On a mountain deep in the southern reaches of Savoirrie. It was a quiet district tucked away in the southeastern region of Frankland, a place best known for its worm-infested cheese and bread as hard as stone.

  “Is the quality alright?” I asked my colleague.

  “I… I think,” he replied leaning into the camera with a not so reassuring expression on his face.

  “I think?” I echoed, walking over to his side. “How is that an answer?” Leaning in, I checked the camera. “The video isn't going to be taken in the dark. We’re under a midday sun. There is nothing we would need so much—you know what let me do this myself.” Annoyed, I decided to adjust the camera settings myself.

  “You should've changed the contrast. The sun is right above us, dude.”

  I was annoyed, but honestly, I also was fine with this. I always preferred doing things myself. But there’s just time in life where you’re forced to work with people.

  “I want at least a decent quality for the people that will get this video. There you go. Now look,” I declared moving to the side for him to behold the sight.

  “Ah, it looks clearer now,” my colleague commented, sounding genuinely impressed.

  “See?”

  “Yes,” he nodded, his height making him tower above me.

  “Now all that's left is to hit 'record,' and we're good to go,” I said, starting the camera recording. “Perfect. Now we can finally get down to business.”

  “You're really good at all that technology stuff, Hassan,” he suddenly complimented.

  It was indeed a compliment, one I might have appreciated under different circumstances. But not today, not now, and definitely not in front of a rolling camera.

  Through the eye-hole of the balaclava I was wearing, I locked my eyes with him.“Are you dense or something?” I barked, taking off my Balaclava. “The camera is already recording. Why did you use my real name?"

  In that moment, from the expression seeping through the balaclava, the guy finally understood his mistake. “Sigh… seriously? Now we have to redo this,” I complained before leaning into the camera, deleting the previous recording.

  “Sorry bro,” my colleague apologised, sounding once again very genuine, like he very often, making me wonder at times how this guy wound up in this particular line of work.

  “You can save your apologies. And just so you know, it's not 'bro'.”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you forget everything about what we talked about? For this mission, I'm Pedsi, and you're Cola-Coco,” I reminded him, exasperated.

  “Oh, right. My bad, Pedsi,” he stammered, finally remembering the briefing we had no earlier than 15 minutes ago.

  I rolled my eyes, a small sigh escaping. “Yeah, yeah, just get it right this time.”

  “I will. But I have to ask, why Pedsi and Cola-Coco?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why am I Cola-Coco and you're Pedsi, when I don't even like Cola-Coco, and as far as I'm aware, you don't like Pedsi? Or any canned-beverage.”

  “I get that part, you didn’t have to voice your question differently for me. What I’m asking here is why are you even asking me that? Those are just code names I came up with on the spot.”

  Ignoring what I just explained, he continued, sounding more thoughtful than usual, “I’ve been thinking about these code names, and I figured there’s probably only one way they make sense. Is it ‘Cola-Coco’ because I’m black? And ‘Pedsi’ because you’re white?”

  “No,” I quickly denied, even though the truth was that it was because he was black “and” also had red permed hair.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” I lied. “I swear to god.”

  Cola-Coco gave me a skeptical look before saying, "So, you won't have a problem if I switch and become Pedsi, and you take on Cola-Coco?"

  "Put your balaclava on," I instructed, securing mine. "I'm still Pedsi, and you're still Cola-Coco, unless you'd prefer Molester.”

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  “Can’t it be something else? Why does it have to always be a drink’s name?”

  “It has to. That's the 'rule.'"

  “Whose rule is that?” he questioned, nonetheless putting his hood on.

  “My rules. And you know it bothers me when they’re changed for no good reason. Anyway, remember what we talked about? Try to change your voice a bit. It'll make editing easier for me. Okay? I'm starting the recording now. Let's not mess this up... 3, 2, 1, and we're rolling," I announced, racking my throat to make my voice deeper.

  Cola-Coco still had reservations about his code name, but he followed me to what we were actually filming.

  “Alright, folks, sorry for the delay. The cameras are rolling now, so let's get started,” I announced to the seven people we were filming. There were two women and five men, all on their knees, with their limbs tied and bags covering their heads.

  With a signal from me, Cola Coco stepped forward and pulled the bag from the head of the first person in line. As the rough fabric was yanked away, they blinked rapidly, their eyes squeezing shut for a moment against the sudden onslaught of sunlight.

  A few disoriented breaths passed before their vision adjusted—only then did true fear set in. Their gaze darted around frantically, taking in their surroundings, their predicament, and then us. A muffled cry strained against the cloth gag tightly secured around their mouth as they twisted against their restraints, but the muscles in their jaw, stiff from tension, allowed only the faintest whimper to escape.

  Cola Coco moved methodically down the line, pulling the bags from each captive’s head one by one. Each time, the reaction was the same—a wince, a brief moment of disorientation as their eyes struggled to adjust to the harsh sunlight, then the creeping realization of their predicament. Terror and confusion played across their faces, their gazes darting from one another in silent desperation. Though gagged and unable to speak, their fear was unmistakable, conveyed in the frantic flicker of their eyes and the rigid tension in their bodies.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, once again, bonjour,” I began with my deepest voice, “I believe some of you might already know what's going on, why did we abduct you and why we brought you here, but I know some of you are also very confused about everything so allow me to explain what’s going on.”

  I reached out for my tablet, and began fiddling to open up a powerpoint presentation titled “Peace and Order.pptx.”

  “Let's start from the beginning,” I stated, flipping to the first slide. “Two months back, Ferdinand Denouveau, a young, innocent—well, relatively innocent—guy, who happened to be the second son of Johan Denouveau died very tragically. Now, Johan? Who is he? You must wonder. Well, he's the top dog at Blackcrown, one of the most influential not-so underground organizations around in the southern provinces. Anyways, poor Ferdinand met his unfortunate end in a real fireworks show, compliments of an 'explosive accident.' But mind you, that 'accident' wasn't exactly accidental—it was all thanks to a certain Mister Sergei Gustav. And wouldn't you know it, Sergei is the leader of the Avian Vipers, making him one of the other big shots in this not-so-friendly sphere that Mister Johan belongs to.”

  “I'm pretty sure you can connect the dots on what unfolded next. So, let's fast-forward past the nitty-gritty of who did what to whom and spare the dramatic details. Instead, I'll lay it out plain and simple: the aftermath of that intense two-month tango.”

  “Civilians caught in the crossfire: 7. Lives lost in the Blackcrown ranks: 54. Avians Vipers: 47. Okay, sure, when spoken like that, it might not sound like much, but trust me, it's a small mountain of corpses that we've got here.”

  “I'm here to prevent that pile of bodies from getting taller, so let me introduce ourselves. You can just call us Pedsi and Cola-Coco. I'm Pedsi, he's Cola-Coco. We wear many hats, but mostly we're folks who do the dirty work—hitting marks and chasing bounties, that sorta thing.”

  “Now I’m sure now, knowing who we are and who you are, you most likely figured what’s going to happen next,” I quipped, setting my tablet aside and reaching for my handgun. "But just in case you missed the memo, let me lay it out for you. This time around, we aren't exactly the run-of-the-mill bounty hunters or mercenaries. Nah, we've taken up a rather special gig, best described as the living embodiment of the 'tit for tat' principle.”

  “You see, the whole mafia war thing? It hit a point where both sides were realizing it's like trying to fit an elephant through a keyhole—just not working out. Yet, they couldn't quite shake hands and call it a day, 'cause one side felt they'd lost more than the other. And that's where we waltz in,” I continued with a grimace.

  “We've been summoned, my friends, as something like the 'Equilibrium Enforcers' of the situation. Our task? To bring back that delicate balance that's been tossed into the wind. The war couldn't keep doing its thing without spiraling into a whole new level of chaos. So here we are, the referees of the grand showdown. Summoned to make sure everyone's singing the same tune again.”

  “Now comes the interesting part," I continued, a sly smile curling on my lips. “This is where you all step into the spotlight. You might be wondering how you got picked for this peculiar dance. Well, let me tell you, we didn't just throw darts at a board or consult a crystal ball. No, no. Calculations were made—yes, thorough calculations.”

  I paused for a moment, allowing the weight of the revelation to sink in. Their eyes darted around nervously, the tension in the air palpable. I was an asshole for that, even the “me” back then knew that.

  “And these calculations,” I said, drawing out the suspense, “they revealed to me, in all their glorious mathiness, that the seven of you are the missing puzzle pieces. The crucial cogs in this intricate machinery that's going to bring both camps to an even ground.”

  I could practically see their thoughts racing, trying to evade the obvious answer to the puzzle I was presenting to them. The unprecedented fear painted a vivid portrait on their faces.

  With a sigh, I stepped forward, my fingers curling around the grip of my handgun. The cold metal pressed against my palm. “You see, sometimes, it's the cruelest choices that bring that so pursued thing that is peace.

  I raised the handgun, its ominous click echoing in the room.

  “I would like all seven of you to know. This isn't about revenge or glory; it's about ending the cycle.”

  I aimed the gun at one, but didn’t squeeze the trigger, instead I held up my other hand, signaling for a moment's reprieve. “But I'm not without a sliver of humanity left in me. You've all got families, I imagine. People you care about. People who will wonder where you've gone.”My gaze shifted from one person to another; before offering, “so, I'm granting you a moment. A chance to have your say. Final words, if you will. I won't deny you that.”

  I took a step back, giving them space and allowing them to think about what to say next. I gave them approximately three minutes.

  These three minutes quickly passed prompting me to begin what Cola-Coco and I were there for.