Chapter 014

  Loose Lips

  Ethan ripped open one of the jerky packs as he walked in the rain. He tore off a chunk with his teeth and chewed, savoring the flavor.

  It tasted way better than the mass produced stuff back in the real world, but then he remembered it was just the system telling his mind what it tasted like. He shrugged, thinking it did a good job of recreating the full taste buds experience.

  Despite enjoying the food, he wasn't having any fun at all with the weather. He'd known it was going to rain, but he'd still decided to head home yesterday before it got dark.

  There was only so much time in a day, even in a simulation. Now that meant he had to finish something and get the experience from it in the middle of a rainstorm.

  "It's fine," he tried convincing himself, even as water had already infiltrated through his cheap boots and soaked his socks.

  He cut down an alley, not even considering the sun wouldn't be out. Only then did he realize it was so dark. All the tall buildings in combination with the weather made even a simple alleyway feel dark and dangerous, and the rain hitting the concrete drowned out his hearing.

  Ethan didn't like that at all. He turned back to Whitaker street and decided to follow the main roads. Cutting through the small streets to save time wasn't worth running into denizens of the shadow, whether they existed or not. He didn't want to find out yet.

  After a while he made it back to the same alleyway he'd hid out in before, carefully studying the dark corners to make sure nothing lurked there. He peeked out, looking at the looming form of The Bleeker Building across the street.

  Rusted fire escapes clung to the crumbling red brick like bent claws. The building stood sturdy and ominous against the backdrop of dark storm clouds.

  He recognized some of the same thugs in trench coats and guns, loitering by the entrance. Wide-brimmed hats barely hid rough faces covered in twisted scars and sneers, no doubt angry about having to patrol in the rain.

  Ethan hung back in the alley, leaning against the brick wall. An old dumpster reeked of rotting garbage, but it provided good cover to watch from.

  Settling in half-way behind it, he cracked open one of the Zappy! drinks. The overly sweet citrus flavor exploded across his tongue as he took a swig, and he felt the sugar and caffeine almost immediately.

  From the dark alley, Ethan watched and waited, noting every car that passed and every person who approached or left The Bleeker Building. For about an hour, nothing excited happened. The guards rotated just as they had the day before, only not a single one of them joked or laughed about anything.

  Then, four of the thugs in long trench coats stepped out from The Bleeker's front doors. Their bulky frames and unkempt appearances would have been intimidating, but they were hundreds of feet away from him and didn't seem to care or know he was there spying on them.

  A fancy car pulled up to the curb in front of the building. The glossy black metalwork was lovingly cared for, and Ethan considered the vehicle one of the sickest, meanest looking roadsters he'd ever seen.

  A new face emerged from a passenger door on the vehicle, his face a twisted mask of scars under the brim of a low hat. He could barely make out any details from such a distance, and the face almost appeared blurry due to what he assumed were many scars.

  In fact, nearly everyone in The Cortez Family appeared to have scars of some type. War wounds, he guessed, though only time might prove one way or another.

  He vaguely remembered something historical about German soldiers before World War Two being promoted based on how vicious their scars looked, but Ethan wasn't sure if that was true. Maybe The Cortez Family had some kind of similar tradition.

  The mysterious figure closed the door on his roadster, and the vehicle pulled away, leaving the man standing there in the rain. The four henchmen in the trench coats greeted and then escorted him to the front doors of The Bleeker Building.

  It didn't even dawn on Ethan for a minute that the NPC's name hadn't been above his head. That was a first, as every single NPC, player, and creature he'd encountered so far had a name.

  The only two things that made sense to him was that the man might be so high level the system didn't show it by default, or it was the result of some type of talent or skill.

  Over the next couple hours, the pattern became clear. Four distinct groups, each with three members, patrolled different sections of the property in timed rotations.

  If one needed a break, the other two remained, ensuring at least two were always present. A minimum of eight thugs maintained a watchful eye over The Bleeker at any given time.

  The groups switched off every sixty minutes, the fresh cycle strutting out with their trench coats flapping. Ethan lost count of how many different gang members he observed, their gruff faces and bulging weapons all bleeding together into one terrifying image of brutality.

  But he did manage to log their patterns, mapping out their routes and timing the changeovers with careful precision. He even managed to figure out that Frick had some type of authority position over some of the other henchmen.

  As the morning dragged on towards lunch time, his stomach rumbled. He'd eaten the last bites of jerky an hour earlier, and was starting to look forward to a meal at Emma's Kitchen. Hopefully, Jason would remember to show up.

  As he contemplated that, four henchmen exited The Bleeker Building and approached the curb just as another fancy vehicle pulled up. It was silver this time, and a different model than the previous roadster, but still just as immaculate.

  A heavyset figure climbed out from the passenger side door. Unlike the other man, this one was balding and had a fat face with a second chin. His name was Barristimo. Kind of strange, Ethan thought, but whatever. The guy didn't particularly strike him as a killer, but who knew.

  The four henchmen escorted Barristimo to the front doors as the silver roadster drove away in the rain.

  He committed their faces to memory, the jagged scars across one unknown man's face, and the fat round pudge of the other. Something important was happening inside The Bleeker Building, or so it seemed.

  Finally, after way too much time, he received a notification in his bottom left field of view.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Mission Progress: The Bleeker Building - You completed part of a mission for Samuel Donovan. Learn more about the player known as Stalvek Dyomin, and their involvement with The Cortez Family. Lately they have been seen going into and out of The Bleeker Building. Spy on the place and report back with the details you discovered regarding their security, and with the arrival of what appears to be some leaders. Are they having a meeting?

  Current Progress: 50%

  +200 XP

  You have 1,800 XP total

  You need 400 more XP to reach level 2

  “Awesome,” he whispered to himself.

  Satisfied, he pushed away from the dumpster, wincing at the creak of his stiff joints. He had what he needed, and all he had to do was deliver it to Samuel to finish the mission.

  Leaving his vantage point behind the dumpster, his feet squished inside the cheap boots with each step. His water-logged feet felt like soggy sponges, and if he didn't dry them out soon, he knew he would get blisters, or worse.

  He hurried out from the dingy alleyway when he knew the sidewalk was clear. It was only 11:20 a.m., and if he was lucky, he could still get to Samuel's office, then to Emma's Kitchen before noon.

  Emerging onto Superior, he picked up the pace back towards Whitaker, practically jogging down the cracked sidewalk. The rain had let up a little, but it still poured a consistent drizzle down on the city. The few pedestrians wandering about in the rain shrank back as he rushed by them, no doubt curious of his urgency.

  With a little more light at mid-day than he'd had early in the morning, he decided to cut across through a side street, in a rush to save time.

  In his hurry, he failed to notice the looming figure step out from a shadowed area until he very nearly slammed into the guy.

  Ethan halted with a grunt, stumbling back a few steps before regaining his balance.

  A pair of icy blue eyes bore into him from under the brim of a low hat.

  "Well, well..." a familiar voice grated out. "If it isn't the little rat from before."

  Stalvek Dyomin straightened to his full, intimidating height, hands shoved into the pockets of the suit on his thin frame. Ethan froze, that penetrating gaze from the man pinning him in place like a terrified deer in headlights.

  "Fancy meeting you out here again," the man continued, taking a step forward. "Up to no good, I assume?"

  He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His tongue felt thick and useless as Stalvek closed the distance between them.

  That was when he noticed the four hulking shapes detaching themselves from the shadows around the man. They slowly formed a semicircle that hemmed Ethan in against the wet brickwork.

  It had to be some type of illusion or spell, but in the moment all it did was frighten him. How else could Stalvek have control over hulking henchmen figures that looked to be made of shadow?

  The big goons looked just like the men guarding The Bleeker Building, only it was obvious they weren't human. Their forms were void of any flesh, and Ethan immediately considered it must be some type of talent.

  "You know," Stalvek said, the man's voice a lazy drawl as he casually withdrew a switchblade from his coat. "I did try to warn you before so I don't feel bad about what I'm going to do to you. This city... it has a way of chewing up little snoops like you."

  The blade glinted as the guy popped it open with a casual flick of his wrist. Ethan's heart pounded in his chest, and he could hear the rhythm loud in his ears, vibrating through his body. He knew the guy couldn't kill him, but he was still cornered and outnumbered.

  Stalvek took another deliberate step closer, the thugs following suit like an expanding bubble of menace. Their forms grew larger and more intimidating, threatening to suffocate him in shadow.

  The man's razor-sharp knife hovered an inch from Ethan's face.

  "So..." Stalvek said, "what should we do with you? What should we do… with… you?"

  Ethan hesitated, not saying anything.

  The man's smirk widened as he glared back, the knife inches from Ethan's face. Stalvek's muscles were tense as he eyed him like a piece of meat.

  "You know, I just hit level three, and I've been waiting for this," the man hissed, lips curling. "You're gonna be my first player kill, Ethan Jones!"

  His muscles coiled like a spring as he drew the blade back over his shoulder. Ethan's breath caught in his throat as he braced for the inevitable impact, eyes squeezing shut in grim anticipation.

  But the blow never came.

  Seconds ticked by in silence, and when he finally dared to crack an eye open, Stalvek stood frozen mid-swing, face twisted in a rictus of confusion and rage.

  The knife was stuck in the air just inches from his face like Stalvek had stabbed it into an invisible tree. The man struggled to dig it free from that invisible barrier.

  It took both of them a moment to realize what was happening. Of course, the game's anti-grieving mechanics must have prevented the guy from hitting him. He was still too low level for player combat.

  Relief washed over Ethan, and he formed a taunting smirk on his face. "What's the matter, tough guy?"

  Understanding dawned across Stalvek's features and he glared back, then glanced around like he'd been caught off-guard by cameras neither one of them could actually see.

  Ethan pointed in every direction Stalvek looked, playing along with the man as he peered at the same invisible cameras. "We both need to be level three or higher for that kind of thing, genius."

  His face turned an alarming shade of puce as he realized the truth. With an inarticulate roar of fury, Stalvek hurled the knife aside, the clang of metal on the wet concrete reverberating down the alley but drowned out by the rain.

  "Stupid! Freaking! GAME!" he raged, spit flying as he stomped back and forth like a spoiled brat. "What's even the point if I can't stab a few people?!"

  The shadow goons warped as their leader vented. Ethan noted that their visage was altered by the man's emotional state. He wondered how powerful the shadow goons were, since he couldn't actually find out yet.

  Trying to identify them through his screens proved useless, and all he could read on Stalvek was that the man was level three, affiliated with The Cortez Family, and that they were enemies. The man had indeed moved up a rank already. Stalvek's summary stated that he was a D-class Goon, whatever that meant.

  Ethan leaned back against the wall, arms folded as he enjoyed the show, no longer concerned the man could hurt him.

  He wondered how many streamers watched Stalvek throwing his temper tantrum, and he smiled, knowing it had to be at least somewhat entertaining.

  The fury eventually drained from Stalvek's face, replaced by a cool, predatory calm that chilled him to the bone once again. The guy was good at changing his personality on the fly, that was for sure.

  The man picked up his wet knife and then stepped closer, the shadow goons parting to let him back through until he towered over Ethan, eyes glinting with malice.

  "You think this is funny, punk?" His voice was a guttural growl. "You have no idea what you're doing! I can't believe the stupid game protects casual noobs like you. Just wait! You'll die early, Jones. I promise you that!"

  He swallowed hard, bravado faltering under the intensity of the man's glare. Stalvek jerked his head towards the big shadow things behind him.

  "These boys know what's what. We're Cortez Family, through and through. And we know exactly how we're going to take down The Green Fists. Your time is up no matter what you decide."

  "I don't care about The Green Fists," Ethan said, "I'm just in it for the protection."

  Stalvek studied him. He had no doubt the man was looking through his screens.

  After a few seconds, Stalvek laughed. "Whatever, noob. You don't know shit about us, and you're as good as toast. Run away now, before you make me angrier than I already am!"

  "Or what?"

  "Agh! Nothing, I guess!" he yelled, "just get out of my way, already!"

  He smiled, knowing Stalvek couldn't do anything to him.

  Watching the player pout gave Ethan immense joy, but he knew it wouldn't last forever.

  Finally, Stalvek calmed down again. The man's lips curled in a sneer.

  "You know, we're onto their sad little plan to hit The Bleeker Building. Fat chance of that happening!" He leaned in. "The Greenies are gonna die as soon as they attack our building. We've been running in and out of that place for weeks, building up the image that it's our headquarters or something. In reality, it's nothing but a trap. As soon as a bunch of Green Fists walk in, BOOM! The whole thing's gonna blow!"

  Ethan almost laughed but held it back. He furrowed his brows and tried not to act super stunned by the villain speech.

  "Why are you telling me that?" he asked. "Now I might just go and warn them what your plans are."

  Stalvek let out a long sigh and glared at him like he'd just made some critical error. The guy was one of those types who loved the sound of his own voice, and he realized he'd just messed up.

  "Doesn't matter! You said it yourself, you're just there for the protection, right!? You're not loyal, are you? And they won't believe you anyway!" Stalvek slowly reasoned, trying to exonerate himself. "Yeah, they won't believe a pathetic little Associate noob like you!"

  His answer made plenty of sense. The only thing that didn't was why he had told me, but that could easily be explained by his loose lips.

  "I don't care," Ethan admitted, choosing to be honest. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind if all the gangs got eliminated."

  Stalvek laughed at him, accepting the response. "Yeah! I believe you, Jones, even though that's never gonna happen. Now get out of my way until you're level three!"

  The man slowly drew a finger across his throat, grinning wolfishly as he walked away. The big black shadow figures behind Stalvek vanished in a puff of smoke as the man disappeared around the corner.