“What—? Who are you?” he asked, trying to keep the panic from rising in his throat.

“Who I am is none of your concern, Mr. Clark. What should—nay—must concern you is who I represent: The Scarlet Church.”

Ash looked around aghast, trying to comprehend what he just heard. The elf in the knight helm was eerily quiet as she stared menacingly at him. He had heard stories that the Church employed some kind of holy hit squad, but he never actually believed they existed.

“Are you gonna kill me?"

The elf woman sneered beneath her helmet, trying to stifle a chuckle. “The Church wouldn’t waste its resources just to kill an insect like you.”

“Sister,” called the masked woman, raising a finger to the lips on her mask. She then looked back to Ashton. “Mr. Clark, the Church requires your services. We realize you have extensive experience in hunting and trapping game out here in the wilderness. You also seem to have somewhat of a sterling reputation among the wretched at being quite the expert tracker. Tell me—have you ever considered hunting a bounty?”

“What? You mean like a human being?” He stood and straightened up. “Must be quite the target if the Church is the one out looking for them. Why didn't they just send in you broads? You're definitely terrifying enough. They some kind of war criminal?”

The woman in the mask turned her head and snapped her fingers, calling out to someone behind her. “Sister?”

Expecting to see a new face, Ashton’s gaze widened in terror as an exact double of the golden knight—the one still standing behind him—appeared from the darkness in front of him. She handed off some sort of important looking document to the masked woman who then offered it to him.

“What is this?” he asked as he took the document from between her sharp, armored fingertips.

“It is an extensive dossier and all the info you should require for this mission, as well as a significant stipend for aiding you in anything you may need to maximize your efforts in acquiring our asset.”

Ashton flipped through the pages in the folder. Clipped to the front was a photograph of the target he was being coerced into looking for. It was that of a seemingly innocuous young woman with eyes as pale as milk. She had sustained some kind of trauma to her vision, snuffing the light from her gaze. A cursed souvenir from the past. There was a longing look in them. Some say the eyes are a window into the soul, and even blindness won’t close them off completely. The messy auburn waves of her curly hair cascading down the sides of her face hid a meek expression. He couldn’t help but imagine what the Church would want with someone like this. But more importantly, there was something else that caught his eye.

“You know,” he chuckled nervously. “She sort of looks like Princess June, doesn’t she?”

“That’s because it is her,” declared the elfwin woman.

“What?!” He thumbed through the pages skimming what information he could gleam in the dossier. “You’re joking, right? This says she was… a priestess and her brother who skipped town with some kind of valuable artifact in tow.”

“Sister…” The masked woman whispered in a calm voice. “Please do not divulge privileged classified information in such a casual manner. You never know where prying ears could be listening from.”

The knight and her double both raised a hand to their mouths. “Sister Marie! C-Cuckoo Captain! I’m sorry!” The voice this time came from the knight standing behind Ashton. “Please, allow me to self-flagellate for that indiscretion!”

The woman standing behind him dropped to her knees, facing away from them. She slowly and diligently removed the armor around her torso, piece by piece, until finally exposing her bare backside to the world. Riddled upon her delicate skin were dozens of old scars, no doubt inflicted on herself as some form of penance. She shivered as the cold win touched her skin. Her double—who was still standing next to the masked captain—raised her whip and began flogging her other self. With each strike, the elf and her double both let out a pained moan in unison.

“An issue easily rectified.” The masked woman inched closer to Ashton and leaned over his shoulder. “You will forget any mention of the Princess heard here tonight. Your focus is solely on the woman pictured in that photograph. A simple priestess of the church who has gone astray. When you find her, do not believe anything she tells you. Capture her and bring her directly to the Scarlet Church.”

As she whispered in his ear, a hypnotic tone creeped into her voice. There was something unnatural in the way she spoke. Regardless, a compulsion to follow her every order took over his mind. The observation he had made slipped out of him as memories shifted around in his head. He had felt remorse over the poor priestess in the dossier. Over the debilitating disability she possessed. But his orders were absolute.

He shook off the groggy feeling. “Right. You want me to bring this girl to you. Shouldn’t be a problem. Can’t imagine she’s gotten far… in her current state.” He tried not to flinch at the sound of the woman loudly flogging herself next to him. “But what exactly is in this for me?”

“Very good, Mr. Clark. After you find and bring us the girl, you will be handsomely rewarded, of course. The Church does honor its debts. And as you can tell…” Her gaze shifted to the woman on her knees. The sounds of pain continued in the background of her speech. “We take ourselves very seriously. I believe you’ll find this assignment to be mutually beneficial. You gain valuable experience in tracking more… intelligent targets while also being rewarded for your efforts, and we got our asset returned to us. No fuss, no muss. You also must forgive my associate and I for making such a dramatic entrance. This entire thing is very clandestine, you see, and we needed to make sure certain guidelines were met.”

“Yeah, sure. No point in trading pleasantries. Macha works in mysterious ways and all.”

“Quite. Now…” She called out to her associate, “That is quite enough, Sister. I have something else I must discuss with you once Mr. Ashton here makes his departure.”

The woman holding the whip ceased her self-punishment and turned to her, head held low in shame. “Yes, Captain.”