they were barely scraping by. It wasn't even her life, however, that she'd come to lament.

She remembered Fu as a lithe, agile man, not burly or big, but packed and dense. He wasn't like a mountain, not in the way most people would think of warriors, but rather, like the wind during a typhoon. It was sometimes still difficult for her to accept that he was the same man as the shriveled up shell on the bed, resembling more a prune than any force of nature. That, more than anything, was worth lamenting about.

She missed her grandfather, their times of greeting the dawn with a quick martial arts lesson, their after-dinner walks in the park. He'd been a strict, guiding hand while she was growing up, and though he could use one more tender bone in his body, he'd never been someone to fear. At least, she'd never had.

Lan Fan jumped out of her bed, carefully replacing the bottle back in the cabinet. She needed a job. Several jobs. Or maybe one big one, but those hardly came her way.

She made her way to the front door of their apartment, where a few hours earlier she heard the sound of mail crashing through the slot. The facsimile, however, had been quiet for a few days. She and Grandpa lagged a little bit when it came to new technology, but she made do. She even managed to get a cellphone last year; it wasn't smart, but hey, it wasn't dumb either.

Lan Fan shuffled through the envelopes and folded brochures, hoping for any sign of work. She usually made connections to clients through The Auto-Mail, a large, underground network of workers, who helped each other find... things. Various things. For most, it was jobs. Once a person had entered the network, they could make regular requests, and lo and behold, information and sources came spilling in the mail.

She tried to space out her jobs appropriately, the high-paying ones from rich clients few and far between, while the more modest clients filling in the rest of the time. She'd only worked with a very wealthy client once, and saying that she didn't like it much could be considered an understatement. She made sure her prices were fair, adjusting them frequently, so that even those who wouldn't normally be able to hire a bodyguard could, and that she'd earn even a little bit.

She found a small note from Paninya, a girl she knew who also used the Auto-Mail network to find odd jobs.

'I got a big one for you! Give me a call when you get the chance.'

Paninya. This better not be arsony. Though really, it was a tough time to be picky.

She snapped her flip phone open, and dialed the number. She met Paninya a few years ago when she was still new to Auto-Mail. The girl had specialized outwardly as a construction worker, fixing roofs, touching up skyscrapers... covertly, she specialized (even better) at theft.

"Hey! About time you called," Paninya said, even before Lan Fan managed to get a hello in.

"What's this about?" Lan Fan asked, getting to the point. "Last time you told me about a job, you conveniently forgot to mention that the person I was going to be guarding would be the person you're stealing from!"

"Don't be sore! Stealing it without you there would have been more like a free giveaway!" Paninya insisted, sounding excited by the mere memories of it. "And trust me, I think this one would be good."

"What makes you say that?" Lan Fan folded her legs underneath her as she slouched down on the couch. She pinched the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could take a slice of the pizza from the box that Mrs. Gries had given the night before. She savoured the chewy cheese and the spicy meat. It was so good, even though it was cold.

"Well, for one thing, the employer is young."

"...young?"

"But he's got money, not to worry! I know that's your top priority."

"When and where?"

"Today actually. High Park, Dublith."

Today? Paninya's letter came only a few hours ago, judging by the stamp, and she was never the type to let a request lag for long if there was a response available. Someone seemed desperate.

"This isn't some fake stunt, is it? I'm having fishy feelings," Lan Fan admitted.

"Oh, absolutely not!" Paninya said. "My sources had been good. I didn't have direct contact with the client, but he appears to be a friend of a friend of mine. And this friend's on sweet terms with one of the best Auto-Mail admins out there, so if legit is what you're worried about, don't be. Trust me, this kiddo doesn't consider just about anyone his pal, so for him to be reccing the boy you're gonna work for, well I think it's a pretty solid thing."

Lan Fan sighed. To be honest, she felt like this with every job she took up. There was always the initial paranoia, the mistrust. Shady people were just everywhere. Who knew where they'd pop up? She wasn't going to lose her remaining arm.

But wasn't she just thinking about getting a job quickly a few moments before? This could be a big break. Even if it wasn't, every little cent counted. And if the employer was young, perhaps he'd be a little more naïve. If she was lucky, he'd be generous. She was determined to get more than a box of pizza this time around.

"I'll do it."

Paninya gave her the address of the meeting place. It was quite far, in a high-end district that Lan Fan had rarely frequented. It was a long way away, about an hour from the very last station of the public transit, and her car still wasn't fixed. She wondered if she could get the guy to pay her taxi cab to and from the meeting.

Before leaving, she tended her grandfather again. He seemed a little better this time around, waking when she adjusted the towel on his forehead. She brought the box of pizza near him, just in case he wanted to try a little bit, but she also prepared soft-foods and soup, settling them on the bedside table.

"I think I caught a big one this time, Grandpa," she told him. "I'll be back tonight and I'll tell you all about it."

The bus and taxi cab ride was as uneventful as she'd expected. But when the taxi deposited her on the manicured lawn of a rather handsome residence, Lan Fan began to feel apprehensive. Unconsciously, her hand patted the dangling sleeve on her left; she'd worn only a simple blouse and jeans. She always made sure she had a routine ready for skills demonstration, but for some people, first impressions could be very important.

She sighed. Nothing she could do about that now; it wasn't like she could run to the nearest mall and purchase a new outfit. She'd be late and she'd waste money. Money that could go to the Red Stone.

Paninya's instructions told her that her employer would be waiting for her in a large study near the back of the house. Lan Fan wouldn't miss it, she said; it was adjacent to a long, rounded hallway, behind two floor-to-ceiling heavy oak doors. Lan Fan felt uncomfortable navigating someone else's home by herself, feeling as if she was an intruder. What did it say about an employer who wouldn't even meet their prospective hire by the door? Was he so self-important that he couldn't leave his study?

Sighing for the second time since arriving, Lan Fan steeled herself. Who cared what kind of personality he had? She'd watch his back, maybe knock out a couple of people, and then get paid. That was all there was to it. If he never left his study, all the better. It was always easier to defend indoor enthusiasts.

She found the designated room, and took a moment to compose herself. It was going to be fine.

Lan Fan pushed the door open and went inside. She only had a moment's opportunity to observe the room, when the door clicked shut behind her, and the room dimmed to barely visible.

Her first instinct was to try and smash the door down, but she'd be leaving herself wide open to what seemed like, on her only glance, a thirty feet by thirty feet curved room. That was too much. She flattened her back by the door, and listened, slowing her breath down to five or six breaths a minute, trying to sense what was in store for her. The room wasn't completely dark. It just mimicked an unlit room in the middle of the night, though where the small amount of light was coming from, she couldn't tell.

She sensed the presence before she saw him or heard him. He came lunging from the right, and she had just enough time to raise her arm to block. She heard a soft, amused chuckle, before she launched herself away from the doorway. Now that she'd found her opponent, there was no use in staying against the door, where she was even more likely to be pushed into a corner.

The figure in front of her was only slightly taller than her, lean and graceful. He didn't appear too imposing, but she out of all people, knew that appearance was never indicative of skills.

And he was damn fast.

In a split second, she found herself blocking his multi-angled attacks, quick but powerful jabs aiming at pressure points. She was swift enough to block them, and multiple times she found herself providing her own set of offensives. When she thought she found an opening, she tried lunging for his neck, but he spun like a weasel out of her grasp, grabbing a loose pile of sheets on a desk and throwing it up between them.

Is he trying to distract me? A pile of paper was a little short-sighted.

Lan Fan then grabbed a lamp on the same desk, and once again heard the amused chuckle, louder this time, and a startled "Woah, that's expensive!" as she swung it around to get to him. Something about his voice nagged at the back of her mind. He shoved her attempts aside, and Lan Fan felt a leg hook against hers. He toppled her to the ground, where she dropped the lamp. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and used his momentum to continue the roll, sending him to the air with her feet. She heard him land on the floor above her head, before she summersaulted, locking him below her with her knees to either side of his waist. With her only hand, she pushed him against the floor, where he looked up at her with a small smile on his lips.

Then the smile vanished.

"You," he said.

And she realized where she'd heard the voice before.

Well... she shouldn't have worried about first impressions. Seemed a little too late for those.