Zant walked over to the ringing phone, the loud buzzing in his pounding head going, only to be amplified by the damned machine. The sounds of glass bottles klinking against each other as each step was made. Zant thought he might need to clean up the safe house he obtained from one of his drug beareau friends, but kept it as is, always in and out on jobs. Zant picked up the beaten black phone, and answered, in a half grudged voice.

"Aye? Y' calling me for a reason?"

The sound of an all too familiar voice came through, shook Zant to the bone.

"Someone's waiting for you when you reach New York, it's time to fold."

The caller hung up, Zant dropped the phone when the sound of a phone being hung up was heard. The beaten, hated phone fell against a bottle, made one of the loudest klinks he heard in a while. The beaten, damned phone rang again, the phone shaking against the empty glass bottle. Zant shuffled the phone wire from where it dangled up, and picked the phone back up. It was his boss, ordering him to fly to New York. Zant agreed, and hung the phone up, feeling a need for a drink. So many things to do.. Such little time to do it. His source had impeccable accuracy, this time being no different, Zant shifted, walking to the window and peeking through one of the dim gray curtains, and saw one of his hired hands waving at him.

"Shit.."

Zant looked around, his face starting to ache from the frowning he had done so many times before. He hefted his hands into his hair, thinking carefully on how to do this. He looked about the green walls of the safe house, the sun shining through the cracks in the curtains and recflecting off the glass bottles, making it seem as though the lights were already on. He shifted his gaze to his black book and walked over, not caring that he's hearing glass break as he kicks them on his way. He picked up the black book, worn, old, and shifted through the scotch stained pages and found a new associate's name. He glanced at the phone number the prospect gave him, and nearly ran on the glass to the phone, his boots crunching on the broken glass. He picked up the damned phone and carefully rang the numbers, knowing that when he was sober, the knob stuck. He placed the phone against his ear, and waited, to him, the room was echoing the ringing.

"Hello? This is Toto, who's calling?"

Zant gruffed his voice a bit, and uttered his words carefully thought of as the echoes of his imagination ran rampant.

"Toto, this is the call, meet me at the airport, I 'ave a job, this is the favor."

Zant hung the phone up, done speaking. His plan so quickly conjured, set in motion. Zant, knowing somewhat well on what was going to happen, walked over the glass bottles over to his room. He had the door torn down when he first arrived, the brass hinges still broken. His suit and mask sat on his well made bed, he never used the bed much, preferred the couch. He ducked down, his knees cracking as he did so, and shuffled the sheets hiding the contents underneath the bed above a bit, and looked around. After about a minute of looking, he spotted a brown leather suitcase, covered in a thick layer of dust. He put his arm through and pulled the suitcase out quickly. He shifted to a standing position, suitcase in hand, and placed it on the bed, after pushing the red covers back.

"Should still be here.. I hope."

He coughed a bit, the flem built up in his throat. He unlocked the clasps keeping the suitcase shut and shifted through the contents. He pulled out a green striped polo shirt, dark blue, knee worn jeans, and 2 worn sandals. He placed them back into the suitcase and took his suit and mask from the bed. He felt the mask as he did so many, many times before, but this time, colder. He looked around his room, unattached to anything, except for a small shine of a silver watch. He walked over, pushing over paperweights and picked the shining pocket watch he had cared for so long. He dangled it in front of his face for a moment and walked back over to the suitcase, suit, and mask sitting on the red cotton bed. He placed the watch inside the suit pocket and quickly put his mask on. He placed the suit inside the suitcase and closed the leather suitcase, locking it.

"Time t' move, the plane's not gonna be there all day.."

Zant got up, mask clicking into it's usual spots. and picked the suitcase up, beginning to walk to the door. He kicked a glass bottle at the door on the way over, the glass shattered against the door, exploding into pieces of shrapnel. He placed his hand on the door and unlocked the various locks, each one telling a tale in his head. Age was starting to get to him a little, but he wouldn't stop now. He openned the door and welcomed the shine, taking it in, feeling the breeze of the back alley. The scent of garbage filled the air, but it no longer mattered to him. He walked down the wooden steps of the stairs quickly, then moved down the cracked cement street to his driver's car. He knocked on the door, his driver was reading a newspaper, then unlocked the door.

"Airport, we need to meet Toto."

The driver nodded, and they were off. Zant was staring out the window, feeling like this were a dream, not taking in anything. The time passed, an hour mostly, as the car began to slow at the airport. A man, tall, skinny, was watching the vehicle stop, Toto. Zant unlocked the door, and openned it, the new car shining in the dusk light. Zant waved at Toto and motioned toward the airport interior. Zant walked toward the bathroom, Toto a few feet behind. Not a word was spoken until they were in the bathroom.

"You see the suitcase, Toto? Take it to the empty stall and take the suit, wear it."

Toto nodded, and gently took the case from Zant's hands. He walked over to the stall in the middle and closed the door. Minutes went by, the plane announcements from one of the workers heard, thirty minutes until the New York ride was closed. Toto unlocked the stall door and walked out, Zant's suit welcomed it's occupant nearly as well as it did it's owner. Zant nodded as he unclasped his mask and handed it to Toto. Toto was staring at Zant's face, at it's age, it's marks. Toto placed the mask on, not needing to be told what to do with it.

"Toto, we're gonna take a flight after I switch my own clothes, wait here."

Zant took the case from his associate and walked to the middle stall. Minutes passed by, Zant clasped the jeans on, a snug fit, reminded him of his past. He unlocked the stall door and walked out, motioning for Toto to follow. Zant carefully scanned the crowd, noticed someone waving at them, one of the workers, owed someone a favor, didn't know who's. Zant and his associate walked over, and the worker made the group follow onto the plane, they were a minute short of missing it.

"Toto, the favor I wanted, I want you to attend a meeting on my behalf, I'll walk off the plane a little while after, act casual, we'll meet up when the meeting's done, I'll find you."

Toto nodded, knowing his called favor was. Time passed by, a couple hours, the plane drifted down, Zant saw the city of New York, the big apple, his sweat growing. He swapped seats with one of the passengers an hour ago, wanted to blend in. He looked at the front, the door was opening, people got up, walked toward the door, a strong breeze felt. Toto got off fourth, he walked with slight screeching, Zant's boots had glass stuck inside the creases. Zant got off the plane last, but froze in terror, gun shots fired through the plane, the first passenger to get off, shot in the head. Toto was on his knees, holding his gut, then a person with a hood covering themself, said a word barely heard, the words of death being uttered to it's victim.

"War is hell."

The hooded person fired their gun again, this time it blew into Toto's neck, killing him. He fell with a slouch, Zant was watching, knowing what had occured. The hooded fellow walked off after firing two more rounds, scaring off on-lookers. Zant fell, slouching onto the plane wall. He had been mistaken for a pedestrian, Toto for him. His vague, risky, stupid plan worked. The blood flowing from the first passenger and Toto starting to make a puddle. Zant sat there, no police were showing up, the call unheard. Pulled favors, all too common for this city. The on-lookers already gone, the pilots and clerks away, Zant got up from the wall and looked around. Nobody was watching, the war ravaging on. He walked over to Toto's body, and leaned in.

"Thank y' for doing this favor, my friend."

Zant picked the mask from the corpse, the suitcase from the dead man's grasp, and the pocket watch in the coat, slightly red from the blood. He nodded at the associate, the favor done.

"May St. Peter call out your name Toto."

Zant walked back on the plane, waiting for a ride back to Philadelphia, his informant needed things done, since Zant was 'Dead", he was unmarked. He waited for the workers to come back. He eventually felt the plane moving, his eyes glued to the window. It was Darkant now, Zant was dead. He needed to make some phone calls, but he had time, a few hours until he can come out from the shadows, none the wiser. He needed to call his informant, to get the gears rolling.