Chapter Text
Dim light.
Dim light, soft sounds, smooth sheets, and the clock ticks.
Dim light.
The low drone of the refrigerator in the other room is one bland note. It doesn't change. It won't change.
Sheets rustle under touch with every shift of a foot or roll of a shoulder. Made of cotton, the sheets aren't loud enough to drown out the fridge. Or the clock.
The clock ticks with every second, the thinnest hand flicking to the next. It's the pathetic snare drum to a song that never truly sings him to sleep at night. He doesn't even know why it still hangs on his wall; his phone tells him the correct time just as well.
Dim light shines on his face as he scrolls, his thumb continuously swiping if only to land back on the same email every five minutes. The words had simultaneously lost and gained their meaning after the sixth read, anyway. It was just another job.
Just another person. Curly hair, gold eyes, fair skin. All traits that he'd seen too many times on too many people in too many different ways. Targets stopped looking so different after a while. He knew it was somebody the Lady wanted out of her way, just like the last dozen he'd handled. What a joke.
He'd do it tomorrow. The light dims from his face.
The clock ticks on.
_
Megapolis City was spoken of like it was as old as time, constantly changing with the new age and growing everyday. Home to millions, the dense and urban skyscrapers that kiss the sky make for a perfect skyline view, and the bright lights outshine any star that might be hidden overhead. A bustling city with a lifetime of opportunities a feeble mind couldn’t dare comprehend.
Yet, anyone actually living inside the city would say anything different. Downtown might have its perks, with fancy restaurants and brand names, but it’s a dystopian cover of perfection that fails to hide what might be happening just a few blocks over.
Buildings built on top of each other, an overwhelmingly dizzy display of a puzzle box. Trash litters the streets, pouring out of dumpsters squeezed between brick walls. The riverwalks are messy, muddled images of what they once were, overrun by more garbage and abandoned scrap metal.
Then, there was the noise of it all. It wasn’t the soft-sung choir that tourists listen to, gasping and pointing at the loud ads on big screens. No, the vocals were played by cars blaring and people shouting. The nonstop constant buzz of everything at once never seems to stop.
Noise is a constant. No matter where he stood or what he was doing, there was always something to be heard. It used to drive him crazy. He’s used to it now.
Yet, Macaque found that music could tune it out. Headphones, whether it was the ear pieces or muffling ones, they managed to drown out the constant static. Thrumming beats replaced the thuds of the apartment above him, or the way his boots clicked against the pavement as he walked. Instruments replaced mundane things, like the cars and people playing in the background. Melodies and lyrics fought against the natural thinking in his brain, a distraction that he hardly thinks twice about.
The world returns every time the headphones come out without fail, but that couldn’t be helped. Macaque moves on anyway.
Even now, as he makes his way down the pavement, drums roll out of tune with his steps. It was an achingly familiar path, the same neon signs meeting him time and time again. Eyes stay on the view up ahead, just a few more doors down.
Its concrete stairs and metal railing make it look modern, and yet it still feels different from the other businesses around them. It was like a little embankment staircase, leading down to the door that sits at basement level rather than ground. The lack of proper lighting makes it uncomfortable- just one flickering bulb over the door. A poor attempt at a welcoming appearance.
The jingle of his keys reach his ears as he uses one hand to tug off the headphones, letting the band rest against the back of his neck. The other hand shuffles through his key ring until he’s got the white one in his hand, plugging it into the doorknob halfheartedly. It wasn’t like he was excited to be here, far from it.
It was cold inside, the walls partly finished with peeling white wallpaper and cement floors that didn’t even heat during the summer time. He trails inside, used to it all. The trip down the hallway was still the same amount of footsteps he counted every time. Creaking doors in the same pitch that grates on his ears.
Macaque is unsurprised to find her in her office, the walls a light blue and eerie. A broad, dark spruce desk sits in the middle, a dark fireplace set in the wall behind it. It’s just barely lit, a small fire crackling and providing most of the light in the room.
Despite her black hair and quiet atmosphere, Macaque was familiar enough to catch the way she sits in the chair facing away from him and towards the fire. A grimace is hardly held back at the sight.
“My Lady.” His voice rumbles low and careful, and even though she isn’t looking at him directly, he gives a small nod of his head. It grants him a few moments of silence before she hums.
“There you are, my champion.” Cold and even, she greets him with that name. She turns slowly. “Punctuatal as always.”
Amber eyes meet the icy blue ones she greets him with every time, and yet it still makes him want to avert his gaze. He pushes through, anyway. "Got your text last night. Quite the forward move, huh?"
Macaque knew who she wanted gone. Well, he didn't know the guy real well, but he's heard all the different stories about him. Some good, some bad, some even worse. For the most part, he's only really heard the shit talk behind his back..
"Call it what you will." Her eyes still haven't left his face. "You know the expansion plans." Despite the wooden material, the chair hardly makes a sound as she rises to her feet. Foot falls are hushed and silent, almost as if she hovers towards the fire without a touch. His eyes bore holes into the back of her head, the glow of orange flames contradicting the dark blue of her skirt as she continued. "The others aren't much on their own. With him out of the way, the monk won't be hidden for long." Right. The old guy that she's loathed for decades.
Don't ask him. Even he doesn't know how this started.
"Yeah, fair enough." The mercenary responds a bit gruffly, his own eyes flicking to the fire before back up to what he can see of her face. He tries to hold back any smart comments this time. "I'll get it done."
"You will." Her words just barely miss cutting over his, her tone cool and firm like a fact. A small tilt of her head reveals both eyes on him. "I offer you patience in return for your efficiency. You have a week."
Macaque scoffs under his breath, hands clenching slightly in his pockets. He didn’t need a week, and she knew that. This was just another one of her “gracious” moments, a useless favor to act like he should be grateful. You know, ‘cause she was just so damn forgiving and kind.
“How fortunate am I?” He purrs with just a touch of something too tight, he can feel it in the grin he gives. A small bow at the hip is all he gives before turning on his heel to step away, boots clicking against the cement floor. He’s only minorly surprised when she lets him go without another word.
Sunlight greets him as soon as he exits the stairs, warm in the face and bright in his eyes. Eyes squinting slightly, he plucks his phone from inside of his pocket. The time tells him it’s just before noon, sun almost at its peak overhead the skyscrapers around him. Well, he has the time. A bit of lunch and research before he starts the hunt.
When Macaque arrives at his usual cafe, considering he only has a few he cares for, he settles in a booth towards the back. With hits like this, it’s never a bad idea for him to do stupid amounts of research.
The name just sounded so familiar. He knew it from somewhere, but goddamn, he couldn’t place it. From an old hit? Old client? The mercenary knew the guy was popular, he could tell within a couple minutes of looking up the name. Pictures from other people’s accounts, a news story or two, and even a criminal record that’s a couple years old.
Macaque has done this same process hundreds times over. Way too many times to count. It didn’t matter who they were or what they looked like. Names became numbers, price tags to cash in on or simple orders to follow. He doesn’t care if they see it coming or if they plead for mercy. He was efficient. Ruthless. A shadow.
Yet, there’s this uncomfortable tug in his chest every time his eyes glance over the profile picture. He knows it’s not the auburn fur, or the stupid, charming way the client smiled in his mugshot.
He knows it’s dumb. More than dumb, even. It’s stupid and pathetic that he’s even caught on a detail in the first place.
There’s no denying his curiosity, though. Every time he looks at his face, he’s reminded that this man is another monkey. Just like him.
Which is really just another detail about the client, a specification to his person more than anything else. Hell, it matters a hell of a lot more of how much money is in your pockets than it did who you were anymore. But… a monkey?
Macaque could not remember a time in his life where he’s seen another monkey. Besides MK, of course, but he was practically a kid to Macaque, and no one knew where the young adult came from. The mercenary surely never bothered to ask about the whole pig-monkey father-son thing. Part of him was afraid to.
It’s besides the point. The fact was, he had only ever met one other person just like him in his life, after seeing and meeting too many to count. So, yeah, maybe it trips him up a little more than usual. Maybe he stares at the profile more than he needs to to memorize. His own dark amber eyes tracing over lighter ones that saw the same way he did. A different face mask, different color and shape.
This was stupid.
The laptop shuts with a bit of a firmer click than he means to, and he’s hardly realized he’s been clenching his jaw until he breathes out.
For the first time in a while, Macaque feels the need to finish this job faster than anticipated.
When the sun hits his face this time as he exits the cafe, his hand is there to block it out.
_
"Yes, I already checked that garage you sent me." Macaque can hear his own voice carry the edge of irritation to it, but there's no attempt at lessening it. "Nothing in it but a couple of scraps and machinery. ‘Place is a bust."
He'd already been out since lunch scoping places out. It'd been hell scraping images from obscure social media posts, running them up with a connection to find just where to start looking. The city was huge; a few blocks worth was still more of a hassle than he'd like.
"Move on, then." The indifference in her voice is cold. "There's many more sights I need from you."
Macaque sighs away from the microphone.
"Fine. I'll keep looking." He hangs up before she has the chance to.
Two garages, three restaurants, and a goddamn park. Those were just the ones he's already visited today. How many places could some stupid mechanic frequent enough to be a lead, and why wouldn't a single person tell him if they'd even seen the guy? He knew the target was popular, but he couldn't say he was expecting this.
The rest of the places on his list aren't too hard to run by, easy enough to catch as he passes. Besides, Macaque knew the other probably wouldn't be there; surely, word may have already spread that he was looking for him. This would prove harder than he thought.
That was fine with him. The mercenary had dinner plans for himself, which happened to be the last place on his list. It wouldn't be the first time he's ever visited this particular noodle shop and a messy-haired kid.
Deciding to walk the rest of the block by foot, his headphones slip over his ears in an overly familiar way. He’s on a safer side of town and doesn’t feel the need to listen to every little noise the city has to offer for the next few minutes.. The sun was still up enough to shine light down the road, glancing across the sign on the restaurant.
The brick building is a refreshing change in its simplicity compared to the bright lights and flashy looks from other businesses around. The mercenary figures that was what gave it its charm.
That, and the ridiculously good food that he’d never admit to enjoying.
Macaque pushes the door open and slips inside, the aroma already starting to subtly work at the tension in his shoulders. It was comforting in a weird way he never really understood. Especially not when the owner is already glaring at him from over the bar counter. Part of him was starting to think the older man could read his damn mind.
"Mac!" Ah, there he is. MK stood behind the bar, grabbing a fistful of a plastic bag as he called out. "Long time, no see!"
"Hey, kid." Macaque drawls, making his way over towards him as MK met him in the middle. "Still working hard, huh?"
They both ignore the sarcastic snort from the pig, MK wincing slightly before chuckling gingerly. "Yeah, sort of. I'm about to run a delivery, actually. Wanna tag along?"
Macaque already knew his answer, grimacing slightly without realizing. He was no mechanic, but he knows there’s something messed up with that run-in machine MK calls a delivery car. Hell, the last time Macaque remembers being in that thing, the tire blew. A damn bike would be better.
His grimace must be more evident than he thought, because MK is shooting him a small pout and protesting. "Come on, I just got an oil change. It'll be fine."
"Fine."
Macaque follows the younger boy around the building towards the garage tucked into the back, watching with crossed arms as MK pulls the door up and open. There it was, in all its ugly glory. It was more like a golf cart, white with a gold hood that definitely came from somewhere else. Macaque scrunches his nose.
"Just get in!" MK's voice calls out from where he's already slipping into the driver seat. Macaque opens the passenger door with a small huff, slipping in and settling himself on the cloth seats. He subtly eyes as the kid plugs the key in, turning the engine over until it fires up. It was almost endearingly MK-esque, the stickers across the dashboard and air freshener hanging from the rearview. Macaque tries not to think too hard about it.
He waits until they’re on the road, his gold eyes watching familiar buildings pass by until he can hear MK shifting in his seat. The kid clears his throat before he can.
“So,” he drawls nervously, “I can’t imagine you’re here just to say hi. That’s not really your style.” Which it wasn’t, but Macaque frowns slightly at the comment anyway. His eyes don’t leave the view from his window.
“Relax, kid. No need to jump.” The car makes a quick brake before smoothing out again. The mercenary continues. “I’m not here on business-”
“Good!” MK interjects with a small, nervous laugh before continuing in a ramble. “I mean, Pigsy lectured the both of us the last time you got me involved in your stuff. He was pretty mad about that- I mean, that guy’s car blew up like right next me-”
“Okay! Okay,” Macaque groans, dragging a hand over his face before shooting the kid an exasperated look. He remembers the event just fine without MK reciting every detail he regrets. “I thought we agreed that it was out of either of our hands.”
It was MK’s turn to give him a pointed look that screams he did not agree deep down, but Macaque is doing his best to barrel over it and continue. “I’m not here for- that. I just have a few questions that you might be able to help me with.” Silence meets him for a moment too long that has him adding on, “No strings. I promise.”
It’s still quiet, but it’s not the silence Macaque preferred. It was the stillness in the air with bated breath, unspoken words teetering on tongues that slowly made the fur on the back of his neck raise. Fingers reflexively twitch for his headphones until finally-
“Alright.” It’s reluctant, just enough to strike the idea of hesitance, but MK’s voice returns to normal shortly after. “I’ll answer what I know.”
Macaque doesn’t give himself enough time to think about how his voice makes his chest funny; just clears his throat and starts. “I’ve got word that one of your regulars is somebody I’m looking for, I’m hoping to ask ‘em a few questions, just like you.” The profile he had on his phone comes up without a hitch, and he holds it up for MK to glance over at. “Know this guy?”
The teen does, his brown eyes flicking from the road to the screen, and the realization is immediate. Eyes return to the road, but there’s the soft cuss under his breath and a narrow to his eyebrows that Macaque can’t miss. He gives a small, prompting hum.
There’s a few seconds where he’s not sure he’s going to get an answer before MK is glancing again and confessing. “Yeah, I do. He’s a great guy- a good guy, ya’know?”
Macaque knows. Or, at least, that’s what he’s heard from everybody else he asked. MK’s was different, though. There was no denying the body language and defensive tone, MK knew this person enough to trust them at the very least. This would affect the information the kid was willing to give him, sure.
On the other hand, this was much bigger than that. Macaque tries not to swallow the realization that when he finishes the job, it’ll be more personal this time. Not just for his selfish curiosity about the monkey.
The car slows down as it pulls up in front of an apartment complex, and MK takes the silence to excuse himself with the delivery bag. The car is left on, the low hum of a random radio station a background as he watches the teen head into the building. Traffic and pedestrians carry on around the car.
Macaque wouldn’t ever agree that he cares about the kid, no, he tolerates him at best. Their past doesn’t matter to him- it never had. That’s what he keeps telling himself, at least. A hand rubs at his face, running along the side of his brow like he could ease away the thoughts building in his head. It doesn’t.
Were they close? When he does what he needs to do, will it hurt? How personal will this end up being?
A mercenary like himself never stuck around after a clean kill. There was no concolling the family, no caring if children were left behind. Megapolis City was a damn nightmare itself, and the Lady usually had scraps or rogues she wanted plucked clean, anyway. Macaque shrugged the regret off his shoulders with the same disgust he scraped shit from his boots.
Yet, for the first time in forever, Macaque thinks a thought he didn’t think he could. A thought that he hasn’t considered since he first started working for her. Even just a portion of the fact that maybe, just maybe, he might regret this one.
Macaque is ripped from his thoughts at the slam of the driver door shutting, MK coming into view as he whips his head towards him. MK meets his eyes with his own wide, brown ones, the air in the car tense.
Then, forcing his shoulders to relax, Macaque grunts out. “Get a tip?”
The scrunch on the kid’s face is already enough, but they both groan and sigh when his hand opens to reveal loose change, with a small mutter under Macaque’s breath about “stingy bastards”. MK lets his forehead thud against the wheel for a few moments before sitting back to buckle the seatbelt.
“It’s just this apartment building, probably.” The kid mutters, guiding the car back onto the busy road. “Maybe they’re like, low on money.”
Macaque sneers at the optimism. “I think you should start spitting in people’s food.”
“Mac.”
“I’m just saying,” The older one bites, his tail lashing where it coils near his feet. “At least a few of them deserve it, no doubt.”
He sees MK give him what could only be a look of exasperation from the corner of his eye, but he pays it no mind. He knows people, and knows they’re shitty. Humans and demons alike were all that way. Shitty and greedy to the core. He chalks up MK’s optimistic thoughts to naivety, someone who hasn’t seen the scum of the city.
Another uncomfortable silence hangs in the air for several moments, neither of them speaking up. When it’s clear Macaque isn’t going to continue, MK takes a deep breath before murmuring. “Wukong’s a good guy. I’m sure whatever this is, he’s not involved.”
The words make him pause. It’s no longer the guilt he had been mulling over earlier, that’s not the part he hangs off of. It’s the way the name of the other rolls off of MK’s tongue, his sensitive ears rolling over every letter in the word until the weight crashes into his gut. This was that familiarity he’d been feeling this morning.
This was that stupid fixer that MK brags about like he’s some cool older brother, and Macaque is suddenly remembering stories that he hadn’t really listened to back then. The way he had fixed the delivery car, or the race car rides, or all the ways he’d helped MK in general.
Oh, fuck him. Fuck him, fuck him, what does he do now?
He can’t kill this guy. It’s not- it’s most definitely not for MK, he’s immediately telling himself. Yet, there’s this churning feeling that’s slowly picking up in his stomach, and it pushes at his sides like it wants out. It spins, and twirls, and crawls its way up his esophagus until it tickles the back of his throat.
Macaque can’t just go back on orders like that. He knows first hand that there’s no excuse or reason that could ever be justifiable to her. No pleading, no tears, and not a damn promise in the world could make her forgiving. He knows that, he knows better than anyone-
The fingers snapping in front of his face has his upper lip instinctively curling, eyes cutting to the hand before the boy himself. MK is staring at him with a conflicted look, slowly pulling his hand back to his lap. It’s then does Macaque realize they’re back at the restaurant, the car already pulled into the garage.
“Don’t do that.” The older man snaps at him, clicking his teeth before opening the car door and slipping out. His ears catch the sound of the kid sighing before following suit. Macaque waits outside the garage for him, ready to follow back around and inside.
Yet, MK doesn’t go. He just stops in front of Macaque with a stubborn look, eyebrows furrowed in thought. It’s long enough that Macaque starts to bristle, and he’s about to snap at the kid to spit it out already when he speaks first. “You should meet him.”
Maybe it’s disgust, or confusion, but whatever emotion that’s so strongly displayed on Macaque’s face has MK sputtering, trying to explain his reasoning. “No, really, Macaque! He’s great, and friendly! Once you meet him, you- you’ll understand that he’s not what everyone says!”
Well, if it wasn’t disgust and confusion before, it definitely is now. MK has no idea what he’s just offered to Macaque. Like hell he wants to meet the man he’s going to kill within the next few days. Naive little MK, Macaque sneers internally, doesn’t even understand what’s going to happen.
The mercenary would have to be a fool or some kind of amateur to pass this offer up. A straight shot right into where the client lives? That wasn’t information he had pulled up in all his research earlier. If the kid wants to lead his friend to his demise without knowing, Macaque had to jump on that.
The mercenary swallows down any other possible feeling other than satisfaction and mild interest as he props on a relaxed grin, shrugging his shoulders like it’s not a big deal. “Well, aren’t you generous, huh?” Macaque tilts his head, eyeing the kid. “How fast can you set this up? I’d love to ask those questions as soon as possible.”
MK blinks in surprise at the elder’s easy acceptance, but he’s experienced enough to not look a gifted monkey in the mouth. “As soon as you want! I mean, I’m supposed to go over there tomorrow night, anyway-”
“Perfect!” Macaque grins wider, and he throws an arm around the kid’s shoulder before steering them back down the alley and towards the street where the front of the restaurant lies. “You have no idea how much you’re helping me out here, kid.” When MK gives him that proud smile, he’s quick to look away.
“Of course! You know, monkeys gotta stick together!” MK nudges Macaque as if they’re actually friends, and the mercenary just chuckles and reaches up to ruffle the kid’s hair.
When they agree to meet up in front of the restaurant tomorrow night before heading over, Macaque doesn’t think too hard about it. Even as he watches the kid beam that innocent smile at him and wave goodbye like he’s excited, Macaque doesn’t flinch.
It’s not until he’s turned away, hands shoved in his pockets as he walks down the street do the thoughts pick up. The sun has already dipped below the horizon, and the impeding skyline covers any last dying rays of color. Shadows already snake around corners and conceal hiding spots in alleys.
The noises continue on without a doubt. No amount of sunlight could change the ever-bustling city that ran every second of the year. Cars honk in the distance, people walking by without a second glance, and Macaque pays too much attention to the way his boots thud against the pavement. The headphones stay around his neck.
It’s arguably better than the way thoughts press against the confines of his skull, a sick sort of song as they pulse against every surface they can find. It sings louder than the noises that filter through his ears.
How was he going to go about this? Would tomorrow night really be the night, and how the hell was he supposed to get around MK without him knowing?
Every question only seemed to raise several more that he lacked the answers for, and he hated the images that accompanied them. MK, and the way he’d looked at him. The happy tone of his voice when Macaque had agreed to come with, like he wanted him there. Normally, he would roll his eyes and keep on.
Then, the thoughts are no longer of MK smiling. It’s something raw and desperate, and a few times, he imagines its hatred. Yelling, screaming, crying, cursing the way Macaque had used him again. MK spitting venom on his tongue rather than the sad, disappointed way he’d taken him back the first time.
Macaque’s stomach spins, and he hates feeling so bilious. He loathes the way emotions hiss and burn at the muscles in his throat every time he’s choked back a feeling he didn’t want to endure. This was supposed to be another stupid job, some stupid chromie who the Lady wanted off the market.
If he doesn’t do this, there’s no telling what she would have for him, or what she might even do to him. Macaque could not let that happen again. He despised her idea of punishment, and he knows this case is huge. He can’t- he won’t go through it again.
Macaque wants to do this as soon as possible. He’ll finish this mission days before she expected him to, and he’ll pass her expectations again like he’s done all these years. When this monk is gone, maybe, just maybe, she’d show it. Congratulate him, or even fucking thank him.
He needed this. There would be no exception for someone who just so happened to look like him. No excuses for somebody who might mean something to somebody. No goddamn reasoning for some kid he tried his hardest not to care about.
Macaque arrives at his apartment door before he knows it, and he fumbles with his keys to unlock it, passing by that familiar bone-white key. His nose scrunches.
His apartment greets him in the same melancholic way it always did. Opting for the lamp rather than the overhead, the low light fills the space as best as it can. Everything looks the same, nothing tampered with.
The refrigerator hums away where it sits, cold and unmoving. There’s no magnets, nothing to hang up or look at. A torn, unused calendar sits on the kitchen counter.
The cotton sheets greet and wrap around him when he slides in, bones weary with a weight more mental than physical. They’re quiet, soft whispers against his skin as he settles into place.
The dim light from his phone shines on his face as he sets an alarm. He had to report his findings tomorrow morning, anyway. As Macaque shuts his eyes, an arm draped over his brow, he finds the thoughts pulse heavier against the back of his eyelids when they’re closed.
Tomorrow night, he will do it. He’ll kill Sun Wukong. No regrets, and no hesitance.
The clock ticks on.