That night, Colin tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He had thought he'd already cut the black rope tied around his waist, that he could finally climb the ladder all the way up without worrying about being dragged down by those gangsters, but reality had other plans. Those bastards he thought he'd left behind clearly weren't done with him yet, and worse, they weren't even the only problem anymore.
He wanted a seat at City Hall. He wanted the keys to Boston's high society—a name, a legacy, and a life that carried actual weight.
Dreams were beautiful. Reality, on the other hand, had a nasty sense of humor.
The rope around his waist might've been gone, sure—but now there were new ones wrapped around his limbs and even his neck, tightening quietly, controlling every move he made. The worst part? He didn't even know when they'd been tied.
Was this it?
Was he stuck like this forever?
No matter how hard he tried, would he never be able to wash away that filthy identity?
How many layers would it take to cover those "tattoos" on his soul? A police uniform? A superintendent's badge? Chief of police? Hell, even a city council seat?
Colin sighed and stared out the window at City Hall not far away. He'd bought this place just to be closer to power, as if proximity alone could make him one of them. Now, though, it felt like the building was drifting farther and farther away.
With another tired exhale, he recalled the address the mysterious caller had given him. Tomorrow. Same place.
He didn't feel anticipation—just exhaustion.
The next day, July 12th. Just two weeks before Christmas.
Colin showed up at the station like usual, went through the motions, exchanged a few words with colleagues—but everyone could tell something was off. He looked like hell.
"Colin!"
Dickman stormed into the office like a one-man hurricane, already mid-rant. Catching sight of Colin clutching coffee like it was life support, he didn't miss a beat.
"What, some girl drain you dry last night?" he sneered. "I told you to investigate the Killen Gang, not go undercover in their brothels to figure out which hooker gives the best bang for your buck!"
Normally, Colin would've snapped right back. Same task force or not, they weren't exactly friends—and Dickman didn't outrank him by much.
But today?
He just didn't have it in him.
Taking another sip of coffee, he said flatly, "Still working the case. You'll get the report when it's ready."
"Hurry it up," Dickman shot back with a cold grin. "You know what you look like right now? Some washed-up athlete pumping himself full of drugs just to stay in the race. Rich guys sleep when they're tired—guys like you? You live off caffeine."
Colin: "..."
God, this guy was unbearable.
Too tired to argue, Colin ignored him and buried himself in paperwork. Unfortunately, with his mind in shambles, the entire day passed in a fog. Nothing useful came out of it.
After work, he checked the time—it was almost time.
He packed up, called his girlfriend to keep up appearances, went home, changed into something less noticeable, and quietly headed for the meeting point.
Under a bridge along the Niponsit River.
Far from downtown, barely any foot traffic, decent scenery—perfect place for something you didn't want anyone else to see.
When Colin arrived, he froze.
Three men sat by the river, casually fishing through holes cut into the thin ice.
Luca.
John Wick.
Brian.
They looked… relaxed. Like this was just another lazy afternoon.
Meanwhile, Colin felt like he'd just walked into the wrong movie.
He'd considered a dozen possibilities for who the mysterious caller might be—the Frenchman, someone from the Winter Hill Gang—but never, not once, did he think it'd be Luca, the so-called Dove.
"Officer Sullivan."
Luca waved him over with an easy smile.
"Luca… didn't expect to see you here."
"And I didn't expect you to be Costello's man inside the police department," Luca replied lightly, patting the folding chair beside him. "Sit. Think things through before you open your mouth. In the meantime, grab a rod—fish a little."
Colin hesitated, then sat down quietly, his mind racing.
Beside him, Brian stiffened for a split second—not from the cold, but from the realization.
Another one?
Great. A mob mole and an FBI plant, sitting side by side. If either of them slipped, both were fucked.
Right then, his fishing rod jerked.
Brian snapped out of it instantly. "Got one!"
After a bit of struggle, he proudly reeled in…
A pair of beat-up boots.
Luca glanced over and chuckled. "You fishing with socks now?"
Brian: "..."
Without another word, Luca cast his line again—and seconds later pulled up a solid seven- or eight-pound fish.
"When you fish," he said casually, "you've got to bait the water first. Give them a taste, let them see the upside. Then you hit them with something irresistible."
Brian looked at his empty bucket, then at Luca's overflowing one, then glanced at Baba Yaga's equally empty bucket.
…Okay, at least he wasn't alone.
"Heh… not just me striking out," Brian muttered.
"Uh, Dove," Brian grinning, "you fish a lot? That's some serious skill."
"Yeah," Luca said with a faint smile. "You're just a big fish, that's all."
Colin barely registered the conversation. It was all fishing talk—nothing that actually mattered.
Then Luca spoke again, tone casual, but the words hit like a hammer.
"Colin, when Costello had you become a cop… was that your choice, or his?"
"I…"
Colin froze.
It had been Costello's idea, sure—but he hadn't refused.
Adopted as a kid, raised differently from the rest, sent to school, pushed into the academy… kept away from the gang. No one even knew Costello had raised him.
Still, facts were facts.
"He wanted it," Colin said finally. "He made me study law, go to the academy."
"And now?" Luca asked, like an older brother checking in. "You want to be a cop… or go back and take your place in the Winter Hill Gang?"
Colin stared at him, stunned.
Did he even have a choice?
"You've got everything on me," Colin said bitterly. "My past, my crimes. You turn me in, I'm done."
He couldn't even imagine what Dickman would do.
Shoot him on the spot? Then curse his corpse for good measure?
"Costello was my friend," Luca said calmly. "You're his adopted son. That earns you a little goodwill. Stay a cop, go back to the gang—it's your call. I can help either way."
"Help me?"
"Your choice."
Luca looked at him steadily.
If Colin walked away, gave it all up, the tapes meant nothing. Turning him in wouldn't benefit Luca. But if he stayed, kept walking that tightrope…
Then maybe Luca would lend a hand.
A cruel kind of mercy.
The panel flickered in Luca's vision.
[Character Card: Colin Sullivan]
[Rank: A]
[Source: The Departed]
[Skill: Double Agent]
Effect: When infiltrating government forces as a criminal element, Initial Trust increases by 10% and Exposure Risk is reduced by 20%. Drawback: Once undercover status is established, Gang Trust is reduced by 20% due to the inherent suspicion of the lifestyle.
Requirement: Bond: Friend or above | Cost: 60 Skill Fragments
[Skill: Infernal Affair]
Effect: The user becomes immune to all forms of death except old age. Penalty:Mental Confusion (Sanity Loss) steadily increases over time. This state can only be dispelled by fully reclaiming one's original identity or achieving absolute Inner Resolution.
Requirement: Must possess "Double Agent" status; Bond: Close Friend or above | Cost: 200 Skill Fragments
[Bond: Attention]
Luca skimmed it and dismissed it.
The first skill? Straightforward.
The second? A nightmare wrapped in philosophy—immortality with a side of mental collapse.
People like Colin… or Billy… they weren't built for clean lives.
And if you couldn't fall into your own personal hell, you'd never get the benefit of it anyway.
Too idealistic.
Luca looked up again.
"Follow your heart," he said simply. "Give me your answer."
Colin's expression tightened.
Go back—and find peace.
Stay—and chase the dream, even if it meant becoming someone else's puppet.
"I'll stay," he said at last, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I don't want to be a gangster. I want to be a cop."
Even if it was just a pretty illusion.
Luca wasn't surprised.
"Got it."
He held out his hand.
"Then let's work together. I'll help you climb to the top of the police department. You help me take Boston."
Colin shook his hand—and finally understood.
"You're getting involved in Boston?"
Luca grinned.
"Let's call it… bringing peace to the underworld."
Colin: "..."
Right. Of course.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Do your job," Luca said. "Start with the South Side. I'll feed you intel, even manpower if needed. Clean out every small gang outside the big three."
Colin's breathing quickened. That was a career-making move.
"And the Winter Hill Gang?"
"I've got plans," Luca said calmly. "You can't wipe out the big ones. Too many people. Kill them, and new ones take their place. It's a cycle."
He glanced out over the frozen river.
"Boston aren't all sunshine. There's always shadow. What we need… is balance."
Colin stared at him, suddenly realizing—
This mob boss wasn't like the others.
Behind him, Brian quietly sighed.
Yeah… this was how the Dove kept the peace.
And somehow, against all logic, it worked.
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