The lone vigilant figure stood in the open entrance, the stream of light highlighting her lithe silhouette. She opened her lips and spoke in a silky voice.
"It's our turn to make a move; Blight has ordered us to kill Mr Paulos, but as much as I want to avoid killing innocent people to advance towards our goal for peace, this mission is unavoidable."
Her grey eyes drooped downwards as she said this, unwilling to meet her comrades' gazes.
"It's quite understandable," one of the brawny men murmured, pulling at one of the leather strips which was attached to his vest via a golden knobbly cog-shaped fastener. "You needn't worry yourself over the death of one man, Mira, especially if he's an ally of Ecclesia."
The last three words were spat out like poison.
"I guess you're right," she faltered.
Suddenly, a puny newspaper boy rushed into their midst and whispered to them as if the walls themselves were spies.
"The transfer carriages were spotted, Miss Mira. Should we follow them?"
She shook her head.
"It's very possible that they're there to divert the attention of potential assassins like us. Wait for the signal Mr Basil set up."
"What signal?"
But before she could reply, a thick pillar of dark grey smoke rose up outside their window in the distance.
"That is the signal. Can you check which warehouse is in flames and how many firefighters there are on the scene?" she asked the tiny boy.
At first, his face showed signs of confusion and curiosity, but he eventually gave her a childish salute and headed back out. When the newspaper boy was gone, Hawkins, the man who had spoken up not too long ago, had something else to ask.
"Just what is going, Mira? My head is aching from trying to think of how a fire could possibly relate to Paulos' funeral."
Mira shook her head and answered him like an exasperated mother talking to a learning child.
"I'm sure you're overthinking it, Hawkins," she smiled, bringing out a giant map of the city. "It's a simple trick to be honest. Since it'd be hard to communicate directly, Mr Basil and I have thought of a way to reveal which location the funeral would take place by setting a warehouse on fire and sending a corresponding number of firefighters there."
Of course, this somewhat useless information did nothing but confuse them all the more, so she only drummed her active fingers on the dusty table until the newspaper boy returned with news.
"Warehouse 5 is burning and there are eight firefighters on duty, but…"
"But?"
"But… I still don't get why you need to know all this."
To answer all their questions at once, Mira beckoned to them all to crowd around the map she'd laid out.
"The two numbers five and eight are coordinates on this map which should lead us to… ah, here it is."
She narrowed down one of the grid squares with a finger and pointed on a spot in it.
"This is the cemetery where the coffin will be laid and where we'll strike."
She rolled up the map, breathed a sigh of finality, and turned to the rest of her comrades.
"Good luck out there," she encouraged them one final time, raising their spirits as they prepared to leave. These few words slipped out of her mouth almost voluntarily. It was her job, her duty, to strengthen their morale before sending them out to their potential deaths. Certainly, death always struck frequently, often enough for them to accept it into their daily lives without question. Even if she bitterly hated this unavoidable enemy, she'd never acknowledge it, keeping on a controlled face yet shattering her insides like glass.
The rebels, one by one, exited the undercover drugstore, lifting their leather gloved hands to wave goodbye. When the last of her comrades stepped off the threshold. Mira fell softly to the cold stone floor, tears dripping steadily from the tip of her nose.
"What's wrong?"
Startled, she leapt up only to find that one of them was still in the room, looking at her through concerned eyes.
"I… I can't bear the thought of sending more of you to your deaths; I mean, just look at how many people have died already! If only I could step in myself…"
The man bent down and patted her on the shoulder with a plate-sized hand.
"No one can change what has been done, Mira. As for us, we voluntarily signed up, knowing the consequences very well. Nobody is being sent to die for no reason—we're all willing to lay down our lives to pave the way for the future."
At this, Mira wiped her face with the sleeve of her coarse dress, wetting several lengthy strands of silvery hair in the process. She rose to her feet, her face resolute as if hardened like clay in the sun, but when she walked past her comrade, it reflected the caged up peace that had been locked up within her throughout the long history of violence she'd been exposed to.
"I'll… I'll be going now," muttered the last rebel, somewhat awkwardly. Right after the tail of his cloak whisked out of sight, Mira whispered more to herself than at anyone, since the room had regained its emptiness.
"Thank you."
—
While the slick black carriage pulled a dark coffin onto the gravelly path, its engine humming like a pestering fly, the crowd around the freshly dug hole; their black and white mourning clothes mimicking the bold feathers of ravenous magpies. No sobs could be heard, no downcast eyes were seen; off to one side, the two Paulos brothers whispered to each other in hushed tones, not even paying attention to the heavy thunk of the coffin as it landed on the bottom of the hole.
"It was rather lucky you managed to slip out of that one," the president breathed to his brother.
No reply.
"Are you listening?"
The younger sibling turned his head slowly, the blood drained out as if by a siphon.
"With the murder taking place in our villa, what do I do next? Clearly, someone has classified information—"
"Ah, don't worry about it; I've saved some rooms in our old mansion. You should be fine there."
Colour returning to his face, the younger brother sighed a breath of relief but was startled by a cawing crow perched on a withered branch above. Its round, orange eye stared back at the unnerved man; there was a grey light glinting on the orange spheres though no light could be seen reflecting on it…
"Wait…"
Eruptions of sound blew up around every corner as the muzzles of hidden firearms blasted at the sombre crowd around the coffin. Immediately, dozens of the black-and-white attendees revealed their true colours, whipping out their own revolvers and encircling the crowd.
"Remain calm, sir!" shouted one of the Enforcers, his voice hardly heard as some of his comrades rushed forwards to create distance between the rebels and the Paulos brothers.
Slipping in and out from among the thick clusters of trees on the very edge of the cemetery, the rebels were but flashes of bronze, unable to be repelled. Crouching behind one of the thicker trunks, his vest already damaged by a direct hit from an Enforcer's lucky shot, Chandler caught his breath, waiting for a promised signal. He clenched the cold handle of his weapon with a sweaty hand, ready to jump back in when needed, although one of his comrades, noticing the eagerness in his expression, warned him solemnly not to reengage in battle until the noted time.
"I know, I know," muttered Chandler, though he was sure nobody was paying attention to him. "C'mon… where is that signal?"
Chips of beige wood came flying off the tree to his back, the bark almost completely shredded.
This tree can't hold on much longer… Should I call for a retreat or switch tactics?
Before he could even raise his voice, one of the other men, a bloody nose adorning his dirt-stained face, called out to him, "The light!"
Sure enough, in the distance on an elevated building's balcony, was a flashing light, shown only to the rebels' side behind the shield of trees. Chandler returned the call with a thumbs up, called for a swift retreat, and fired one last bullet at whoever he could find on the other side. Until the Enforcers were completely out of sight did he finally order them all to stop running.
They were now surrounded by dense foliage—the only sounds other than the cicadas buzzing lively were their heavy breaths from fleeing.
"Is everyone here?" asked Chandler to his dishevelled group of companions. A general 'yes' was returned but not too enthusiastically; of course, this was to be expected as they were still all in the dark on why they even had to attack such an obvious spot in the first place.
"It's all part of Mira's plan; I'm sure she's got everything under control."
Turning his face away, he added in a mumble, "I hope."