I'll go with Scarlet and help her with her contract.

If Scarlet had anything over Delilah, it would be confidence. The banter she supplied to avoid awkward silence was without stutter. Her voice is soft when it is supposed to be but deep when she explains a serious matter (contracts and details). Her bleak, somewhat dark sense of humor bleeds through conversation when making remarks about certain situations and “gone-south” work.

However, even with those appreciative attributes, you couldn’t let your guard down around her. There was maliciousness in her eyes and cruelty that somehow looked personal.

You arrive in what is considered the area's suburbs, a place with a little over two dozen houses, all cookie-cutter and orderly— a more modern expansion to the little town. The only differing factor of the houses was the piles of snow shoveled off to the walkways. Still, besides that, all features were copy-cat, similar in all aspects. Scarlet leads you to the last house on the right side. She exhaled and stretched, limbering up for a jog or something else strenuous. “Might get a little hairy.”

You shift your weight. “What exactly do you have in plan?”

“Identify and interrogate,” she materializes a handgun from beneath her coat and pressure-checks it. It’s a 1911 model pistol with scratches and chips, but it doesn’t look any less lethal.

You produce your piece too, but it’s more of a pocket pistol than an offensive handgun. Scarlet sees it and chuckles. “What’s that?”

“Jäger pistol,” you idly check the chamber.

“Caliber?” She inquires.

“32 ACP.”

“So cute,” she smiles. “I suspected you of carrying heavier.”

“I’ll remember to bring something bigger the next time we plan to meet with each other,” you say. “It gets the job done.”

“Uh-huh,” Scarlet shakes her head and looks at the house. “We’ll just knock and **** our way in and talk to the guy. Don’t panic when things get physical.”

“I won’t get squeamish until you start busting balls.”

Scarlet laughs and holsters her pistol. “He better not make me angry then.”

“Who is he?”

Scarlet starts walking to the front door. “PI and cheater. Kenji would tear this guy limb-to-limb for that second part, but I’m more concerned about the first.”

“Armed then?”

She knocks on the door. “He’ll be disarmed if he is…”

A man answers the door a few seconds after the first few knocks. He has messy brown/blonde hair, a prominent receding hairline, and yellowing straight teeth. His eyes are green but are particularly dulled by glasses. He’s shorter than you and even Scarlet. He smiles at you both and squints slightly at your partner.

“James Cox?” Scarlet asks with an uptuned voice. “Private investigator?”

James smiles. “Yes—“

Scarlet moves like a lightning bolt, jabbing a slender blade into his appendix. He makes a gurgling noise of discomfort as he stumbles back against Scarlet’s applying pressure.

He awkwardly reverses back as you and Scarlet both step into his house. You close the door behind you after a quick scan of the area. James reaches for the small of his back and flashes a black handgun, but Scarlet grabs his wrist and twists the blade slightly, causing his cut to expand and more blood to drain from the wound. The pain must be immense because his fingers lock and his knees buckle.

Scarlet yanks his gun from his grip and whips him with it, opening a gash on his head. He falls to his back, holding his head as he bleeds. In the meantime, Scarlet unloads his pistol and tosses it aside.

“Alright, James. We can make it fast, or we can make it slow. Who hired you?”

He stammers something, so Scarlet looks up at you. “Lift him and bring him to the kitchen.”

You do as you told and sit him at the table. Pancakes and bacon are settled on a plate, still steaming. Scarlet unbuttons his shirt slightly and jabs the tip of her blade between his collarbones, making him jolt and yelp. A dot of scarlet highlights where she stabbed. “It’s only going to get harder, Cox.”

“No— I— my client was—not going to say—Everything was–“

Scarlet looks at you. “Punch him. If he’s going to stutter, he better have a reason.”

“How hard?”

Scarlet looks at James and sucks on her teeth. “Hard.”

The sound of your knuckles connecting against his face is loud in the kitchen, but she steadies him for two more punches. “Names. I want names, not stories.”

“Your boyfriend hits like a girl,” James says.

Scarlet slaps him softly on the cheek, swollen from the first three hits. “It’s either his fists or my knives.”

James is silent. He flinches when she takes his glasses off. She folds them and sets them beside his plate before strolling behind him. She grabs his hair and pulls back to show you his face. “Give’em three, {first_ name}.”

The first punch broke his nose. The other two just made sure it would never look normal again. Blood pours from his face as tears are produced. Scarlet throws his head forward. “Names.”

He breathes hard, and you watch as his nose drips red. But, then, he is silent and in defiance.

“Jesus Christ,” Scarlet mumbles. “Hold his left arm.”

You do as she asks and hold him down as she grabs his right. She takes her knife and starts teasing his palm with it. James screams and thrashes. “Summer!! Summer Stolk! She sent me out here from Billings!”

Scarlet applies more pressure, prompting him to continue. “She found a shipment of firearms from Bozeman and sent a bunch of PIs to search for anything else weird, but I just got here!”

“How many others has she hired?”

He thinks, taking too long for Scarlet’s liking. Finally, she drives her knife through the top of his hand. He screams and tries to fight, but you hold him in place.

“6!” James wails. “6 more! Oh, you bitch! You fucking goddamn bitch!“

She jerks the blade out and then steps away to watch him struggle. There’s a sadistic smile on her face. “Let him go,” she says, so you do.

James starts to scream for help, but Scarlet doesn’t seem bothered by this. Instead, she watches him with some amusement behind her eyes. You look at her and lean in. “Shouldn’t we quiet him?”

“Nah,” she says with confusing confidence. “He can scream all he wants. It makes no difference here.”

Scarlet only reacts when he pushes himself off the chair and into the kitchen, sloppily grabbing a knife before stumbling towards you. Scarlet steps back, her smirk now straight and her eyes focused.

“You want this, Warren? I’ll let you kill him. I’ve got all that I need from him.”

“I’ll give you the honors in deciding which one of us tags in first,” you say. “Am I shooting him?”