The Underbelly of Big Vegas

An RP by NekoLen and Tachigami

Warning: Includes harsh language, situations, themes, and so on

---

Somehow, the alley was quiet, despite it being in the middle of Big Vegas. It was in the early evening, and tourists, vacationers, and just about anyone else had to be out and running, especially in the height of summer. And it was near Big Vegas Freeway, which was always extremely busy. But from halfway down behind the expanded Raku restaurant, he crouched midst an eerie quiet, punctuated either by vehicles that seemed far away or the clicking of his tongue piercing, which he tapped against his teeth in a habitual manner while waiting for something. The back doors to the kitchen were standing open and a few of the cooks were on a break, clouds of mixed smoke floating about their heads in the still air, until their manager called them in early to handle a large reservation that exceeded twenty people. If implication were anything to go on, Raku had once been a small Japanese restaurant rather than this behemoth of a place, several stories high and simply massive, generally. He couldn't imagine that, though.

When the door closed, he made his move, sliding up to it from his place between two dumpsters and brushing off the stink of the things from his snug clothing. there was a half-inch of space below the door, and a fraction left between them. He lifted a hand, placing it over the space between the doors, and started sliding through, quickly disintegrating into superfine sand.

He slid into the kitchen and hugged the wall, by the floor, a series of trails making their way through the kitchen and another doorway, into a few back rooms. One was difficult to filter under because of the thick carpeting. But he knew he wasn't alone as soon as he was in, and reintegrated. It was a back office, and the middle-aged man jumped back from the desk in the corner, hitting a safe in the wall and tripping over his chair. "S-S-S...." The look in his eyes was that of terror, especially as he struggled to stand. "S-Sandman... L-look, I'll get it. I'll get it!" He grabbed a coat rack, using it as a cane to stand as Sandman approached.

It wasn't his real name, but that was what his employers and victims knew him as, and it was good enough for him. "Too late, Toya. They've reached a breaking point."

"Please, it's on its way! I can get it to them tomorrow morning---"

"Tomorrow morning is far, far too late." Sandman grabbed Toya's shirt and threw him against the wall, shuddering what looked to be expensive paintings of Japan. "They don't want the shipment anymore." He breathed in, and blew out into Toya's face, sending powdery sand into his eyes and mouth. The older man gasped and coughed, shaking his head faintly as a weakness overtook his body and his muscles loosened, sending him into a deep sleep. Sandman let him slide down, then crouched over him, returning to a seemingly ethereal form of sand, including his clothing, and entering the man through his nose and mouth and filling his lungs. Every grain of sand that made up his second form vibrated with struggling heartbeats, until it finally froze, and grew soft with death.

Sandman poured out of Toya's body and, instead of reconstituting, quickly slid from the room beneath the door and found his way back outside through the kitchen. This time he waited until he was down the road, and hidden away behind yet another dumpster, before he reconstituted himself again and shook himself out. He smelled rather odd, mostly from being in the lungs of a human to sap the life out of them through suffocation. Even so, he started off, joining others on the street in the rather long walk back to his current employer. Big Vegas was true to its name, but he wasn't far from rival mob territory.

Raven sighed and looked away from the man standing in front of him. He had grown tired of the meeting, even though important things were to be discussed. The movement of their dirty money, the manufacture of drugs to sell, and the list of undesirables just seemed to stretch on and on for ever. He twirled a strand of black hair around his finger, pretending to be listening to Raide, the man who knew the most about numbers.

"Yes, well. It all seems to be doing well," Raven said, waving his hand to show that he wasn't interested any more. The man fell silent, watching Raven with the awe that all his members did. They were afraid of him, of the things he did. He knew this because their minds were so easy to read, just like open books. "Is there anything I need to know that isn't boring as all Hell?"

Some would call him rude, others childish. Raven was simply impatient. He hated the organized workings of the mob and longed for chaos and anarchy. Raide glanced down at the list he had written on paper.

"Piaz hasn't paid for his last shipment of Ghest," he said quietly. It was as though he didn't want Raven to find out, as though he was afraid at the reaction. Raven never killed his followers, unless they displeased him in some way.

"Piaz... That little rat... Get rid of him for me. I've always hated that bastard."

"But, sir... He's a Government official. Even the Police wouldn't be able to ignore his murder..." Raide said, trying to word it so Raven didn't have a reason to believe that he wanted to protect Piaz.

"Raide, I do not like giving away free things. He is not getting Ghest for free. He has enough money. He uses it to pay prostitutes and fly around the world with... So why isn't he paying for his drugs?" Raven was speaking softly now, leaning forward towards the bespectacled man.

"I... I don't know, sir..."

"Then order a hit for me. Get someone if you have to. I want him gone."

"Y-Yes sir!" Raide left the room, an air of relief over him. Raven didn't understand why his followers were so afraid of him. Perhaps it was the way he looked, the way he knew what was on their minds or maybe it was the way that he enjoyed killing for fun. He turned from the door and peered out the small window that overlooked the city. He was rich and powerful, yes. But there was something missing from his life, and he could never quite pinpoint what it was.

His penthouse suite was situated near the wealthier part of Big Vegas, near the casinos and fancy clubs. He owned one or two of these buildings, adding a cover to his work and an extra cash flow. He sat at his desk and looked over a few papers, but gave up after awhile. Who was he kidding? This was not for him. The only reason he stayed was for the protection. He had the cops under his belt, so they would never come to him after the crimes he committed. If he wasn't the leader of the biggest mob in Big Vegas, he'd be sent to prison for his crimes, possibly Death.

He got back quickly, avoiding bus lines and taxis. It wasn't because he wanted to save money---he had plenty and didn't mind wasting it now and again---but the paranoia that plagued him wouldn't let him rely on public transportation. It kept thick walls around his mind and thoughts, and made him look over his shoulder every few minutes. People were afraid of him, those that knew who---what---he was. They couldn't kill him. If he were careful, and he always was, bullets would go right through him, blades, simply pass by, and physical punches would have no effect. Sandman was something to be reckoned with, as many mob bosses and those with ties to the criminals knew. And as far as police were concerned, he didn't even exist. And he would go to great lengths to keep that quiet.

He approached a warehouse, which was guarded by a heavyset man that wouldn't have to worry about running, since he was armed with a high-powered submachine gun under his jacket in case someone tried to make off with something or get inside without making themselves known. Without speaking, he handed the man something---a gold tooth, which Toya had in his head. He'd stolen it away when he'd come back out of the man's dead body. The man nodded, and as Sandman turned his back, pounded on the door behind him. His maroon hair was almost black in the falling evening, and he stared through it as it hung over his right eye. He just... didn't trust anyone. Not the people that would ask him to kill without a trace, at least. Tapping his piercing on his teeth again, Sandman returned to a main road and started down, quickly reaching the Strip. Bright lights surrounded him, people, street performers, whores of male and female alike, and even the immortal Elvis impersonators that often did little more than embarrass the real one's spirit, no doubt.

He rolled his dark eyes, shaking his head and tilting it a little out of habit to follow the sweep of his hair. People here generally ignored him, deciding he was just one of the usual gothics even though he didn't exactly follow the same standards. Maybe they just pulled it out of their ass when they saw his clothes---mostly black or other dark colors, as close-fitting as possible without getting uncomfortable or just ridiculous, and the heavy black around his eyes that happened to be natural. But it did let prospective employers identify him quickly. Sitting in front of The Palazzo, he stared at the vehicles and people going by. His wall was kept up, keeping his thoughts secure.

Boredom... Raven did hate it. He left his office in the evening, planning to go out later that night. The only time of the day he had any interest in the city he lived in was midnight. It was when all the bars and clubs were open and the casinos the most busy. It was the easiest time of the day to pick up a new play-thing. He locked the door and continued to the elevator, where it would take him to his living quarters. He was greeted by a well-dressed guard, who pushed the button for him and stood at his side quietly.

He disliked all the extra security around his building. He had over 50 guards, each with automatic weapons. He also had many cameras and alarms set up in every room. He never thought that it was overly necessary, as he was on good terms with the other gangs and you'd had to be stupid to try anything, anyway.

He left the elevator when it got to his floor, nodding to the guard in thanks. His living quarters were private, with only a select few allowed to enter. Right now, he was alone. Smiling to himself, he went to his kitchen to find something to eat. He ate while watching the city below him.

-

Raide hated crowds. He was generally a nervous man, glad to have been accepted in Raven's mob. If it wasn't for his knowledge when it came to numbers and accounting, he wouldn't be as useful to Raven and seeing that his parents were murdered by the man, he'd probably be dead too.

He had heard about a peculiar hit man, one with strange powers. He was supposed to be easy to locate, usually hanging out around the Strip, namely in front of certain casinos. If Raide could just find him... Perhaps that was him there. Wearing tight-fitting black clothing and with the strange red hair cut. Some might have referred to him as looking like an emo, although that trend died out years ago.

He slowly approached the man, trying to seem as professional as possible, even though he was shaking with fear. Maybe this man could also read thoughts, just like Raven seemed to be able to do. He stopped just in front of him, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses. "Erm... Sandman?" he asked, hoping that he hasn't wrong. "I come from the Raptors... I mean, Raven sent me."

He wasn't sure if the Sandman would know the name of the biggest gang in Big Vegas, but he certainly should know who Raven was. Everyone knew who Raven was, even if they didn't know he was the leader of a gang. He was the richest man in this state.

Who were these people, anyway? These people that constantly plagued Big Vegas Strip? Drunk by noon, most of the time, they meandered like the walking dead or recently-escaped mental patients that dressed like the people they believed themselves to be. He was sure he saw an alien more than once, and shook his head. At least he was in the place that invited such a thing, anyway. Any extraterrestrial visitors would probably feel right at home, or feel more secure in their superior intelligence. He sighed, bringing his hand up to brush back his hair and looked around once again, as if his surroundings had changed. They hadn't, although someone seemed to lock right onto him, and Sandman immediately reset his mental walls just in case. But he looked more... afraid than most. Most were mob runners, or bosses themselves, looking for a hit man, and they didn't exactly beat around the bush. Nor did they appear quite as shaken as this one did. He looked like a schoolteacher whose layabout friends forced him to a wild party in Big Vegas and abandoned him to his own devices.

His ears twitched when his name was spoken. He stood quickly, grabbing the man by the shirt and shoving him forward, leading him into the hotel, then switching tactics, grasping him by the arm to pass by the front desk. Sandman had a permanent suite in the Palazzo, on the seventh floor, a beautiful place. He usually used it to discuss targets or tags, or under the table deals, among other more recreational things. He was greeted with a simple nod in regard to the men and women behind the counters, and passed some shops, then made it to the elevator. He shushed the man while he called one of the elevators, glaring at him until they were in the elevator. Though there were cameras there too, and he shook his head again. They couldn't speak yet.

He pulled the man out of the elevator on the seventh floor, ushering him along with a hand pressed against the small of his back, pausing halfway down the hall and grabbing the chain from his belt. A few keys were tipped, in his pocket and attached to his phone as well, to avoid pickpockets. One was a normal silver key, instead of a card reader. Since his suite was permanent, it didn't need a card reader, and he had a key directly to the door. He unlocked it, and pulled the man in, closing and locking the door behind him. The room was carpeted thickly, and dark cream-tone blankets and velvet red covered the bed, along with black silk couches directly across. A large television stood against the wall across from it, and several doors led to various other rooms---a closet, a bathroom, and a doorway to the kitchen.

But he only took several steps into the room and turned to face the man, spinning in such a way his hair flared out, but settled again in its swept-to-the-right way and over the eye. "You don't call me Sandman in public." He hissed. "You call me Ceicro. I am referred to as Sandman by victims or in safe areas such as secure hotel rooms or employer offices." He sighed, running his hands through his hair and settling on the chair at the foot of the bed. "Raven, you say." He added, fiddling with the various piercings in his ear. "I've heard of him. I've never been involved with him. I don't care to recall the names of my employers unless they're dedicated to my specific talents, and I have plenty of corrupt cops and crime leaders---big and small---in my mind. Raven isn't among them. What does he want? And who are you?" Sandman settled back, motioning to the chair across the room and in front of him.

Raide thought he was going to die. The way the red haired man glared at him and dragged him from the busy streets, to his secure room in the hotel... Raide's life was flashing before his eyes before he was told to sit. Shaking visibly, he sat on the edge of the seat, regretting all his life choices.

"He... Um... I... Um... That is to say..." He cleared his throat and inhaled to steady himself. He was a man now, after all. There was no reason to be acting like a timid mouse. Raven had asked him to do this, an honour that not many lower members could ever dream of having. "I am his accountant." The words hung in the air for what seemed like an age. He realised how stupid that sounded. "He asked me to find someone that could... Get rid of a person for us... It calls for someone to get in and out without leaving any trace..."

He took his glasses off in a nervous manner, cleaning them on his shirt. "We need Piaz gone."

An accountant? Possibly the biggest name in the state had sent an accountant to find a hit man? That concept was ridiculous in Sandman's eyes. And the way he stuttered, stumbled, shook visibly and tried to find something to do with his hands just to have something to focus on rather than looking directly at Sandman. He laughed, looking up a the ceiling and shaking his head. The move let his hair fall back and away from the half of his face that was always covered. "Well, Accountant. You've come to the right place." He gestured as if to refer to the room itself. "I'm the best at what I do. I can get into rooms that aren't airtight and even then, I can be patient, and wait for the door to open for me. I leave no fingerprints and no footprints, I leave no hair, skin, or blood, saliva, or other... unspeakable bodily fluids." He grinned.

"Anyway, you say the name Piaz as if I should know it." He stood, stretched, running his hands down his sides to straighten his shirt. "But I wouldn't care either way." With a few strides, Sandman closed the distance between himself and the Accountant quickly, and he leaned over the man. "Who is this Piaz? I don't care to know what he's done to earn another's wrath, but do tell---where is he? And should I take anything from him before I leave?" He tilted his head, moving a bit closer to the Accountant.

Raide shook and flinched when the Sandman came closer to him. Even though he looked much younger and not at all strong, he was an intimidating sight. "Governor Piaz... He works in the council... He... Um..." Perhaps he wasn't the right person to be talking to the Sandman after all. He wasn't even sure what Raven wanted. "Perhaps we could meet up with Raven...? He knows more about it than I do..."

He pulled out his phone and looked to Ceciro before ringing his boss. Raven answered the phone after a few rings, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I don't care about numbers, just tell me if it is bad," he growled, sounding as though Raide had called him in the middle of something important. He could hear another voice on the other side, but couldn't hear what was being said.

"No... I mean... I have... Ceciro here..."

"Who the Hell are you talking about?"

"Um... The Sandman..." Raide whispered into the phone, as though afraid his company would get mad. Raven went quiet for a long time before he replied.

"Where are you?"

"At the Palazzo."

Raide hung up and grinned nervously at the Sandman, hoping that he was OK with what was happening. "My boss would like to meet you... Um... I'm kind of useless at these sorts of things..."

Sandman stood up straight, watching Accountant---whatever his name truly was---the way he usually watched someone. So that was Raven, the faint voice on the other end of the line that sounded relatively annoyed. Hm, annoyed at a simple phone call to regard the assassination of a very high-priority target. It would pay big. Sandman would make sure of that. But Raven should calm down, in his opinion. A boss had to be level-headed, he was sure of that with how many he'd known. When he hung up, Sandman smiled again, clicking his tongue again against his teeth. "I'd prefer to meet the executor of the request rather than his underling, in the end." He said, lowering himself over the accountant again. "When will he arrive? I feel it'd be prudent for you to go down there and bring him up for me. Seeing me with more than several men at once in a single night isn't exactly helping my image."

He'd prefer to keep his image as clean as possible. He was just a 'tortured soul', an 'artist' type. He usually spent his time with a guitar on the sidewalk, strumming tunes and acting angsty and puffy to anyone that didn't give him a tip, and in the evening, do more dirty business. It didn't always involve killing, though, and he had two primary locations one could find him at---his actual home, and this room in The Palazzo. Very few knew where he actually lived, though---that was for only himself to know, and one or two others. This room was for his business negotiations, and anything that didn't involve his being entirely alone. "So is he coming here, or are we going there?" He'd prefer the former, since it didn't involve yet more travel. His lazy streak came out at the most unfortunate times.

"He's on his way, he said..." Raide muttered, glad to find an excuse to get away from the red haired man. He stood from his chair and backed towards the door. "I'll go... Wait for him in the lobby and then send him up..." He didn't wait for the Sandman to speak, he left the room and sighed heavily, glad to get out of the situation. He was an accountant after all, not one to discuss treason and murder.

He made his way to the large lobby, trying to avoid suspicion by sitting on one of the large red sofas near the doors. He saw a black limo pull up, and Raven got out of it. Something about his appearance, even though he was well dressed and smiled like a gentleman, made Raide tremble. He looked as though he had just finished murdering someone.

He stood and went to Raven's side at once, telling his boss which room the Sandman was residing in. "I'd escort you... But... I have some paperwork to get to," he lied, not wanting to go into that room again. Raven rolled his eyes and came close, whispering so no one else could hear; "You are a fucking coward, Raide."

Raide shuddered, standing still until Raven left his side and casually strolled towards the elevator. Raide gulped, rushing from the building. He had a feeling that he would be next on the list of undesirables. He had to leave big Vegas while he still had a chance.

-

The Palazzo was a high-end hotel, the kind that usually catered for the rich and famous. Raven had visited it a few times before, and the cleaners seemed to recognise him. The bowed and waved at him as he made his way to the room that Raide had set up as a meeting place. He felt the cool metal of his hand gun pressed up against his skin as he lightly knocked on the door. Even though he despised using such weapons, he had to be safe.

He waited to be let in, intrigued already by the man on the other side of the door. Such mental defences...

While he waited, Sandman grew bored and went to turn the television on, to a news channel. He'd, at first, doubted that Toya would be on the news so quickly, but in fact, it was a breaking news story. Soon enough they would find out that the innocent and 'still youthful' Toya Mizuchi was running more than just a five-star restaurant. He was also running massive Ghest shipments overseas, amongst the usual Opium and resurrected drug Laudanum, which had come back into style just a decade ago. They would find his documents soon enough, when they opened his safe, which had a failsafe breaker inside that would take a while to open when the glass pane broke and locked it down for good. They'd find his own stash of drugs, which were used sparingly as a drug lord usually made sure to do, various fake passports and IDs, and quite a few documents stating past shipments.

He shook his head, turning the television off and wandering about the room with his hands half in his pockets. Up were his wall again, just in case... He knew there had to be some limit to mind-readers, wherever they were, but didn't want to take any chances. He was passing the door when a knock sounded, and he paused immediately, glancing through the peephole and finding someone he had almost expected. Black hair, dark eyes. No doubt it was why he was called Raven. Much like Sandman earned his name from his very specific power. He unlocked, then opened the door, bowing overly low. "Raven, I presume." He smiled lightly, closing the door when he entered. "I assume you know me, so I feel it'll save us both time if we skip overly unnecessary introductions." He looked through the peephole again and made sure no one was loitering out in the hall before moving away.

"I hear from a rather nervous source you're searching for a clean-sweep kill of a very high end target." Sandman rose a brow and tilted his head, crossing his arms loosely.

Raven shook the Sandman's hand, surprised at the man's appearance. He had expected something else, but what exactly he didn't know. He smiled too and sat on one of the chairs, glancing about the room. The Sandman lived well, with a lot of expensive-looking personal effects added to the already expensive room. He was paid quite well, it seemed. Raven bit his tongue, hoping he wouldn't ask too much from him. He may be the wealthiest man in the State, that didn't mean he enjoyed paying millions for small tasks he could do himself.

"Yes, I am sorry. I didn't expect him to contact you before me," he said, hoping Raide hadn't embarrassed him too much.

He searched the Sandman once again, still unable to break through the iron walls he had put up. Very few were able to have such defences. "Is it true... What they say about your... Abilities?" That the man in front of him could turn into very fine sand and get through - and into - anything.

When Raven looked at him, Sandman felt something curious. A prodding, probing hand, ethereal, almost. He could just about see it if he focused just hard enough. It tried to get into his thoughts, his mind, but he chased it off quickly and made sure to keep the hand from reaching in to his thoughts, pull them out and evaluate them in the tiniest manners. But he didn't indicate he could feel that. "You should make sure he gets a little more confidence I think." He said, referring to the accountant. "I could have walked all over him if I wanted to." But he hadn't wanted to, really. He could certainly be lazy when he wanted to.

"I assume you've heard more about me than I have of you." He commented, wandering to a chair nearby and settling down. "I'm not sure what you heard, but I can promise you'll not be disappointed. I'm known as Sandman for obvious reasons: I can turn into superfine sand, body and clothing and---" he clicked his tongue. "---anything else on my person. With a special breath of powder I can put you into a deep sleep. With a little effort I worm my way into your dreams and do as I like. I can turn items to sand and return them to their normal constitution. I... become almost ethereal." He raised a hand and stared at it, watching the skin turn so slightly grainy and dance in the air, just barely held together with only his willpower. "I can suffocate my target by slipping into their bodies, flooding their lungs, constricting their hearts, congealing their blood, invading their brains..." He lowered his hand, solid once again, onto the arm of the chair.

"Whatever you need, I can get it. Whoever you need killed, I can reach them, regardless of security measures technical or human. I need no weapons, and I leave no trace." What could be better in a killer? Someone that needed only himself to completely kill, and then leave no trace of themselves? To sneak out important documents or weapons or other items along with him without anyone being the wiser? There was a reason most mob bosses, mafias, and drug lords chose him.

Raven was on the edge of his seat, feeling the warmth of arousal wash over him. Just imagining such things made him excited and barely able to sit still. How wonderful it would be to be inside someone as they died, to feel and hear the last moment of their life escaping from their bodies... He sighed and relaxed, hoping the Sandman hadn't noticed his intensity. "Your abilities do sound amazing, Ceciro," he commented after some heavy breathing to calm himself.

"The man I need gone is a filthy swine of a government official. He has refused to pay for my services, so I need him dead. His name is Godi Piaz. An overweight monstrosity that was elected by the citizens of this great city to represent them in Congress. I would do the deed myself, but unfortunately, even the police couldn't ignore this murder..." He stretched in his chair, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "All I need from you, is for you to take his life without any traces... And for his secrets to be found out. I want even his memory to be tainted in the public's eye."

Such secrets they were too... Drug usage, adultery, embezzlement of tax payer money... Raven had even found out that the man had tried to have his way with his own niece. Not that Raven cared about justice for all his wrong doings. He just wanted the man shamed in this life and also in death.

The feeling of laziness had escaped him already. Sandman wanted to go now, right now, find Piaz and destroy him from the inside like he enjoyed. This one seemed not only to be a high priority, but also someone that really, truly deserved to die. He would have loved to think about his methods this time, if he hadn't noticed the way Raven's eyes involuntarily dilated when he spoke of his killing method. He didn't mention that, though. "I think I'll be able to get to it immediately." He said, standing and stretching. "And if you please, I have a... a special method for certain clients. I have small cameras I can set up that will give you a live feed of my killing, while it actually happens, so you know I've done so, unless you'd like a souvenir from the corpse. Just so you know I've finished the job cleanly." And after five hours, the hard-drive was wiped clean with no trace of what was there just some time before.

Looking out the window, Sandman continued: "And there's the object of pay, as well. Unfortunate, I know. For rat kills, I charge mid hundreds. For runners, I charge a thousand. For bosses, I charge five grand. Low-tier law enforcement is ten, high-tier is twenty, and anything of this variety, as it's rare, is a hundred and above. I think the extra guard and high-end location will cost several thousand extra, so I'll allow you to make an offer." Sandman turned to Raven, his mind still a blank slate, years of practice keeping his walls up effortlessly and detecting the slightest presence of prodding readers. Raven seemed to like Sandman's method of killing, by the look in his eye as he described.

Raven tried to keep his composure at the mention of a live feed. He thoroughly enjoyed watching people die, and to be able to see the Sandman in action... It was worth any amount of money in the world. He exhaled and looked to the red haired man. It seemed that Ceciro wanted to start his mission right away. Something else that was attractive about the man. He shook himself. He couldn't fall for someone like this! What would everyone think? He'd lose his ranking, his wealth... everything.

"I see then... You don't come cheap..." He laughed lightly, as though he found it funny. He leant back on the chair again, staring at the ceiling as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. He calculated in his mind. A couple of a hundred thousand - though still a lot of money - wasn't much to his empire. "I understand, due to the particular target... The risks and security..." He twirled the strand of hair around his finger again. "I can settle on 150 thousand. If I can watch you perform the tasks... And you do something a little extra for me..."

He sat back up in his chair and grinned over at the Sandman. "You can enter ones dreams... I'd love for you to enter mine."

A hundred fifty. Sandman enjoyed the sound of that. He wasn't exactly hurting for money with what he did, and for whom, so his prices were never exceptionally high. After all, it was better to consistently make money than make large amounts rarely. By forming a tree of price and status, he kept himself available---and busy. Raven didn't seem to hire many people like this, or he'd realize Sandman was actually offering laughably low prices. So Raven wanted to watch---that wasn't odd. He went to the bedside table nearby, pulling open a drawer and revealing a box that took up the full upper drawer, bringing it up and onto the bed and nudging the drawer closed with a knee.

He only vaguely heard Raven's extra request while fishing the dime-sized cameras out of the case and pocketed one, until it fully registered what he was asking. Enter his dreams...? The employer? He'd never been asked to do something like that. They found it odd and rather unnerving that he could not only put them to sleep, but manipulate him afterward as well. Some even went to extents to wear goggles when in his presence, though they didn't seem to realize that breathing in the powder or getting it in their mouth would be just as effective. He never mentioned that, though. "Enter your dreams, hmm?" Sandman flicked his head, sending his hair out of his face and again, over his eye as he revealed a small laptop and laid it on the bed. "Why would you want that?" He had to have some intent. Nothing could happen to Sandman while he was in the dream, and in fact, he commanded it from outside the individual. He was more of a physical projection, a mind intact and therefore able to command the surroundings.

Raven watched the man get prepared, pleased to see his request being worked on instantly. But the way the question was asked... It seemed that no one had ever requested Sandman to enter their own dreams. He didn't want to sound too weird about it, or give the man any hint that he liked men. "Just for an experiment," he replied casually. "I want to know what it's like for you to enter me." He paused at these words, becoming distracted by his imagination.

He shook himself again. "Besides, I have terrible insomnia and it would benefit me quite a bit to be able to sleep a full night for once."

Sandman shook his head slightly. He almost felt it was a cover. Why, specifically, did Raven want Sandman to enter his dreams? He didn't normally question the intent of his current clients, but this was one especially strange request, and he'd had plenty of strange requests. "You do realize I can, instead, put you to sleep with my sand?" He asked, opening the computer and pulling a black cord and small plastic-cased rectangle out of the box's side compartment. He plugged the USB into the side, turning the computer on and typing in a password. The screen went black again, then fuzzy, and when Sandman pressed two buttons at the back of the small pack, the screen turned dark. When he took the dime-sized camera out of his pocket, a shaky image of the hotel room appeared and, when he angled it, so did Raven. "There we are. Live feed."

He turned to Raven, taking a chain tipped with a silver snap from under his shirt and snapping the camera to it. "Now then, all I need is an address for Mister... Piaz... And I'll be off." His trip would be swift---he would ride the wind of the cars, the funneled breezes through tall buildings and footfalls and litter. And while he did, the camera would remain fuzzy as it would be broken and carried like the rest of him.

Raven tried to ignore the Sandman's comments. Perhaps it had been a stupid request. Why had he opened his mouth? He longed to hit himself and then hide from the other man's probing questions. He had been far too bold. Now he may have to face the consequences...

He took the laptop to the small coffee table, near where he sat. He was growing more and more excited at the prospect of being able to see the Sandman kill. He tried to hide his sweaty, excited behaviour, but he was sure the Sandman could tell that he was aroused. He glanced at the time on the corner of the laptop. "He'll likely be at his offices still. It's not quite late enough for him to be at the strip clubs. I believe his office is on the top floor of the council building." Raven gave the address and rough directions in case the Sandman had no idea where that was.

This had to be, by far, the strangest meeting he'd ever been a part of. And with the strangest client he'd ever met, to say the least of it. He didn't bring up the odd behavior that was easily caught onto with a little competence, especially when the method of killing was brought up---it wasn't his part to say, anyway. But it almost felt as if he would be showing some X-rated film by the way Raven acted. Well, it was his decision, as long as Raven made sure not to make a mess. He nodded at the given address---which was unnecessary since the council building was probably the largest in the whole of Big Vegas, which was saying something given the hundreds of other office buildings that were home to other prominent points in the country.

He went to the door, opening it but not stepping out. "Just close the door behind me, and keep it locked until the video shows me outside. I won't be long." He began falling apart, quickly soaking into the floor like a loose, dry pile of beach sand and slid out in a small cyclone, sticking to the corners of the hallway. It was impossible to fly in any way while indoors, without moving air or a fan to help him, but he poured down the stairs one flight at a time and found his way outdoors, where a continuous breeze picked up every grain with a little help from him, and he started off swiftly, into the road, across streets and over gutters, weaving between feet and wheels, cutting through the trees of one of the large parks to ease some minutes off his run to the council building. He would be able to get in through the ventilation, if anything else, and seep right into the room without use of a door.

Raven watched the Sandman disintegrate in front of him, turning into a pile of fine sand and leaving the room like a wisp of smoke. He followed after, locking the door as instructed. He went back to the seat and watched the dark screen, eagerly anticipating the video footage to turn back on. He got himself prepared, glad to be left alone while watching this. He knew that if someone else was here, he'd have difficulties keeping himself contained.

The wind was strong today, and damp. The prospect of rain was a negative impact on Sandman's preferred travel form, as rain would weigh him down and make him have to sludge his way to a private location to return to his human form. Wet sand was slow, and rather worthless for swift travel. But he caught an upward current and managed to direct his way through the higher buildings until one came into view. The council building. It was hard to target, but he scattered across the roof of the building as if someone had emptied a sandbag from a high distance, and slid to a ventilation grate. With little effort, he rose up similar to a snake and poured inside, down a long drop then into a hallway. It wasn't what he had in mind, but Sandman was sure he wouldn't be able to figure out where he was from within the vent shafts. And the cameras wouldn't be able to catch him if he didn't regain form. He kept to the corners again, as inconspicuous as possible, watching the names and room numbers on each door he passed.

Then was one he recognized. Piaz. The door had a quarter of an inch of space below, easy for him to slide under and gradually return to his human form. The lights here were on, a few small floor lamps and one desk light. A man that looked to be around fifty, or at least aged to that point, moving backward a little at a time as Sandman reintegrated. He didn't speak at first---he took his camera off its chain and peeled an adhesive off its back, sticking it to the wall. When removed, it would leave no trace.

Raven was absent-mindedly staring out the window, when he saw the screen flicker into life. It was strange, being able to see Piaz's office, as though he was an insect sitting on the wall. He had been in that very office just a week ago, threatening the man to pay up. Now that he hadn't paid... He'll have to face the consequences. Raven leant back and watched the Sandman work, not even blinking in case he missed anything.

Piaz was begging for his life, the sounds of a desperate man that turned him on so much. Soon the Sandman had entered him, suffocating him in the most horrible, slowest way possible. Raven couldn't control himself. He laughed in ecstasy, glad that there was a box of tissues nearby. He had to clean himself up before the Sandman returned, too embarrassed to show himself in his current, weakened state. He'd have to find a plaything soon, before he exploded again.

"The Sandman... I've heard of you..." Piaz's voice was restricted, probably by fear. No, no doubt by fear, there was a tremor to the tone, a terror in the way spoke but couldn't move from the wall between a pair of bookshelves. Sandman only smiled. How quaint, the way people referred to him as 'The' Sandman. True, he was the only one of his kind, like certain others, probably like Raven, though he was sure the ability to read a mind wasn't quite as rare as people tried to make it out to be. It was why he kept his walls up regardless of location, of situation, of day. "I-I know who you're here for. Look---"

"---You'll get the money to him as soon as possible." Sandman sighed, rolling his eyes and stepping around the desk. With a swift inspection, he caught sight of no cameras in the room, beyond the one he'd placed. And he made sure to give the lens a clear view of Piaz. "Lookie here, Piss ant, it's not about the money now. It's about the message."

"M-message...?"

"Are you really that fucking stupid? The message! Raven won't allow some overfed pig sitting on a shit-ton of money get away with not paying for his drugs. You think your status exempts you? Nooooo, no, see... Giving you a free pass means making Raven look weak." He stalked forward, grasping Piaz around the throat just loose enough not to leave a bruise. "It makes him look like a pushover. You don't think he's a pushover... do you?"

"No! No, God, look, I---"

"You have nerve. Speaking God's name after everything you've done, all the filth you've committed."

"Wh-what...? S-S-Sa---"

"Shush. I don't want to leave a mark. But I won't let you sleep before I kill you---that'd be too... kind." He began reaching his hand through Piaz's lips, into his mouth, slowly disintegrating again, filling his mouth despite the frantic sputtering and coughing, the grasping at his throat and mouth as if trying to clench his teeth together would keep Sandman out of his lungs, out of his heart. The feeling of rasping breath, the rush of blood, the beat of the struggling heart once again filled the mind of the broken-up man, as he squeezed around the strong heart muscle and constricted, filling the lungs and weighing them down, the body sputtering like an old, dying engine until it finally coughed its last time, and slumped to the floor.

Once he had escaped the man's body, Sandman went to work, sifting through drawers, his eyes many, and spying documents that at one time were under lock and key. But he didn't need the key---he slid the papers out and scattered them all over, mostly lying them across Piaz's disgusting body, and once, found a series of degrading pictures of a young lady. Who was it...? It didn't matter, she looked too young, and that was what mattered. He slid them over the man's hand, under, and around the desk, and slid back to the door, rising up to the camera and bringing it down, scraping it free and letting it join the rest of his sandy body as he, this time, used the vent to escape the room.