Theo Pryce grimaced as he entered the safehouse. The dank, grimy bunker smelled of gunpowder and mildew, the lighting did nothing to improve the appearance of the room either, the dim lights only highlighting the ugly green walls and casting large, jagged shadows. The place looked more like an armory than a home, weapons lined half of one wall. Pryce spotted an M4, a Winchester 1873, a Walther ppk, a japanese katana, and a harpoon gun, among other things. The other half of the wall sported a rather large collection of masks, most of them clown themed, though there were a few exceptions, and one slot was noticeably empty . The counters of the room were cluttered with bullets, magazines, a reloading bench, and various cleaning implements. The only thing that signified someone was living in the bunker was a ratty couch, splintered coffee table and a dirty bed pushed into the corner. There was only one other figure in the bunker, the only other person that knew of its existence. The Hitman was at one of the counters, meticulously polishing a pair of steel knuckles. His dress shirt and jacket were thrown over the couch, leaving his upper torso bare, the acid burns covering his chest and back looked particularly ugly in the bad lighting.

"So, Madness didn't quite go as planned."

"I've had worse." The Hitman said as he turned to face Pryce, the cold smiling face of a clown stared at the weapon's manufacturer with black, glassy eyes.

"I find that hard to believe"

"I couldn't care less about what you think, you're paying me for a match on Sunday."

"I was really hoping you'd show a little more emotion after getting sprayed with acid. Maybe motivate you to take out Feder during our match. A grudge tends to be a good motivator during a match."

"I don't hold grudges"

"I find that hard to believe."

"Believe what you want, the moment I decided to start working for you, I opened myself up to attacks by psychotics like Feder. I'm not gonna hold it against him, after all, if our little arrangement doesn't work out, he might end up my boss."

"So you're really not going to retaliate? Do you have any idea how weak that makes us look?"

"Have I not yet made my lack of caring evident enought yet? You want me to retaliate, pay me."

Pryce sighs as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his check book

"Right, exactly how much are we talking about here?"

"Depends," Sullivan said, pulling a baseball bat and power saw down from the weapons rack "How much irony do you want with your attack?"