Chapter 13 Terms of Survival

  Tomorrow came earlier than I hoped for...

  I stepped out of that meeting with Crow feeling like I’d won more than I bargained for. The deal we struck might’ve been on paper, but I knew better than to let my guard down. Crow was sharp, shrewd, and carried the aura of someone who didn’t forget a thing. Still, I had to give myself credit; getting him to entertain my "business" angle was a small victory.

  As I made my way through the shadowed alleys of Markend, I mulled over the decision to throw in with the Murder of Crows.

  It wasn’t like I had a plethora of choices, but it felt like the smartest one. Pride was out of the question. Those pompous assholes would either make me their errand boy or string me up the moment I stepped out of line. No thanks.

  Seamark was a closer contender, but Alfred’s affiliation with them made that a hard pass. There was no way I’d work under the same banner as the guy who trashed my home and threatened to chop me up for parts. It wasn’t just about avoiding a toxic environment; it was personal. One day, I’d make sure Alfred got what was coming to him. For now, keeping my distance from Seamark was the smart move.

  That left the Murder of Crows. They weren’t saints, far from it, but they operated on principles that made sense. They valued capability, secrecy, and resourcefulness. If I played my cards right, there was room to grow within their ranks without constantly watching my back.

  "But that's a last resort," I murmured more to myself. "The mercenary play might be the right answer after all."

  I glanced up at the faded neon signs of a rundown convenience store and slipped inside. Grabbing a bottle of water and a pack of gum, I paid in cash before stepping back out into the cool night air. The streets were quieter now, the faint hum of distant traffic the only sound.

  It wasn’t just luck that got me here, I realized. Killing Sunstrider had turned me from a small-time crook into someone worth noticing. To say it was a big windfall would be an exaggeration, though. I wasn’t proud of it, but I wasn’t ashamed either. The world was cruel, and survival demanded choices. Sunstrider’s death had been one of mine.

  As I walked, I thought about what lay ahead. Working with the Murder of Crows wouldn’t be easy. Crow himself was an enigma, his calm demeanor masking a mind that was always calculating. If he decided I was more trouble than I was worth, things could turn ugly fast.

  But I wasn’t planning to be a liability. I’d make myself indispensable, prove my worth through action. That’s how I’d rise. One step at a time, just like I’d told myself before.

  For now, though, I had to stay sharp. My new “business partnership” was a step in the right direction, but it was also a test. Crow would be watching, and failure wasn’t an option.

  I clenched my fists as I crossed into familiar territory, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows. Whatever came next, I was ready. Or at least I hoped I was.

  Since I was already on this ‘freelancer’ route, I might as well lean on it.

  I adjusted my new outfit as I stepped out of the internet café. The thrift store wig itched against my scalp, and the garish clothes I’d pieced together made me feel like I belonged on a street corner somewhere. It was not my finest look, but it was effective for blending in. Disguises were an art form, and sometimes, you had to embrace the absurd to avoid suspicion.

  I slipped into a dimly lit alley, my duffel bag hanging from my shoulder. The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional shout of drunkards. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it. Focus was paramount. If this plan worked, I wouldn’t need to scrape by much longer.

  BunnyBlade had been my go-to for days now. Their efficiency was unnerving; details about Crow’s location, Pride’s movements, or Seamark’s network always arrived with eerie precision. They never asked questions, and I never gave answers. Our relationship was strictly transactional, the way I liked it. The problem was… he was expensive… Thankfully, he accepted payment in installments.

  He was the primary reason I was able to find Crow. Obviously, running around Crow territory would not have been enough.

  I pulled out my burner phone to check for updates. Nothing yet. BunnyBlade usually took their time; they preferred to be thorough. That worked in my favor. I needed a few days to figure out my next steps on how I was going to peddle my services.

  "Now that I've decided to break bad, I should be cautious with my every move."

  I crossed the street to a late-night diner and slid into a corner booth. The waitress, a tired-looking woman with deep bags under her eyes, dropped a laminated menu in front of me without a word. I ordered the cheapest thing I could, black coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich.

  While I waited, I laid out my mental game plan. If BunnyBlade could set up introductions with the Pride and Seamark bosses, I’d have my options laid bare. Of course, this wasn’t about actually joining them. I was playing a different game entirely. The way I saw it, the more connections I made, the more leverage I’d have when I fully committed to Crow.

  "Playing both sides would be dangerous..." I thought about it. "I should be careful not to be seen as such."

  The thought of Alfred crossed my mind again. The urge to see his smug face smashed into a pulp was almost overwhelming. I clenched my fist under the table, my knuckles brushing against the duffel bag at my feet. There would be time for that later. For now, I had to focus on climbing the ladder, quietly and strategically.

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  The waitress returned with my coffee and sandwich. I took a sip of the bitter brew and grimaced. Perfect. Nothing like bad diner coffee to remind me I was still in the trenches.

  By the time I finished my meal, my phone buzzed. BunnyBlade’s email was concise, as always:

  "Pride boss, ETA in 3 days. Intel needs further verification. Seamark boss, pending confirmation of his situation. Will update. Payment received. Good luck on your endeavors."

  I smirked. Three days was doable. I’d spend the time gathering intel and preparing my pitch. Playing all three gangs against each other wasn’t just risky, it was outright dangerous. But danger was a daily part of my life now. Besides, the payoff was too tempting to ignore.

  I left a crumpled bill on the table for the meal and stepped back out into the cold night air. This was it, the beginning of a dangerous balancing act. One wrong move, and I’d find myself buried under one of Markend’s infamous docks. Or worse, get enslaved by Pride.

  For now, though, I walked away with a full stomach, an empty bank account, and a plan. BunnyBlade could be very expensive after all.

  Sometime later…

  I leaned back against the peeling wallpaper of my small, run-down kitchen, spinning my burner phone in one hand as my thoughts spiraled. The dim light overhead flickered, casting jagged shadows across the room. Killing wasn’t supposed to come this easily.

  When I first got my powers, I never imagined I’d use them to… what? Rob convenience stores? Leave a cape bleeding on the pavement? Kill a so-called hero? The old me, naive, idealistic, and powerless, would have been horrified. Now, it was just another day.

  The thought of taking down a biker gang wasn’t even giving me pause. That scared me more than anything else. I didn’t feel guilt, remorse, or even a sense of hesitation. It was clinical, like weighing the pros and cons of buying a new pair of shoes.

  I blame my powers. Not the way people usually do, using their abilities as an excuse for bad behavior, but in the way they seep into your psyche, reshaping who you are at your core. It’s a common enough story: pyrokinetics who become arsonists, telepaths who grow paranoid. And here I was, an intangible killer growing disturbingly comfortable with the idea of blood on my hands.

  Still, there was strategy in what I was considering. Minor gangs weren’t just fodder; they were stepping stones. Taking out a small-time boss meant more than just proving a point; it meant opportunity. The question was whether I could do it cleanly. If I picked the wrong fight, slaughtered too many, or targeted someone too close to a major gang, I’d end up with more than just flak. I’d have an army on my doorstep.

  I picked up the map I’d scrawled on earlier and traced a finger across the gang territories I’d marked. Seamark’s affiliates held a big chunk of the docks. If I went after one of their minor gangs, Alfred would probably be the first to take notice. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Drawing him out on my terms might save me the trouble of going after him later.

  But what about the Murder of Crows? They didn’t seem like the type to care if I took out a few rogue elements as long as I stayed out of their business. Maybe Crow himself would even respect the initiative. Pride, on the other hand, was a no-go. Their fascist mindset made them cling to every inch of their territory with an iron grip.

  "It makes me hesitate to take this Dragon Fist gang out."

  Should I meet Pride first? No, I should complete my contract with the Murder of Crows as fast as possible. There should be no problem messing with minor gangs, but I had to minimize the casualties. The minor gangs pay tributes to the major gangs and act as their non-core forces during situations. Their paying of tributes shouldn't be affected if I slaughter Iron Fang, for example.

  The gang would probably disband or get absorbed by Pride's smaller cells. Still, a cape was an important and rare resource. I am unsure how Pride would react if I killed Iron Fang. I should have thought better about how to handle my contracts.

  “Hmmm… The minor gangs, I can do… But I should avoid pissing on the major gangs…”

  I sighed and tossed the map onto the table.

  “Why am I even thinking about this?” I muttered. The words echoed in the empty room, their weight sinking in. Was I really planning to take down a gang just to pad my resume? "Calm down, me. This is a plan you've decided on for some time already. Now, what's left was either to sink or swim. I've reduced the possibility of sinking as much as possible by going to Crow first. What's next is to perform according to the timeline I've decided."

  I laughed bitterly. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Oh man... The kid who used to dream of a simple life, free from the shadow of gang violence, had morphed into someone who casually debated killing to get ahead.

  The worst part? It wasn’t some tragic story about being forced into it. No, I chose this. My powers had cracked open the door, but I’d been the one to step through.

  I stood and grabbed my coat. Thinking wouldn’t get me anywhere. If I were going to survive, I needed action. First step: scouting the competition. The bikers weren’t going anywhere, and neither was Alfred.

  If I was going to climb this ladder, I’d make damn sure I didn’t fall.

  Dragon Fist. A name that screamed overcompensation. If their leader was anything like the other wannabe tough guys running minor gangs, I figured I could deal with them in a day or two. That was the plan, at least. Take out their leader, grab the payout, and keep the wheels turning.

  From there, I’d approach Pride’s boss with the same deal. Offer my services for some cash, show them I could be an asset, or at least make them think twice about crossing me. Pay Bunny his due for hooking me up with Pride, as I did with Crow, then rinse and repeat with Seamark. If all went well, I’d have a tidy little operation going. Maybe even set up an office or something.

  I snorted at the thought. Office sounded a little too corporate for a guy who killed capes and ran from the Watch for a living, but hey, everyone needed a dream.

  Stretching, I mulled over my next steps. Dragon Fist wasn’t going to scout itself, and preparedness was everything in this line of work. Charging in blind would only get me killed, or worse, humiliated. I could reach out to Bunny for more info, but he didn’t come cheap. I’d already drained my stash, and I wasn’t about to sell a kidney just to learn where Dragon Fist liked to drink.

  No, this called for some old-school, boots-on-the-ground reconnaissance.

  I rummaged through my closet, piecing together a new disguise. A black hoodie, some beaten-up sneakers, and a faded baseball cap would do for starters. I’d keep my head down and blend in. After all, nobody paid attention to just another guy skulking around Markend’s grimier neighborhoods.

  I stepped outside into the cool night air, pulling the hoodie over my head. The streets were quieter now, lit by the sickly glow of streetlights. Perfect time for some low-profile recon.

  Dragon Fist’s territory wasn’t far. They operated out of the eastern end of the city, where run-down warehouses and crumbling tenements dotted the landscape. Rumor had it their leader, some guy who went by "Iron Fang", liked to hang out at a bar called The Coiled Serpent. Sounded cliché enough to be true.

  As I walked, I thought about how far I’d come... or fallen, depending on how you looked at it. A year ago, I’d been scraping by, avoiding capes and criminals alike. Now, I was actively hunting gang leaders and plotting my way up the underworld food chain.

  Funny how life worked.

  My plan wasn’t foolproof, but it didn’t need to be. It just had to be good enough to keep me alive and moving forward. That’s all survival ever was.