Work Text:
Cleaning up government-sanctioned assassinations wasn't really Punz's dream job, but what can he do? With his parents gone and a little brother to take care of, he really had no choice in the matter. So what if he had to cover up the murders of high-profile scientists and researchers in the name of world peace? It kept a decent amount of money piling up in his bank account, plus they offered to send people to take care of Purpled whenever he was overseas (which was almost all the time), so it was a win-win in his book. And to his luck, his mother had been a high school chemistry teacher before she passed, and had kept most of her textbooks from when she was a college student, so Punz got a good headstart in his career.
He was the perfect asset, his handler said so. Punz wanted to scoff as soon as he heard those words. Of course he had to be perfect — he saw what happened to his predecessor, one little slip up and he's done for.
How does he know this, you might ask? Well, Punz had been the one to bury the last guy's body. It served both as a warning and his first mission as Asset #3101. Operation Quick Dry.
The poor bastard's final resting place was inside a hollow column, and if Punz were a slightly better man, he would've cared to learn his name before he allowed his body to fall into the cramped space before covering him up with cement. His wallet was right inside his jacket pocket after all, but Punz knows he couldn't get attached to anyone while he's on duty. He would be eliminated, and with him gone, the government would, without a doubt, train his brother to become the next valuable asset for their shady ordeals.
And so the cycle continues for the next few months. It goes like this, Punz gets sent to some inconspicuous location somewhere in the globe to dispose a body with the limited materials available on the scene of the crime. His personal favorite “clean-up” was feeding Dr. Ponk to his lampreys in Cape Town.
The entire trip, sans personal purchases for obvious reasons, was fully funded of course. That was one thing Punz liked about his job.
Another thing that he liked about his job, Punz thought, the dead Niki Nihachu — chief propagandist of Q-100 — slung over his shoulder, was that he was required to work behind the scenes. Punz always considered himself an introvert, preferring solitude over anything else. And if he were to be honest, Punz would've preferred to join their ranks as a hitman instead, but he was a terrible shot, so he settled for the next best thing.
Sure, shady government business meant everyone was out of the public eye, but being a mere murder cleaner meant that he wasn't important enough if or when the press or, god-forbid, Q-100 themselves catches wind of what they were doing.
Unlawful assassinations in foreign land authorized by the US government? The press was gonna have a field day.
Punz Wilson, in this business, was merely Asset #3101 — a number, someone dispensable, someone that can be easily replaced in a moment's notice, just like the one before him. He's irrelevant and nonexistent next to the big names like the infamous hitmen duo, Will and Lex Watson, who were responsible for most of the clean-ups Punz had to do.
Punz heaved the body into the trunk and closed the door with minimal effort. Thank goodness that this Ms. Nihachu was small enough to fit inside without struggle.
He frowned at the car's broken window for a moment, wondering if there was any way to make it look more vandalized. Such a shame he had to do so, she was such a gorgeous car — a Mercedes Benz W116.
“Ah,” Punz muttered, remembering. “Now where was that spray paint...”
Minutes later, Punz smiled proudly at himself for his handiwork. The car now looked like his brother scribbled all over it with their mother's lipstick. How cute.
Thinking of Purpled made Punz miss him all the more. He had to admit that he felt lonely. The only person he talks to was his handler, and even then it was about his missions, but they do share the same morbid sense of humor, so Punz will take what he can get. God, he can't wait to retire... assuming the government doesn't take him out first, since he was probably privy to some state secrets and all, but Punz hopes he was valuable enough for them to consider letting him live.
He walks over to the payphone with the coins he retrieved from the car. He could use his own money, but nobody would notice a few coins missing, right? The people who would are psychopaths and are more of a danger to society than Q-100 themselves.
Punz takes a look at all the numbers scratched on the payphone, finding the one that belongs to the local towing company. He deposits a coin and punches in the required numbers. The sooner he gets this done, the better. Punz wants to get wasted, maybe find someone cute to spend the night with. It's been a while since he got some.
“He'll be there in an hour and a half,” the bored-sounding lady who answered the phone told him. “Hope you don't mind waiting.”
Punz does mind, actually, but he didn't say anything. Sighing, he hung up the phone, and wondered what he could do to pass the time. He can't call Purpled, no, that would be risky.
Besides, Punz told himself off. They're keeping him safe... bah! Who was he kidding? Can't really trust the government in a time like this, seeing at how easily they lay people off like trash. Perhaps he trusted his employers a little too much.
He turns back to the payphone, remembering the little message etched on the bottom of the keypad.
For a good time, call Dream: 012-0899
Punz can't help but snort. Poor guy.
But... he still has a coin left, so he might as well, right? Come on, you can't really blame him. He's bored and wants someone else besides his stick-up-their-ass handler to talk to, pretty understandable.
Punz types in the number, and waits patiently.
Eventually, a voice answers him — male, a tenor, probably in their early 20s if Punz had to guess. “Hello?”
Punz smirked. “Hi. Is this Dream?”
“Er... yes? Who is this?”
“Call me Luke,” he said smoothly, dropping his tone . It wasn't a complete lie, he had always wanted to change his name into Luke if he returns to civilian life. “But I heard I should call you for a good time.”
Punz can't help but tease, he forgot how fun it was to rile people up.
“What?” Dream curses. “Stupid jerk friends and their stupid jerk pranks! Gosh... which one of them put you up to this?”
Punz let out a surprised bark of laughter. That anger was simply adorable.
“No one,” he shrugged, then felt stupid. It's not like Dream was here to see the action. “I just found it and—”
“Well then Luke,” Dream says tightly. Punz quite liked the sound of his chosen name from the other man's mouth. “Please cross my number out of whatever bathroom stall you found it in. Bye.” The man on the other line practically pleads, and Punz found himself taking pity on him.
“Not a bathroom stall—” Punz began, but Dream hangs up before he could continue. Punz frowns, aw man. That was the most fun he had in ages.
Punz sighs and checks his watch. He still had a lot of time to kill. He should go find a decent hiding spot before the tow truck arrives, he might as well have an early dinner. He could always call this Dream next time.