Once Upon a Time 

Sebastian Moran’s Two Step Guide to a Dishonourable Discharge.

1. Point.
2. Click.

Well, that was fast. Back in London with a duffel bag. No gun, no money. Well, some money. Not much.

‘Bas found a flat in Catford. Lived in the rooms above the landlord and his wife. He’d lie awake nights just listening to them scream at each other in Russian. When this got too much for him he started going to pubs. Losing himself in sound, in light, in drink. He’d get sloshed, pick fights, come home bleeding and the closest to alive he got. The landlady would press gauze at him and admonish him in Russian. He learned to reply.

Truth be told, he was lost. Adrift. Slumming aimlessly and finding work where he could. All of the money that didn’t go to rent went to alcohol and, later, cocaine. 

Lost.

Someone saw him get tossed out of a bar after dislocating some asshole’s jaw. Saw his hand twitching, recognised him for what he was. Had someone who’d wanna meet him, he said. Brought him down to meet his first client, this ‘Terf’ guy.

Sebastian Moran, gun for hire.

You had a mark, you had enough money, he’d shoot. Never did ask why - wasn’t any of his business. He’s the gun, not the hand. He’d take other jobs, but for the most part he worked for Terf. When people needed to be taken out, he took. Flat wage. Wasn’t great, but certainly enough. And it wasn’t like the work was challenging. It was boring as hell.

That is, until he was approached by the guy in the suit. Some agent, didn’t catch his name. Musn’t have been important. Guy represented a client who needed to get rid of a politician, client who said he’d pay a ridiculous amount of money. Well, probably not that outrageous. But compared to Terf? No way in hell he was turning it down.

The catch: client wanted him exclusive. 

Why not? The work was more interesting, the pay was better.

Terf.

He got in a pretty nasty fight with the guy when he said he was quitting. Terf wouldn’t take no for an answer - was dumb enough to pull the line “I own you” on him.

Terf lost a few teeth and got a nice new piece of lead in his leg. ‘Bas got away with a broken nose and a black eye. Of course, he didn’t get away, one of the guys called the cops and made it look like plain assault. 

‘Bas lay back on the floor in his prison cell whistling some Pixies tune, when who shows up but Agent Fucking Nameless to bail him out? Sits him in the back of a car, takes him to a medic who doesn’t ask questions. 

Who the hell is this client?