The Black Case

Inspired by this song and accompanying art by Killerblood, as shown to me by the game Cytus, by Rayark Games.

...And the King A. files are the last to go into The Black Case.

I've lost count of the number of the number of casefiles and documents clients have asked me to pilfer. People forget that 98% of all documentation  and official records are kept on paper still. What's hilarious is that almost none of it is looked at again. I don't like how ignored all those words are.

If it's ever said about me that I only have one rule, it's that I read everything I steal. No client or rogue government or corporation is so important to tear me away from my evenings leisure with a glass of vermouth.

With the papers inside, The Black Case shakes my arm as I clipped the heavy locks on it. I straighten my jacket and ruffles and with my right hand flip my top hat onto my head. I check the laces on my embroidered leather dress shoes - the shine of the polish shows my reflection even from a standing height - and promptly leave the archive room of this embassy.

Turning left out of the and walking briskly down the hall, I look to the right and take in the floor to ceiling view of nature of the country who's name I can't pronounce.

I'm already getting the confused looks from ministers and security officers. It's not helpful that I tip my hat to each and every one of them. They return my greetings by muttering something into a crackling walkie-talkie.

I pull my hat closer to my ears and turn my brisk walk into a vigorous jog. My feet leave a trail of clapping sounds against the polished tiles of the floor but I don't concern myself with it. Time is of the essence.

I jump a flight of stairs and slide down the hand rail of the other as I enter into the lobby. It is a beautiful building. The security cavalry have assembled to greet me, lining impolitely in front of the door. As I approach, the automatic gunfire starts to shower me; their inaccuracy and the strength of The Black Case keeps me safe as a perfect shield.

As the mistaken security force attempted to reload I simply release smoke from a pellet up my sleeve and walk through the group as they choked.

The street was crossed and I placed The Black Case on the passenger seat and sped off across the cobblestones. The electronic jazz formed from sound system and a smile played on my face; I have reading to do.