Chapter Text
Monte Carlo, Monaco
"You do remember what happened the LAST time we were here, right? Pretty sure they haven't forgotten that."
Despite the sharp and expertly tailored suit he sported instead of his typical power gauntlet, there was still no mistaking the imposing figure of Akande Ogundimu, better known by his title of ‘Doomfist’, standing out among the other casino patrons.
And yet, he merely smiles pleasantly at one of the nearby server omnics; lifting a champagne flute with surprising delicacy from the tray it offers while Sombra continues to chatter idly over the communication link hidden in his ear.
"I have no intentions of shedding excessive blood here tonight. In fact, if you recall, we had no intentions of doing it last time, either."
Though she did have a point - no doubt the unfortunate incident with the goons of that wretched snake Vialli explained the increased security that Doomfist could see. He surveys armed men and omnics alike over the rim of the flute as he sips his champagne; posted at the numerous entrances and exits to the main floor. Probably even more hidden on the upper levels that he couldn’t immediately see.
There were even a few patrolling among the idle rich. You could always pick them out even when they were ‘undercover.’ Always on alert, always stiff and serious despite the exuberant mood of the room. So predictable.
If their target was here - which Doomfist had no doubt he was, Sombra’s intel was rarely ever wrong - then he’d certainly have his work cut out for him. And so would the average person trying to find him.
However, one does not become the leader of Talon by being average.
Doomfist could almost picture the eyeroll and shrug that accompanies Sombra’s tone when she speaks again.
"Hey, I'm just saying. Maxie might like you and have a lot of pull here, but you still might wanna watch your back. You don’t have señora azul or Gabe to cover you this time, after all.”
It was true - he had only brought her and left most of their usual team behind. He wanted to ensure they were successful in their mission; that meant trying to cut out as many variables as possible. Too many high-ranking Talon members would surely put their target on immediate alert, which could lead to another one of those... unfortunate incidents.
This was a diplomatic mission, after all.
Well. He considers it diplomatic, at least.
“Then we’d better make this a short visit. Spotted him yet?”
For a few moments, there’s only the soft clicking of the hacker’s nails as her fingers fly over a digi-keypad, barely audible above the general buzz of the rest of the main floor.
Then:
“Gotcha. There’s a statue garden on the roof. He’s up there.”
“Good. I’m making my way there. Any resistance I should expect?”
“Not as much as you might think.”
“...is that so? He’s made the first half of this job easy for us, then.”
He deposits his empty glass on another server’s tray, striding confidently past the multitudes of gamblers and their armed entourages. Some of them are bold enough to spare him a second glance; a few even instinctively go for the weapons hidden on their persons.
Those were always the younger ones. Amateurs champing at the bit to get a little glory, thinking they could justify taking him on.
The older ones are the ones that stop them. The ones who knew who he was. The ones who knew not just what he could do, but the connections he possessed.
Not just the ones with Talon, either. The Ogundimu family had many friends on this floor. Corporate partners. A lot of money went out to these people - legal and non. Should that cashflow be cut off…how many of them think they can live off glory alone?
The stairwell to the roof is conspicuously absent of guards - something a few of the more drunken guests have taken advantage of; giggling and grabbing each other like horny teenagers on prom night.
Doomfist passes them without concern. Let the fools revel while they can. Besides, Sombra was no doubt compiling anything blackmail-worthy on the many cameras she had control of.
On the rooftop, the pleasantly cool breeze is a welcome relief after the stuffy heat of the stairwell. Various statues in Greek and Renaissance-inspired styles stand among well-landscaped topiary; turning the place into a maze of stark black and white under the moonlight. Somewhere just ahead and out of sight, the sounds of a bubbling fountain.
All in all, quite a peaceful scene. Save the unconscious bodies on either side of the doorway.
Doomfist counts them. Four men, two omnics. Including one who had the misfortune of taking an arrow under its chin and up through its skullplate.
With careful steps, he makes his way deeper into the garden, eyes constantly scanning, scanning; alert for the slightest movement or sign of danger. As much as their target was prey, he was just as much a predator - the arrow lodged in the omnic guard’s head was proof of that.
There.
Near the western edge of the building. Were it not for the fact that he was not made of marble like the others around him, one could easily mistake him for just another statue; he sat that still. Only the wind’s slight stirring of the golden scarf tying his hair back gave him away.
It was a good spot for someone in this particular line of work. A wide and unobstructed view of the entry road and the drop off and pickup point for the casino guests, but with perfect cover to hide thanks to the building’s classical architecture.
Doomfist stops just a few meters away. He does hope this will remain civil. Be a shame to go through the trouble of this trip just to end up having to kill the man.
“Mister Shimada, is it?”
Hanzo Shimada does not answer at first. Merely sights down his apparent target - a tall bespectacled Asian man, getting out of a limo and being greeted by a tiny doll-like blonde in a shimmery red dress.
When he does speak, his voice is low and unwavering, and he doesn’t pull his gaze from the target. “If you know who I am, then you know why I am here, and what I do. If you are here to stop me, know that better men than you have tried.”
Anyone else might have been incensed by the arrogant jab. Doomfist merely considers it amusing, smiling slightly as he smoothes the front of his suit jacket with a hand.
“No, Mister Shimada. Do forgive the cliche, but I am here to make you an offer that you can’t refuse.”
He snorts at that. “Again, you would not be the first. Just as many people demand my services as much as try to put an end to them. However, I am, as cliche as it is also to say, a ‘free agent’. Now, if you will excuse me-”
Doomfist hazards moving closer, and he can see the way the archer tenses instinctively, but he merely makes a show of leaning forward a bit and peering down at the duo chatting animatedly just on the casino’s steps.
“Lai-Ying Liu, the Ambassador of Macau, hm? An interesting mark. Certainly a lot of money, legitimate and otherwise, goes through their casinos over there as it does here. Someone must be wanting more than their fair share, to put you on this assignment.”
“...your point?”
“Well, certainly I’m not criticizing the plan. It *is* a good plan. Kill the ambassador, every investor in his region will go on alert and start looking for proper protections for their funds. Which your contractor is no doubt counting on; to offer a safe haven to the scared fatcats and then rob them blind in the ensuing panic.”
His smile broadens, just ever so slightly.
“Yes, a very good plan indeed. Though, should you go through with it, it will almost certainly upset the Monacan ambassador down there...and when Miss Rochelle gets upset...well, that’s when Mr. Braginsky gets upset, too. And when Mr. Braginsky gets upset…”
He doesn’t have to continue. Hanzo finally reacts to that. He lowers his bow, swearing in Japanese under his breath.
Ivan Braginsky was the Russian ambassador. Hanzo had heard plenty of whispers about how he and Angelique Rochelle; the ambassador of Monaco; were an item, but he paid no mind to what he considered petty underworld gossip.
What he HAD paid attention to, however, were the rumors of the various connections that Braginsky had. From the bratva; the Russian mafia equivalent of his country’s own Yakuza triads; to the second-generation KGB agents in his country’s government, there were a lot of dangerous men who had a knack for making people ‘disappear’ for lesser crimes.
Even if the rumors were just that, rumors, the massive bear of a man was still an intimidating force all on his own. There was a reason very few people offered contracts on that man, and why even fewer dared to try and take them.
This complication was not part of his own contract. Whether it was just oversight on the part of his employer, or a foolish set-up intended to take him down; Hanzo could not say. But either way, he could not complete his mission like this.
With a great deal of frustrated restraint, he re-sheathes his bow across his back, just as the two ambassadors head inside the building.
Damn. It never looked good if he had to back out of a contract...and worse, this was supposed to have a good payout. Travel expenses for well-to-do locales like this weren’t exactly cheap.
He turns to glare at Doomfist, to ask him who he thought he was, butting into his affairs like this, but recognition quickly dawns on his face as he gets a proper look at the towering man.
“...you’re that warlord. The one they call the Scourge of Numbani.”
Doomfist laughs. “Oh now, warlord is such a harsh word. I prefer to call it...being a visionary general. A general in a new world that I shall build out of the ashes of the former one. But I suppose that is not as ‘catchy’.”
Hanzo doesn’t seem to share his good humor. He simply stares him down (or up, given their height difference).
“You surely did not come here just to interfere in my business. So state yours already.”
“Ah yes of course. Right to business. So, Mister Shimada, about my offer…"