Tangerine grunted as he fought to keep the man beneath him restrained, muscles straining against the wild kicks and thrashing. All this for a bloody suitcase, he thought, as he delivered punch after punch.

With one final push, his opponent’s movements slowed, then stopped altogether, breath wheezing and choking, before fading to nothing. Just as Tangerine was about to finish the job, his phone buzzed in his back pocket, the familiar ringtone disrupting the morbid scene. He ignored it. Only when he was sure the man was dead did he sit back, chest rising and falling heavily. He pushed his damp brown curls from his forehead with ringed fingers before fishing out the phone he used on business, which looked almost comically small in his hand.

One glance at the caller ID, and a smirk tugged at his lips. It was you. It had been a week since he had left London for Japan. With one last glance at the body at his feet, Tangerine exhaled, stood up, and answered.

“’Elo?”