Case 2-E: The Count
Vergil didn't know how he did it, but he managed to clear his floors of all the paperwork in a single night. Not only that he somehow managed to alphabetize his filing cabinets. He didn't even know why he had a problem with his apartment room all of a sudden.
For the longest time, he had simply let the papers lie on the floor. Hell, he didn't even know what most of them were for. He could have thrown them all away ages ago, but he simply didn't have the willpower to pick them up individually or to move his trashcan to a more convenient location.
Yet the night he came home, he suddenly had the overwhelming urge to organize everything. Not only that, his mind somehow managed to plot the organization in literally a nanosecond, somehow figuring out what a majority of the papers were for. About a fourth of them turned out to be coupons with surprisingly long expiration dates.
Anyways, now that the papers were neatly tucked away, he wouldn't have to worry about them for many years to come. What he was now worried about was how his brain somehow had become a super computer. He could always ask Danny about that, but then he would have to go through the motions of having to explain his previous escapades. Frankly he was getting tired of having to do recaps for other people.
And then there was the case at hand. Who was this "Painter" character? Obviously he wasn't a figure known to most of the actual public considering that he wasn't in any of the news archives he had read so far (he had read seven years worth over the course of twenty-four hours and still going).
If there was anything he had learned, however, it was that the news hardly ever covered the activities of the mobs. So there was still another place he could turn for information. That was a good thing too, considering that his previous sources were becoming progressively more tight-lipped about their operations.
He would try going to the police station tomorrow to see if he had access to the forensics department. Perhaps he could even discuss the case with Simon or Mark assuming Park hadn't threatened them into keeping their mouths shut. After that, he would make his second trip to the Underground.
But first he would finally get some sleep. He didn't even bother to take his coat off as he fell onto the bed and quickly blacked out.
Now Vergil knew he definitely would need to see a doctor. This marks the tenth time in a month where he woke up at noon. Thankfully he found a cheap restaurant on the way that was serving brunch, though the groaning noises in his stomach probably indicated that the food wasn't the cleanest. He probably should've chosen the usual place instead of trying to experiment. Hopefully there wouldn't be any embarrassing emergency trips to restroom on the way to the police station.
Suppressing another churn of his stomach, he entered the police station. He looked around. The good news was that Park wasn't anywhere in the immediate area. The bad news was that neither were Simon or Mark. He hoped that the forensics department would be open at least.
Nobody was raising any alarms from him being in the station. That was good. From the way their last conversation had gone, Vergil had suspected that Park had gone back to the station to inform everyone not to let him through even the front door. He even pictured Park holding a photo of him shouting those exact words during a meeting. How Park would have gotten the picture, Vergil couldn't be certain.
What he could be certain of was that the forensics department was still open, judging by the lights, the computers still being on, the sword on the table, and the man in the lab coat. Actually the person in the lab coat should have been the first sign.
Vergil stopped at the door for a moment. He couldn't just barge in. He didn't have an appointment obviously. The man in the room would probably sound an alarm or cry out for help. If that would happen, he definitely would be barred from the entrance of the station. There was also the possibility of him contaminating the murder weapon.
After much deliberation, he finally came up with the perfect approach. He walked up to the door and gave three good knocks, not to heavy but still loud enough to hear. He looked up to see a small slot on the door open up, revealing a pair of eyes.
"Who're you?" said a voice.
"Vergil Vasquez, private eye," Vergil responded. "I'm investigating the death of former commissioner Roger Kingsly."
"You know I can't just let anyone in here."
"You wouldn't be very good at your job if you did," said Vergil. "So what can I do to gain access?"
"First, remove your coat," the voice instructed. "I got to see if you're armed."
Vergil swung the coat off of himself in nearly a millisecond, an ability he picked up from years of practice. "So where do you want me to hang it?"
"Bring it up to the slot."
Guessing the man wanted to have a closer look at the coat, Vergil did as he was told. A gloved hand suddenly shot out from the slot and yanked his coat out of his hands and pulled it through the narrow opening.
Vergil waited patiently. Then a minute had passed. He was beginning to wonder if he had been forgotten. "Take your time!" he shouted.
He waited a few more seconds. Finally, he saw his coat being pushed through the slot.
"Now I'm going to request that you give me your pistol," said the voice.
"Of course," Vergil muttered as he handed his weapon over. Like his coat, his pistol was pulled through the slot.
"Okay you're clear," said the voice.
The door opened revealing a red-headed man wearing a lab coat and glasses. That was to be expected. Vergil however was marginally surprised by the fact that the man was significantly taller than him and built quite sturdy. Not to say it was rare, but Vergil viewed scientists as being more of the lanky, meek sort of individuals.
"So what're you looking for?" the man asked.
"The murder weapons," Vergil said. "Did you find anything on it?"
"I was actually about to present my findings to the Lieutenant," the man said. "But as you can see, he's not in right now."
"You want to present them early?"
The forensic scientist shuffled around for a bit with uncertainty, scratching the back of his neck.
'Huh, so he is meek,' thought Vergil. 'Who'd of thought?'
"I don't think the Lieutenant is going to be happy with this," the man finally said.
"Tell me what you know and I'll be out of here," said Vergil. "He won't have to know that I was ever here."
After some more deliberation, the man finally conceded. "The lieutenant is going to kill me," he muttered under his breath as he guided Vergil into his office.
The forensics room was both cramped and sterile. A large table in the center occupied the most space. Above it was looked like a giant rectangular lamp. On the table was a sword, rusted blood coating the tip. This table was isolated by a giant glass container. The man seemed to notice that he was interested in the device.
"I would refrain from touching the glass if I were you," the scientist said.
"Of course," said Vergil. "Wouldn't want to contaminate the evidence."
"What I meant to say was that the barrier fries anything that makes contact with it," he said pointing to the glass casing.
Vergil backed away from the barrier slowly, deciding that he wanted a view of the rest of the room. What space wasn't occupied by the giant table was instead occupied by a desk lined with rows of files with different colored tabs along with the pistol he had handed in beforehand. Off to the corner was a rather large monitor that was streaming information, the code cascading down the screen. Sticking out of the side of the monitor was what appeared to be thick bands of neon wires, connecting to the lamp hanging over the large center table as well as the table itself.
As a matter of fact, he was seeing a lot of neon wires lining the room.
He couldn't help but ask the scientist, "Hey how do you move around with all these wires hanging everywhere?"
"What wires? Everything in the room is supposed to be wireless." The scientist looked as though he had no idea what Vergil was talking about.
"Never mind," Vergil said.
'Great, now I'm seeing things again,' Vergil thought.
He could only assume that this was one of his newfound "abilities." Why it would decide to show up now instead of at a more convenient time was beyond him. If anything, this activation now made the place look like a minefield.
"Uh, what would you like to see?" the scientist asked.
Vergil shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts. "Well what do you have so far?"
"We are certain that whoever killed the former commissioner wasn't using gloves," said the man. "But it's as if the killer didn't have completely organic hands. The incisions on the hilt seem to hint that whoever was wielding it had razor blades for fingers. But there were also -- "
Vergil stopped him before he could finish. "I kind of figured that beforehand," he said.
The scientist realized almost instantly how useless his information thus far had been. Vergil could tell because his face flared up like a Christmas light. "I'm guessing you already know everything that I'm telling you then."
"I don't know about the actual body," said Vergil. "Why don't you tell me about what you found on that?"
"O-of course!" the man said with a nervous laugh. With a small cough he continued. "There were no lacerations found on the body besides the stab wound. There was, however, a heavy amount of bruising and a few fractures especially to the back area. We also discovered what loosely appear to be foot prints on his body."
'So The Painter literally kicked the guy around the room before dealing the finishing blow,' Vergil thought. 'Just who is this guy?'
"We also found a scrap of clothing on the body," the scientist said.
Now they were finally making progress. "Did you identify who it belonged to?" Vergil asked.
"It's strange really," the scientist said. "The computer does identify DNA, but the actual name isn't in the database."
"So the cloth belongs to someone who just came to Aigis then?" Vergil asked.
"Yeah, that's actually why all of the investigators are out," the man said. "They're questioning every recently arrived immigrant. Anyways, that's all I have so far."
"You want to give me your name so that I can give you a proper greeting next time?" Vergil asked. Seriously, he was tired of having to label the red-head as just "That Guy."
"The lieutenant says that I'm not allowed to for security reasons," the man responded.
Vergil couldn't even think of a witty response to that. "Well that's... odd."
It had been weeks since he last traversed the sewer systems of Aigis. He had to adapt to the smell all over again. Thankfully, he actually knew where the entrance was this time. The gate with the broken lock also had remained unfixed. Though there was always the possibility that it had been that way from the beginning.
Vergil was in for quite a shock as he took the elevator down to The Underground again. What once looked like a desolate landscape repurposed for living had been turned into a city of lights. It reminded him of a fallen grand city that he had read about in history books that had been called "The City of Lights."
Indeed, The Underground was now almost blindingly bright. Neon lights lined newly refurbished buildings. Search lights beamed out of the pseudo-city. The streets even looked more densely populated than before. He also swore that he heard the distinct boom of club music. How did all of this go unnoticed by the surface world?
The moment the elevator finally reached the ground, the first thing Vergil immediately noticed was the new ads that were plastered all over the place. He had never taken the criminal underworld to be a place for commercialism, but apparently gangs could also get their names plastered all over products.
In this case, he saw several posters lining the walls advertising:
The Perfect Scent
On the posters were a spherical perfume bottle with what appeared to be a grinning mask printed on the front with starry eyes. That grinning mask seemed to be showing up on the other ads as well. Looking outside he saw newly erected billboards and more posters advertising things ranging from bullets to cigar cases, each with the label of "Aristocrat" and the same mask printed on.
This commercialization probably was also attracting a different sort of population. No longer did he exclusively see formally dressed individuals. Now amongst the crowds were women dressed in skimpy outfits and men who most likely were disgruntled cubicle workers. That was not to say that the element of organized crime wasn't going strong in the place.
There still were men and women dressed in formal dresses and business suits walking amongst the place. Some of them looked uncomfortable with having to share the space with people who were so casually dressed. Others appeared as though they had no idea that their business community had suddenly been remodeled.
As he was busy taking in his new surroundings, he abruptly bumped into someone. He looked in front of him, at first no seeing anything. Then he looked down. Against all odds, he managed to run into Corina for the second time. This time she was back in the navy blue suit he had become accustomed to seeing her in.
"Excuse me," she said quickly.
Vergil stopped her before she got a chance to move past him, figuring it was a good time to do some questioning."Hold up," said Vergil. "What are you doing here?"
"Conducting business," she said.
"Trying to inform more associates about Marie's change in codename?"
"Sure let's go with that," she said, walking away again.
That answer obviously wasn't good enough. So Vergil decided to walk alongside Corina, hoping to strike a conversation that could yield more than just one sentence answers.
"So what is your job exactly?" Vergil asked.
"Are you going to keep harassing me?" she asked.
"Just trying to strike up a friendly conversation," he said.
"Well we're not friends are we?" she said.
"Who says we can't be?"
"I do." The girl seriously could pull off the coldest looks imaginable. Vergil swore that her very eyes were just inches away from piercing his soul. It was doubly impressive considering her big youthful eyes. They seemed more useful for someone who wanted to look cute rather than menacing.
"And if you want to continue this conversation," she said. "I suggest that you stay back there."
"Okay then." Corina was seriously limiting his conversation options. He had a feeling that she had prepared for individuals such as himself many years beforehand. "What're you doing down in The Underground?"
"I could be asking you the same question," she responded. "I thought you already got what you came for."
"So you eavesdropped on our conversation?" Vergil asked.
"It was hard not to when you stirred up such a commotion," she said. "And you were quite a popular subject for days afterwards."
Vergil couldn't help but be curious. "So what're they saying about me?"
"They think that you might have broken their boss," she said. He could just barely make out the hints of a snicker underneath her professional tone. But that moment of emotion was fleeting at best. "She's been unfocused on the current state of her family's business they say."
"That's private information between Miss Rosette and I," she said, gaining the edge back in her voice.
"So you and Marie are... close?" Then a realization hit Vergil. "You're not part of the Rosa Mafia are you?"
Corina stopped walking. "How can you tell?"
"Don't think I just like asking questions," said Vergil with a smirk. "I'm quite perceptive when I want to be."
"Could've fooled me," he heard her mutter.
For some reason, the statement didn't hurt as much. It probably was a growing immunity.
"And that doesn't answer my question," she continued.
"Well since you asked nicely," Vergil said. "The first thing I noticed was the fact that Marie was detached from everyone in the room. At the time, I just brushed that off as her being unable to keep track of the sheer amount of people in the room. But there is the possibility that she doesn't particularly like any of the other associates. Then you mentioned that she might not be focused on the family business and how she only disclosed it to you."
"I never said that."
Ignoring her, Vergil continued, "Obviously she wouldn't tell someone within the business as it would severely damage her reputation, and in a business like that it would probably lead to her death. So she only confides in the one person who isn't a part of the business yet still connected to it which would be you. The question now is what your job is. You're obviously not just somebody who exists to open a door. So are you going to tell me?"
"Wasn't there something you needed to do?" she asked.
Vergil was drawing a blank here. He thought that his purpose was to get acquainted with this girl who he had just run into for the second time in a row. What was he originally going to do? There was the police station, then the forensics department, then the ride down...
Corina was already ahead in the crowd by the time he managed to retrace is steps, figuratively of course.
"Okay before you leave," Vergil said quickly. "Do you know anything about someone called The Painter?"
Several other people within listening distance suddenly froze in their steps. Corina however didn't seem to notice as she continued walking on.
"Never heard of him," she said. Without another word, she disappeared into a crowd of people.
Before Vergil could move another inch, he saw several people break away from the crowd, surrounding him. They were all dressed in black suits and wore matching shades.
"Lucky girl," he heard one of the men say.
"Unfortunately we can't say the same thing to you," another suited man said.
Vergil pulled his gun out. "What do you want?"
"If you forget about this 'Painter' fellow, we can avoid this," said another voice this time behind him.
"Sorry but I wouldn't be good at my job if I stopped investigating now would I?" Vergil said as he pushed down the hammer.
Before he could react, his gun was flung out of his hands, a shot echoing in the streets soon accompanied by a crowd of screams. He stared at his pistol, noting the bullet hole going through the side of the barrel. It would have only taken him a second to reassess his strategy, but even before the second was up, he felt something strike the back of his head.
Then everything went dark.
"Christ! Couldn't you have just put a sack over his head or something?!"
Vergil's eyes opened slowly at this outburst. The room was still very blurry, though he could make out a red figure standing by two black ones.
"We wanted to make sure there was no resistance."
"You caused a panic in the streets with your stunt! Do you know how hard it is to maintain control over a place as large as this?"
As the two black figures left, the room came into view. His new surrounding looked rather... old-fashioned, like a castle from centuries ago. The ceiling was painted with a portrait of a cloudy sky and adorned with bright, ornate chandeliers. Great stone pillars propped this fake sky, blue tapestry tied along all of them.
"I see our guest has awoken," a voice said.
Vergil turned to see a blonde man in a red suit standing by him. He looked oddly familiar, like he had met the man only a few weeks ago.
"Where'm I?" Vergil managed to utter.
"You're inside the Aristocrat's private chambers," the man in red said.
"Huh. You know I saw that name plastered everywhere not to far back." Vergil's mind was piecing itself together at a surprisingly quick speed as he was already processing a way to escape.
The moment feeling came back to his arms and legs however, he realized he was strapped to a chair. Admittedly, it was a fancy chair with red cushions and a golden frame. But still, he was strapped to a chair.
"Just a precautionary measure," the man said. "We know what your first reaction will be." He viewed Vergil tugging at his bindings, flashing an amused smile when one of the binding began coming loose. "I admit, our men are not the best at tying people down, but I still wouldn't do that if I were you. Five men were more than enough to subdue you. Now think of having to go through a mansion filled with nothing but them."
Vergil soaked the comment in for a moment then stopped resisting. "So did you take me here so that your boss could personally execute me?"
"I wouldn't jump to conclusions so quickly," the man said. "That's for the boss to decide and it's entirely likely that you two will strike some form of compromise." Vergil threw him a skeptical glare. "I do apologize if our men gave you the wrong message. The boss is actually quite a nice guy, honest."
Something about the suit and sunglasses triggered something within Vergil's memory. "Hey wait, didn't I see you here several weeks ago?"
"Did you?" That was the probable response. Not everyone was graced with the ability to memorize faces.
"I guess it'd be too long for a lot of people. But yeah, I was that guy who asked you about Harman. Do you at least remember that?"
"Oh." He pondered for a moment and appeared to come to a realization. "Nope, still drawing a blank."
"Never mind," Vergil grumbled.
"Anyways, in a matter of minutes the boss will be coming through those doors," the man said pointing towards a set of double doors.
A second after he had made the gesture, the doors swung open. Behind said doors was a peculiarly dressed being. On said being's face was a mask, not unlike the image he saw in the ads.
The mask blocked the person's true identity, but from the general body shape Vergil could assume that this masked individual was male. He wore a black vest with a studded, asymmetrical collar pulled up, complimented by similarly colored pants and a white dress shirt. In his right hand was a long cane tipped off with a head bearing the Aristocrat's grinning face. He just exuded the aura of an upperclassman.
The way he spoke however, gave off a completely different image. "Hey what's up?" The boss of the Aristocrats noticed that Vergil was still tied to his chair, giving him a very confused look.
He gave a rather nervous laugh and scratched the back of his head, acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation. "Yeah, sorry about the whole tying you up thing. But you had part of it coming."
"Did I now?" Vergil was still waiting for the part where someone would go over his list of transgressions.
"Yes," the mob boss said.
Vergil waited for a follow-up. The room remained silent for a good minute, only briefly broken by the tapping of the mask man's foot.
"Oh right!" the mob boss exclaimed. "I forgot the introductions!"
With that, all of the lights in the room shut off, rendering the surroundings pitch black. Suddenly two search lights turned on, beaming across the room. All the while, a booming announcer voice echoed through the room. "Introducing the one and only..."
After a rather long drum roll, the search lights shut off anti-climactically with a click and a hum as the audio crackled out of existence in a wave of static.
Through the darkness, Vergil heard the very annoyed shout of the red-suited man. "Dammit! I thought I told Vasquez to fix that!"
The lights abruptly turned back. The man in red looked exasperated. Vergil obviously couldn't tell what the masked man was thinking at the moment, though his stance did imply that he was virtually unfazed.
"Anyways, they call me The Count," the masked man said with an extravagant bow. "And the guy standing next to you is my right-hand man Montoya Lorde Von Gabriel. Everyone just calls him Gabe."
Vergil looked up at the man in red. Gabe looked back down at him, giving him a respectful nod. Yet another moment of awkward silence filled the air. Gabe coughed a bit, most likely to alleviate the mood.
After a ridiculously long pause, the Count finally spoke again. "So, you know why you're here right?"
"No," Vergil said. "I was thinking that you would tell me."
"Well why didn't you ask?" the Count said.
"I ju -- " Vergil started. He caught himself, realizing that nothing good would come out of starting an argument. "Never mind."
The Count turned to Gabe. "So wait. You didn't tell him on the way back?"
"Well sir, he was out cold at the time," Gabe responded.
"I guess that makes sense," the Count said. "You want to tell him now?"
"Didn't think I had to but okay," said Gabe with a shrug. He turned to Vergil. "I'm guessing you weren't present during our little 'renovation' here."
"Oh yeah," said Vergil. "What was that all about anyways?"
Gabe sighed. "Well, it looks like I'm going to have to give you a full-blown history lesson." He cleared his throat. "The Underground has been ruled by a series of prominent crime families for several decades now since the initial discovery of the underground city on February 14, 2080. Not one of these crime families have ever established dynasties at most lasting twenty years. They either move out to another state or country entirely or they are killed by an outside party."
"Wait," Vergil interrupted. "You said 'outside party.' What's keeping other crime families from overthrowing the one's in charge?"
"Ancient contracts signed a long time ago," said Gabe. "You see, the founders were smart enough to keep attention away from their newfound discovery, so they devised a way of determining the new leadership that would minimize the amount of noise heard on the surface." He held up his hand, silencing Vergil before he could interrupt again. "But that's not the point of this history lesson."
'I guess that's understandable,' Vergil thought. 'I'll probably stumble across the answer a month or so from now.'
"Anyways," Gabe continued, "The Aristocrats emerged victorious and proceeded to rework The Underground in accordance to The Count's personal tastes."
"Like putting his face on perfume bottles?" Vergil asked.
"Hey, a lot of people would pay money to have a perfume bottle with my face on it," said The Count.
"As for why you're here," said Gabe, "Anything having to do with this 'Painter' is taboo in The Underground."
And that was it. There was no elaboration. There was no follow-up. There was no lecture. There was just that one sentence.
"So your whole history lesson was just leading up to that one simple point," Vergil said, trying to maintain a steady tone. "Well maybe if someone would give me some answers I wouldn't be asking around nearly as much."
"No you wouldn't," Gabe said bluntly. "This conversation is ov-- "
"Wait hold on," said the Count suddenly. "He has a point."
"But sir," Gabe started.
"He came looking for answers," said the Count. "It's better he gets it from us than scream his head off in the streets."
"Could I talk to you outside for a moment?" Gabe said.
"I don't see why we can't do it here," the Count said. Then he got a look at Gabe's face. "Oh right. Uh, whatever-your-name-is, could you just sit there for a moment? Okay thanks!"
The two of them quickly exited the room, the doors closing behind them with an echoing bang. Vergil could hear vague whispering from beyond the walls, though nothing really more than that. He looked down at his own straps. There was little thought put into them. If at least two of his fingers could reach one of the loose ends, he could easily undo the entire knot. Then he remembered the moment when he got his pistol shot out of his hands. These men had accuracy down to a point. He would stand less of a chance without a weapon.
He looked around the room. Tucked in every corner of the room were security cameras. And experience had taught him that he wasn't quite ready when it came to evading their gaze. Just as he finished contemplating his ineptitude at stealth and subtlety, the doors swung open again. Gabe respectfully stood behind by the entrance while the Count approached Vergil, an overly dramatic flare added to each step. His cane, which he previously had simply held in his hand was now a rather ornate walking stick, each click and clack punctuating his step. It was almost as if the Count was trying to compensate for the outright failure that was his introduction sequence.
"After much deliberation I've decided to enlighten you on your current situation," said the Count.
While Vergil would have been elated by such news, his brain had suffered a bit of whiplash from the sudden change in the Count's character. Up to this point, the Count had been a man of informal banter. Now suddenly, the Count was speaking with the same sort of wordiness associated with his right-hand man in red. And that wasn't going into the fact that getting vital information took more than a polite question, not that he wasn't polite in the slightest during the entirety of that conversation.
"However, there is one condition that you will need to fulfill," the Count continued.
Before Vergil could respond how he saw it coming, the floor underneath him gave way. As he fell into the darkness, he had enough time to silently compliment the interior designers who somehow managed to conceal the lines highlighting the trap door.
Then he hit the cold, hard ground and everything went black. Again.
A bright light woke Vergil up from his impact-induced slumber. At the very least, he no longer felt any restraints tied to him. However, his sight was now crippled. Even a simple squint let in the burning light. Unlike his past experience with being knocked unconscious, this time his other senses came back quickly. He could almost instantly deduce the cacophony of cheers surrounding him.
He felt the ground beneath him as he attempted to stand back up. The ground was cold and completely smooth, though the feeling brought to mind a metal sheet as opposed to marble. As soon as he got his bearings back, he used his hand to shield a bit of the light away from his eyes. He looked around to see large walls erect all around him. And above said walls were rows of tables, seating businessmen and women in formal gowns. That was all he could see for the moment. Had he looked any further, his eyes would make contact with the blinding spotlights once again.
To his relief, the lights diverted their gaze from him. Without them shining on him, he noticed just how dark the room actually was, only illuminated by the lamps dotting the tables of the apparent audience. More importantly, he got a clear view of who stood, or rather sat directly in front and above him.
It was the Count, reclining against a golden throne, the spotlight focused on him. To his side stood Gabe, looking particularly stoic. Leaning idly against an arm of his throne was his cane.
As the sound of the crowd quieted, the Count emerged from his seat, and taking up the cane. Apparently there was a microphone hidden inside of it because the moment he spoke, his voice reverberated throughout the room.
"Welcome to the coliseum detective!" the Count shouted, arms spread out. "The rules are quite simple. Fight until you drop. I hope you don't disappoint!"
Then, out of the black void hovering over him, three figures descended with alarming speed, a loud bang accompanying their landing. Despite the distance they probably dropped from, they landed with surprising grace and got up just as easily.
They were all dressed in black, much like the men that had knocked him out earlier.
"First to score a knock-out or kill wins," the Count continued.
The Count raised his arm into the air, seemingly cuing the audience into initiating a countdown sequence.
"Six, five, four," the crowd chanted slowly.
The men in black suits slowly began to approach Vergil with confident strides. He fought ninja before, but they didn't have the accuracy of the reflexes to shoot a gun out of his hand. Vergil could already imagine the smear on the floor he would be reduced to. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face.
"Three, two, one... "
The Count threw his arm down in a mighty arc.
"SHOWTIME!" he shouted.