Souls & Spirits | ONC 2024

History

The M1911 had been a gift from Mr. Ray himself; a clear reminder of how he was granted a second chance to live, even if it was taking the life of someone else. Mr. Ray was just a stranger that sat on board the train, reading a newspaper with a cigar in his mouth, crosslegged, while Mishaal was just several rows behind as he had gotten inside the train before he crouched down to hide from his persuers. Mishaal had learned at an early age that he had to survive by any means necessary, especially after his father had passed away and had to look out for his mother and sisters. He had to resort to thievery at one point in his life in a desperate time when his family didn't have food to eat and couldn't afford to buy medicine when his baby sister died of pneumonia.

Mishaal was proficient in making calculations and administrating his food rations but he wasn't able to get employed by conventional means due to his age.

At age 11, Mishaal had began working from the ground up to verifying ledgers from any incongruencies. At age 12, he began altering ledgers meticulously before attracting the attention from an underboss for his rapport. At age 13, he resorted to making managerial work before a crime boss had promoted him by getting his hands dirty and doing undertaking until they caught him embezzling money. As such, Mishaal had scrawled a letter to his mother to collect the savings he accrued for his family to move to better housing.

He needed a stamp to send the letter.

Mishaal, in his desperation, had foolishly inquired for spare change to a passenger that was in front of him while the train moved towards its destination. The shadows of his pursuers were approaching from one car to the next. Once Mishaal had reached to Mr. Ray to ask him the same question.

Mr. Ray nonchalantly turned the page of the newspaper before he looked at the young man. “That depends.” Blaise asked, “How much are you willing to obtain it?” As if on cue, one of Mishaal's pursuers arrived to the car they were on.
Mishaal heard the rattling of the door and had snagged a glance at the thug while Mr. Ray slipped his gun into the newspaper.

“Anything.” Mishaal responded while two more of them appeared. As he turned to look at Mr. Ray, the man had already leaned on the railing, looking out the window.

“Take it,” Mr. Ray hinted, “You're gonna need it.”

Mishaal only saw the newspaper before he saw something protruding from the edge of the newspaper. As he opened it, he saw the gun before the man had got out of the train. The M1911 wasn't only a gift, it was his last chance to shoot his pursuers as he unloaded the cartridge for bullets.

It was fully loaded and the rest was history.

There was a mole in the midst and had to be lured out promptly. Mishaal stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door as he pocketed his M1911 pistol while Ender watched the entrance.

Mishaal proceeded inside to the vestibule and perused with discretion as he went to the reception to inquire for Mr. Reynolds, a crude businessman that only cared about his own benefit and his ambition is what got him in Mr. Keller's crosshairs.

“Mr. Reynolds just left a while ago.” The receptionist informed.

“Do you happen to know when he will return?” Mishaal asked.

“I'm afraid not, sir. Do you want to schedule an appointment?” The receptionist asked.

“No need.” Mishaal responded after he gathered the information he needed before he got back to the parking lot to meet up with Ender.

From what Mishaal gathered was that Mr. Reynolds made reservations at the Chantel Hotel for a business meeting.

“Well look what we have here,” Mishaal opened the cartridge to inspect the number of bullets left. The culprit was cornered, trying to pull out a gun from his belt before Ender had slammed the individual against the floor with his bare hands, “it looks like we caught a mole.” The turncoat in question was a stout middleman, a cynical swine who was in cahoots with the manager of the Mandrake Speakeasy, this man was Howard Reynolds.