Collusion

Chapter 1: No Rest for the Wicked

SUMMARY

Childe doesn’t care, really, why he’s assigned to them, what deeds they’ve done to deserve to be killed by him. He’s in this for the thrill, the rush, and of course, the money. Being an assassin is quite the lucrative job these days.

Another day, another mind-numbingly boring kill.

Today, Childe is stationed in Inazuma. His next victim is a man aspiring to change the world by becoming a whistleblower, leaking confidential information proving evidence of corruption in the government. Apparently, he’s a detective, part of the Tenryou Commission, but Childe doesn’t care, really, why he’s assigned to them, what deeds they’ve done to deserve to be killed by him. He’s in this for the thrill, the rush, and of course, the money. Being an assassin is quite the lucrative job these days. But his messenger insists, telling him every morsel of information is important to get the job done.

Not really, he thinks, observing his victim’s high-rise apartment light finally come on. He’s been perched at the window of a building under construction across the street. Childe has his schedule memorized by now. 9 PM is lights on. He glances at his watch. Just in time.

At least his victim has the wits to avoid the windows of his apartment. He knows what he’s done and he will be expecting a hit, sooner or later. Too many of Childe’s assignments were arrogant as to still show a centimeter of their head by a window.

Come on. You leak government secrets and expect to live? He laughs at the memory, their stupidity still etched in his mind as he shot them with his sniper.

At least with this one, Childe will have to get up close and personal, with the way the man is stubbornly avoiding the windows. He takes his sniper rifle from its perch on the windowsill, his motions mechanical and automatic as he disassembles it and hides it in his duffel bag.

Childe puts on his disguise, a food delivery driver uniform, grabs an empty pizza box provided for him, and crosses the street and into the building.

It’s too easy. People are so unassuming these days about who they interact with. Sure, in Inazuma, they’re more closed off than most; they're not ones to make small talk or offer help to a stranger. But anyone can put on a cap and a uniform and people will still think you belong.

And so he slips inside along with someone else who lived in the building. Another thing that makes his job so easy: people kept their heads down, especially in this country. He could stab a person in a crowd and people still would not remember his face. Childe knew this as fact—that was how he had assassinated a foreign ambassador in Fontaine. A simple bump into him as he walked, a murmured “Sorry,” and the next thing he knew his brachial artery had been sliced and he’s bleeding to death.

Too easy.

He saunters in the hallway, almost upbeat, thinking of how this one will try to escape his clutches. Thinking of the ways he could take him out. Thinking of the chase, the hunt, and his heartbeat starts racing. Childe has to take a few deep breaths just to smooth his composure and stop himself from being too giddy from excitement.

Knock, knock.

“Delivery!” he says at the door. He hears footsteps, and at this point Childe hides himself from the peephole. As soon as the doorknob clicks open, Childe grabs it and pushes inside, a wicked grin on his lips.

“Don’t you want your pizza?” Childe says as the man backs away from him, trembling in fear.

“Please, I have a family,” he says. Immediately Childe feels disgust at the man’s words. He hated it when they grovel. It takes the fun out of it, honestly.

Childe takes a knife laying on the kitchen counter. Other knives and utensils were just splayed on the counter like this man wasn’t expecting a hit on him. God, he’s so stupid. And Childe thought this man will be smarter than most. On the bright side, it gives him an idea how to kill him. He’s never one to think about it in advance, and instead preferred to take in inspiration on the go. That is, when he doesn’t just snipe them off a window, which is almost always his boss’s orders.

The man has backed himself into a corner with nowhere to run. His skin became ghastly pale, and as Childe closes the distance between them, he sees a telltale wet spot in the man’s pants, spreading down to his legs. Gross, he thinks. Why do they always have to pee themselves? He hasn’t even touched a hair on him.

He’s whimpering now, and for a second, Childe’s heart breaks. Not for his life, but for how disappointing he was. Childe really thought he’d put up a fight, or at least, you know, try to shove him away. Instead, he stopped begging and now he’s just accepted his fate.

Childe grabs the man’s shoulders and pushes him down to his knees. He kneels down so they’re eye level, but the man refuses to meet his eyes. He's a mess of sweat, tears and snot, and his pathetic demeanor gives Childe another brilliant idea.

“Look at me,” he says, seizing his chin and turning it to face him. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe. We received the intel, the one you leaked, and they’re eternally grateful for it.”

Childe’s Inazuman is rusty, but he knows the man understood when his face softens at his words. “Y-you’ll do something, right? Publish it in the papers?”

“Mm-hmm,” Childe says, nodding and grabbing his shoulders. “We’ll make sure everyone knows what the Tenryou Commission has been up to. The corruption. The lies.” He silently thanks his messenger. Maybe she was right; that information had been useful, but only for him to play with his food.

“Yes, yes!” The man nods furiously. “You have to—“

Childe digs the knife into the man’s stomach, pushes in, then drags it across from one end to the other. His face turns into a mixture of shock and pain, and Childe relishes the sight of the light leaving his eyes. Even when he was a disappointing kill, Childe still manages to find enjoyment in it—the way the man looks hopeful, even in his last moments, then all too quickly Childe takes it away with a slash of his abdomen.

From the gash, the man’s entrails peek out slightly, threatening to spill. Childe stands up, admiring his work. A traditional Inazuman way of suicide. It’s convincing enough that the man’s fellow detectives will think he’s disgraced; his supposed leaks will be published in the papers but declared fraudulent. They’ll know he’s a sham, and they won’t be surprised to see that he’d killed himself out of shame.

A smile forms at his lips. It’s not every day he gets to fake a suicide, and with a rare technique at that. His heart swells with pride at his work. Beautiful. He really should get a bonus for this, for his creativity.

He sets up the scene, wiping his prints off the knife before placing it in his victim’s hands. Childe has no DNA records anywhere, essentially a ghost; the Twelve made sure of that when they took him in, making him the Eleventh member of their organization. Still, he wants this scene perfect, and an unknown’s prints on the crime scene will be enough to declare foul play. That is, if the Tenryou detectives are competent enough. Childe has been in this line of work long enough for him to know that they would quickly sweep this under the rug, and no amount of damning evidence will make them do proper paperwork on this. Not if it will expose their corruption. And even if one cop decides to do his job properly, they’ll just send Childe again anyway, and he’ll end up like this man before him.

Such is life.

Childe stands up, taking in the scene one last time before leaving.

It was a short flight back to his apartment in Liyue, and immediately he slumps to his bed covered in fancy silk sheets, tossing his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. He wraps himself with his blanket, stretching his legs underneath, savoring the warm, cozy feeling it gave him. He had to suffer a few days of living in a capsule hotel in Inazuma for that job, and it was hell with how cramped and suffocating it was. Childe has half a mind to complain to his messenger about it, so she could tell the Tsaritsa to at least give him enough to book a comfortable hotel room, but he already knows it’ll be ignored. They should really set up a union for these kinds of things.

His phone rings. Not even five minutes of him arriving, and they already have another job for him. Not that he’s complaining. His cushy job pays for his fancy silk sheets and spacious apartment and designer clothes. All luxuries he just can’t live without, but they’re all useless if he can’t spend five minutes enjoying them.

So with a disgruntled sigh, he opens his phone and finds he received an email: “Congratulations! You won a 1-week luxury vacation to Mondstadt, land of the free! Click the link to claim your prize!” In another world, Childe knows not to click the button, but seeing as this is a burner phone and he doesn’t really use it for anything else, he knows this is a work thing. Sometimes they’d send encrypted postcards, and sometimes they’d send emails looking like spam. No one in the Twelve sees each other personally. Any communication had to be handled through their personal messengers, or they just send it through spammy emails like this. The whole setup is to protect all their identities, but really, it’s just confusing to Childe.

He taps the button to claim his prize, and a photo of a man in his mid-40s shows up, layered brown hair with subtle golden highlights at the tips. From his facial features alone, Childe surmises his next victim had Liyue blood in him. He looks familiar—he has a regal sort of look to him—but he can’t quite remember where he saw him. Probably a TV commercial or something. He’s so out of touch with the current celebrities these days.

Below the photo, there’s the specifics disguised as vacation details, but Childe knows how to read between the lines by now, so his mind translates as he reads it. Seven days to track him down in Mondstadt. Make it discreet. No witnesses. Will probably be intercepted by the Knights of Favonius for witness protection, so take him out before they could get to him. And below that is the ticket info for his flight to Mondstadt. Which leaves in a few hours.

No rest for the wicked, as they say. His heartbeat quickens at the thought of another job, and this time he has to be discreet and inconspicuous about it. Subtlety isn’t his greatest suit, but he’s always up for a challenge.

Seven days? I’ll do it in two.

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