Alex sat there in the bar with a glass of milk in front of him, brow furrowed as the smoke and laughter of drunken idiots surrounded him. He slid the sleeve of his blue shirt up and took a look at his watch.

9:29.

He grumbled. This old friend of his had told him to meet him here at a quarter after and had already kept him waiting. Bad move. The young British Canadian had lived a straight edge lifestyle since, well, he was born. He'd never touched a cigarette, alcohol, or even caffeine. Hell, his parents were vegan.

Yet, here he was in a seedy bar, in a shady part of town. Yes they laughed when he ordered milk in a clean glass. That "holier than thou" part of his upbringing hadn't died. While he was a genuinely nice person he was still under the impression that he was better than anyone else.

Suddenly, his angered thoughts were interrupted by a sweet voice, coming from a mildly attractive and incredibly drunk young barfly. "Hey honey, you come here often?"

He chugged his milk and tried to ignore the woman, who reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. "..."

"So do you come here often?"

She tried. Too hard. Like most college girls did when they saw a handsome, well off young man. Alex looked at the girl. "Fortunately, no."

He tried to be polite. He really didn't want to but he tried. The problem with polite words were that they could be taken as interest. The girl smiled and laughed, placing her dainty hand on his chiseled shoulder.

"Well you should! You're a cutie!"

His expression didn't change, not even a wrinkle of the nose from the smell of booze.

"I'm married. But thank you."

He finished off his milk and set the glass down onto the bar with a clink. The young woman watched as he pulled his vibrating phone from his pocket and a slight smile crossed his face. She pried into his business once again though. "Is that your wife?"

He ignored her, texting away.

"Hello?"

"It's none of your business. That's who it is. They're calling to say "fuck off"."

He stood up and calmly shoved the stool under the bar, the young woman looking at him in shock. He did not pay her any mind as he walked through the other oblivious patrons, all too busy listening to the music to pay him any attention anyways. He came to a door and looking from side to side, stepped out of it.

Coming into the dark alley, he was met by a young woman. A beautiful young woman with her blonde hair up in a bun, emerald green eyes. Soft features. She wore a very professional set of clothes, black skirt, white blouse, and black blazer. She was short without those three inch stiletto heels. Her ruby red lips twisted upwards into a brilliant grin.

"Bonjour Mari"

(Hello Husband)

There it was. That smile, which was rare to see from the man from Ontario. He moved to her and politely kissed her hand, ever the gentleman, even with his wife.

"Il est bon de vous voir Antoinette . Comment est Adam?"

(It is good to see you Antoinette. How is Adam?)

His loving wife and business partner had been with him for over seven years. Business partner? Well, you see, Alexander Aries is most definitely a wrestler. A damned good one at that. But he is also one of the world's top assassins. So the moniker of "The Assassin" fit him in more than one way.

Antoinette Aries held his hand in one of her's and her other hand held a file marked with the name of his opponent for Monday. She smiled softly and walked with her husband, the two speaking French as they did.

"Il est bon mon amour , mais il réclame toujours son papa . Il dit qu'il ne peut pas attendre de vous voir lundi soir si . Il sait que son papa a un travail à faire , oui?"

(He is good my love, but he is always asking for his daddy. He says he can't wait to see you on Monday night though. He knows his daddy has a job to do, yes?)

He chuckled.

"Mais bien sûr , mon cœur . Bien sûr, il a toujours été le fils de son père ."

(But of course, my heart. Of course he's always been his father's son.)

She nodded her head once more as she they sat on a bench outside of the bar. She opened up the folder in her lap, the first page of the dossier a picture of Oni Kymiku. A headshot, to be exact. Alex shook his head, quite frankly unimpressed.

"So this is it?"

When they spoke of business, their tones became hushed English.

"Yes, Alex. She is your target for Monday Night."

"Really? The Boss wants her killed?"

Antoinette waved her hand in front of her and laughed a bit.

"No no, father just wants you to win your debut match. That's all. But he doesn't want you to just "win" if you know what I mean. He wants you to embarass this woman and send her back from where she came. Know what I mean?"

He smirked.

"That's all? I was thinking he wanted me to do something illegal like decapitating her on TV. Which, in my experience, is fun."

A voice came out of nowhere.

"Oh come on, Alex. You're making yourself sound like a psychotic murderer."

Alex and Antoinette looked toward the sound of the voice, both of their eyes narrowing. Standing there under the street like was a small, round, black man with a mustache and bifocals. He wore a green suit with a yellow suit and black tie. Alexander growled out his name.

"Gerard Simmons."

Gerard feigned hurt as Antoinette shifted in her seat, covering her lap with the folder to hide herself. That belonged to her husband.

"Awww, Alex. You ain't happy to see me? What about all those shows I got ya booked on, brother?"

Alex sighed.

"I'm not your brother, Gerry."

Antoinette stood up and fixed her skirt, scowling at the chocolate pervert slash agent. She leaned down and kissed her husband softly, whispering in her ear.

"Je dois aller. Je ne peux pas supporter ce petit cochon gras. Il essaie de regarder mon vagin déjà."

(I need to go. I can't stand that fat little pig. He's trying to stare at my vagina already.)

The two exchanged their "I love yous" in French as the Assassin's Wife disappeared into the shadows. Alexander turned to Gerard who waswiping his forehead with a white handkerchief. It was a warm Summer night after all.

"So what do you want, Simmons? I've very little time to talk to you, considering how you were bloody late."

"Oh, I just wanted to talk to you about War Games. Man, why you so hostile? I thought we was friends."

"We, most certainly are not friends. You merely find my bookings and you've done a bang up job of that. Eh? You sit in your office all day and look at porn on your phone like you're Peter Bloody Gilmour or something. As for War Games? I'm in. But you can stay your arse at home. And stop looking at my wife, ya bloody perv."

"*dramatic sigh* Very well, old budd-"

Alex shot him a look.

"Not your buddy, pal. And I swear to God, if you start singing blame Canada, I will cut your dick off and make you choke to death on it."

Gerard stood up, sweating a bit more profusely now.

"Okay, okay! Fine! You're in for War Games so that's all I needed to know, Alex. Big money payday, playa!"

Alex hrmfs.

"I don't play, Gerard. I work. Remember that."

And....