BLACK DRAGON CONTRACT

Chapter 8: The Birth of the Name "BLACK DRAGON"

Luigi's Pizza joint on the corner of 42nd Street was not a place any sane person would visit after ten at night. The place smelled of stale oregano, the tiled floor was slick with grease, and the neon sign above the register flickered as if having an epileptic seizure.

But for three men who had just toppled a petty king’s rule over the harbor territory, this place was paradise.

"Damn, is this cheese or shredded tire rubber?" Julian pulled at his slice of pepperoni pizza. The cheap mozzarella stretched for half a meter, refusing to break.

Julian, whose dyed green hair was currently tucked beneath a new black suit jacket worn over a neon green shirt (somehow even tackier than his previous purple suit), finally gave up and sliced the cheese with his butterfly knife. Sching.

"Just eat your food, you crazy Joker!" grumbled Bruno from across the table. In front of him was a tower of empty plates. The gigantic 'Tanker Rhino' ate as if he possessed three stomachs, "You talk a lot for a guy who just pocketed fifty grand!"

"Hey, Rhino… I invested that money!" Julian grinned with a mouthful of food, "I bought C4 supplies from the Russian black market. You know, just in case we need to make some more fireworks!"

Marco sat at the end of the table, not touching his food. He merely swirled a glass containing flat Cola. His eyes were fixed on the dark street outside the window.

It had been two days since Vinnie’s death. The police labeled it a "gang war" and closed the case quickly—perhaps because Vinnie forgot to pay his monthly bribe to the police captain last month.

But Marco knew this calm was false.

"Mr. Butcher—wait, sorry. Boss… what's up with you?" Julian asked, nudging Marco’s arm, "You look like you're constipated. We won, Boss! Vinnie was sent to the afterlife via JNT. He's dead. The money is safe. The territory is empty. Life is beautiful!"

Marco turned slowly. His sharp gaze made Julian stop chewing.

"Empty territory," Marco repeated flatly, "That can bring trouble, Julian. Empty territory is like fresh meat lying in the middle of a forest. Wolves or other predators will come!"

Bruno immediately stopped eating. He wiped his mouth with a coarse napkin, "What do you mean, Boss? Aren't we done? Your target is dead, I’ve paid for my mother’s operation. You don't owe anything anymore. And we can disband!"

"Disband?!" Marco chuckled, a dry, humorless laugh, "You think the Costello family will just sit still? After that bastard died! Vinnie was their watchdog at the docks. We just kicked Don Costello's dog. You two know who he is, right? Do you think they’ll let us retire peacefully?!"

Bruno fell silent. His tough face tightened.

"So we’re the next target, Boss?" Bruno asked, anxiety evident on his round face.

"Not just targeted, Rhino! We're going to be hunted down," Marco replied, "And the only way we don't get eaten is by becoming a bigger predator than they are!"

"I like the sound of that, Boss!" Julian slammed the table, making the chili sauce bottle jump, "What’s the plan? Start a gang? Form a labor union? Start a vocal group?"

"We need a name, to stake the flag for our group," Marco said, "Something that makes people think twice before pulling a gun and challenging us!"

"How about 'The Jokers'?" Julian suggested enthusiastically, "Or 'Killer Clowns'? 'The Death Circus'?"

"So tacky! You crazy Joker," Bruno cut in, "I prefer something solid. 'The Iron Fist.' Or maybe 'The Wall'?"

"Ugh, that's just your own name, you stupid Rhino!" Julian sneered, "Such a narcissist. If you're going to be stupid, don't nurture it!"

"Better than your names? They sound like cartoon titles," Bruno retorted, grimacing.

"What did you say, Rhino?!" Julian was ready to throw his fork.

As they argued like kindergarteners, an old waiter shuffled toward their table. A frail, skinny elderly man of Chinese descent, his face lined with tired wrinkles. He carried a tray with extra drinks.

"Excuse me, Gentlemen," the old man’s voice was hoarse, "Here is your extra beer!"

As the waiter placed the beer bottles on the table, his shirt sleeve pulled up slightly.

Marco's eyes locked onto the thin arm. There, on the loose, age-spotted skin, was a faded tattoo. Black ink that had faded to moss green with age.

The image of a dragon. An Eastern dragon coiled around the arm, with open claws and eyes that seemed to stare directly at Marco.

Suddenly, the world around Marco stopped. Julian's and Bruno’s bickering went mute. A blue holographic screen exploded into Marco's vision.

Ting!

[SYSTEM RESPONDING TO VISUAL STIMULUS.]

[SYMBOL DETECTED: ANCIENT DRAGON.]

[ANALYSIS OF MEANING: POWER, STRENGTH, ABSOLUTE DOMINATION.]

[MATCHING WITH "CONTRACT PROTOCOL"... COMPLETE.]

A name was printed in bold on the system screen, flashing with a black and gold aura.

[ORGANIZATION NAME REGISTERED: BLACK DRAGON / NAGA HITAM.]

[DO YOU ACCEPT? Y/N]

Marco felt a strange vibration in his chest. Not pain, but a sense of 'destiny.' As if the name had been written on his ribs since he signed the contract under the water.

"BLACK DRAGON," Marco muttered softly.

"Huh?" Julian turned, "What's that? A brand of soy sauce?"

Marco ignored Julian. He pressed the [Y] button in the air (which to others looked like he was swatting a fly).

ZIIING!

An invisible wave of energy spread from Marco's body.

"Starting today," Marco's voice deepened, full of an authority that made the old waiter back away in fear, "We are the Black Dragon!"

Julian frowned, "Black Dragon? That's pretty classic, Boss. Isn't it a bit cliché? Sounds like an 80s kung fu flick!"

"The Black Dragon isn't about being cool," Marco looked sharply at Julian, "A Dragon is a symbol of the ruler of the sky and the sea. Black is the color of nothingness. We will be the rulers who come from nothingness and swallow everything!"

Bruno nodded slowly, seemingly in agreement, "Sounds powerful. I like the name, Boss!"

"But Boss," Julian interjected, twirling his knife again, "What's our vision? I mean, okay, we have a cool name. So what? Do we deal drugs? Extort grocery stores? Or do we want to be Robin Hood?"

"Chaos," Julian answered his own question with sparkling eyes, "I vote for chaos. We burn this city down, we drive the police crazy, we—"

"Order," Bruno cut in sternly, "I don't want to be a terrorist, Clown. We take over the docks, we make sure no one like Vinnie oppresses the workers again. We make the rules!"

"Boring, ugh!" Julian scoffed.

Both men looked at Marco, awaiting their leader's decision. This was the crucial moment. The organization’s moral compass would be determined here, at this greasy pizza table.

Marco leaned back in his chair. His cold eyes looked at his two partners alternately.

"Not chaos," Marco said to Julian. Julian pouted.

"And not a naive order," Marco said to Bruno. Bruno frowned.

Marco placed his hand on the table, clenching his fist. Staking a claim like a Street King.

"Absolute Power," Marco said. His voice was low but piercing, "We won't be Robin Hoods, and we're not terrorists. We will be the Law. In the Black Dragon territory, no other Vinnie breathes without my permission. No drugs circulate unless I say so. And no police dare enter unless they want to go home in a body bag!"

[NEW QUEST: BUILDING THE FOUNDATION]

[MISSION: MARK THE FIRST TERRITORY OF DOMAIN.]

[REWARD: UNLOCK "LOYALTY SYSTEM" FEATURE FOR SUBORDINATES.]

"Absolute power..." Julian licked his lips, his smile widening again, this time more wicked, "Okay. I retract my statement. That's sexier than chaos!"

"I’m in, as long as the principle is clear," Bruno added, "Protect what is ours. Destroy what threatens us!"

Marco stood up, tossing several hundred-dollar bills onto the table, far more than the price of the pizza.

"Old man," Marco called to the waiter who was still trembling in the corner.

"Y-yes, Sir?"

"That tattoo," Marco pointed, "Nice. Keep the change!"

Marco walked out, his hoodie cloak slightly flapping in the night wind. Julian and Bruno followed behind him, flanking the new Godfather like two pillars of death.

*

WAREHOUSE NUMBER 9: VINNIE'S FORMER HQ

The night deepened. The warehouse was dark and silent, the yellow police tape hung earlier that morning had snapped in the wind.

Julian was shaking a can of black and red spray paint he bought at the 24-hour store.

Shake. Shake. Shake.

"Art, Boss! This is about artwork," Julian murmured.

He began spraying paint onto the main gate wall of the warehouse, which was still dented from Bruno’s earlier assault.

His movements were fast and wild. Thick black lines formed the silhouette of a roaring dragon head, with glowing red eyes. Below it, he wrote two words in a sharp, messy Gothic font:

BLACK DRAGON

"How is it?" Julian asked proudly, his hands smeared with paint.

Bruno folded his arms across his chest, looking at the work, "Ugly. Looks like a worm having a fit!"

"Abstract art, idiot! You Rhino have no taste!" Julian spat.

Marco looked at the logo. The System in his retina scanned the image.

[ORGANIZATION LOGO: REGISTERED.]

[TERRITORY: DOCK 4 - SECTOR A.]

[STATUS: CLAIMED.]

[INITIAL REPUTATION: 50 (UNKNOWN THREAT).]

Marco felt a strange satisfaction. Not happiness, but gratification. A sense of ownership.

"Worm or Dragon, the important thing is," Marco said, turning to face the vast harbor. The ship lights in the distance flickered, "Starting tonight, whoever sees that image must bow down!"

"Or die," Julian added with a small laugh, playing with his lighter.

"Boss," Bruno called, his tone serious, "If we raise the flag, the enemies will come. Are you ready?"

Marco touched his left chest, where his heart beat beneath the healed bullet scar. He touched his head, where the memory of Maria's kiss was lost forever.

He had paid dearly. He would not retreat a single step now.

"Let them come," Marco answered coldly, "My system is hungry!"

The sea wind blew strong, carrying the scent of salt and challenge. On the wall of the old warehouse, the wet paint of the Black Dragon seemed alive, watching the sleeping city of New York, waiting for its time to feast.

***