You are the shadowy figure that has just slipped into the room where Dhul is sleeping.
The moonlight softly falling through the window blinds upon the sleeping figures softens his features, making him seem more like a cuddly teddy then a dead man, which is what he is, even if he doesn't know it. Your face is covered, and the pistol in your hand has a reassuring weight, like it can solve all the problems in the world if you just let it be itself. You are at one with the night, your eyes taking in every detail of the room, leaving nothing to chance. Your escape route is planned, the money's in hand, all you have to do is verify the man's identity and the job you were hired to do will be done. The man is on his back, snoring, which you know to be symptom of a more serious condition then most people realize, and something he should have asked his doctor about before this. Well, he won't be snoring, or even breathing in a moment or two, so what's it matter?
You spring onto the bed, covering the man's mouth with your left hand, waking him, and pressing the gun to his temple, letting him know you mean business.
"Dhul Fiqar?" you ask, disguising your voice with a rumble. It would, after all, be very poor form to kill the wrong guy. He squeaks an affirmative, his eyes wide.
"Good," you say. "Then I can complete the job I was hired to do. Mainly, two dead presidential candidates."
Dhul is trying to say something, you decide to let him. "No shouting now, or I pull this trigger." Dhul jerks his head, trying to nod. You let up a little with your hand.
"It was me," he hisses. "I'm the one that hired you to kill us both. But you were all captured, those NPC-PS guys swore it! The ESPer even said I was out of danger!"
"Well, you're not," you say simply. "Hiring assassins to kill yourself? Sounds like a really round about way to commit suicide. I don't buy it." You press the gun a little harder against his head.
"Wait, wait, I can prove it!"
You pause. "Go on."
"I wanted to run unopposed, like always happens around here, but noooo there had to be another person that wanted the job. So I had to get rid of him. But I had to do it smart, don't you see? So I told NPC-PS about threats on my life and hired you guys to kill us both. I knew I would be protected by NPC-PS so I wouldn't actually be killed, but my running mate would be. That would throw all suspicion off me, and the money would never be traced, and I would become president! It was a prefect plan! How did you escape capture?"
"I'm the only one you hired," you answer. "The others worked for me. I sent them after you both expecting them to be caught. They were just pawns. Predictably they slipped up and got captured, and it turned you weren't actually dead, so I had to come finish the job myself. I am, after all, a professional, and that means something to me, even if it doesn't to you."
"You distanced yourself the deed, just like I did. Amazing! You really are a pro!"
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Now why should I believe this story? You said you had proof?"
"Yes, I memorized the bank number you gave me because I didn't want to write it down. I wired $10,000,000 to bank account number 87685821380 a week ago, 5 million for each of us. A small price to pay to become president, don't you think? So you see, I don't really want myself killed, so you can go, with my thanks!"
"The price was a man's life, and you're not going to become president in any case, you'll go to jail for conspiracy to commit murder and attempted suicide!"
There's a pause. "What?" Dhul seems confused.
"Hit the lights," you say in your normal voice, pulling off your mask. The lights in the room come on, revealing a fairy, an ESPer and a martial artist, and Dhul stares into the face of Clayton, which of course is who you are. Uniformed officers bust into the room and roughly slap cuffs on Dhul.
"It was all a trick!" he wails, "To get me to confess! You really are pros, just not the kind I expected!"
"That's right," says Clayton, enjoying himself immensely. "It was all recorded, with my cyber eyes and the mic I'm wearing. Now I get to say something I've always wanted to say: Take him away, boys!"
For some reason you can't stop laughing, this is the best you've felt in a long time. You really, really, love your job.
The group gets another 6 XP, and the next day new cards appear in place of the old. Except for Clayton, who gets none, because he's gone back to base to write up the report. Sorry Clayton! Or... doesn't he?