2025-05-02 15:31:55“What gave you the courage? You knew who I was. You knew who we are… and you still came? Are you suicidal?”
Dane swallowed hard, voice trembling.
“I was part of the Gang of Thieves once. Back when I was around eighteen… maybe younger. I used to sneak into places, steal valuables. I thought I could pull it off. I didn’t expect this. Please… I’m sorry.”
“The Gang of Thieves? The one that robbed nobles? The one everyone used to talk about?” Butcher asked.
“Yes. That one. I was part of it,” Dane whispered.
Butcher studied him for a long moment.
“We’ll see. I don’t know if you’re lying yet. Maybe you’re a spy. Maybe not. But until I know for sure…” He turned to his men. “Lock him up. We’ll deal with him again tomorrow.”
Dane’s body was still shaking as they untied him from the chair and dragged him into a small, windowless room. The metal door slammed shut and locked behind him.
Alone in the silence, he whispered to himself, “Is this it? Is this how I die? I don’t want to die… I have to survive…”
His eyes scanned the dim room. Then he saw it—curled in the corner was a skeleton, decayed and crumbling. A lifeless, rotting reminder of what awaited him.
He gasped, instinctively pushing himself backward, tipping the chair as he tried to get away from it. His chest heaved. The smell hit him again—thick, metallic, and cruel.
He had heard stories. Everyone had. The Butchara Mafia had killed so many. And deep down, Dane always believed that his father—murdered when Dane was five—had once been involved in some mafia affair. That’s what had gotten him killed.
Now, staring at the skeleton, Dane realized something with terrifying clarity:
He didn’t want to die here.
Not like this.
But what could he do?
Knowing more torture was coming, he forced his eyes shut. He needed rest. If he wanted any chance of survival, he had to be ready.
Outside, Butcher sat in thought, swirling a glass of dark liquor.
“How did he get on the ship without me noticing?” he murmured. “I can always feel it when someone’s hiding… always. But this time? I walked right past him.”
He frowned.
“That shouldn’t be possible.”
His fingers tapped the glass.
“Tomorrow, I’ll make him confess. If he’s a spy, he dies. And even if he tries to run to the cops, it won’t matter. They work for us.”
He chuckled darkly, but then his smile shifted into something more thoughtful.
“One thing’s clear… he’s good. Too good. Hiding like that takes skill. If he’s really who he says he is…”
The grin returned—sharp and calculating.
“I’ll make him mine. He’ll work for me. Because this?” He glanced out the window toward the sea. “This isn’t enough. I’m Butcher, boss of the Butchara Mafia, but that’s not all I want.”
As morning arrived, Butcher ordered his men to give Dane food so he would have energy for whatever Butcher was about to do to him—whether it was a beating or something worse.
They did as Butcher said, bringing Dane food. As he ate, he cried, knowing this might be the last day of his life. But it was fine because the food they gave him was something he had never eaten before. He mostly survived on bread and stolen fruits from the market. He had never bought a proper meal in his life, but now, for the first time, he was eating one. So even if he was going to die, he accepted it.
Butcher entered the room. “Hurry up and eat fast.”
Dane rushed to finish, his fear growing.
Butcher ordered him, “Stand up.”
Dane stood up immediately.
“Punch me,” Butcher commanded.
Dane hesitated but then swung at him. Butcher dodged and smacked him hard across the face, knocking him to the ground.
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Footage
They rode hard until the city thinned out and concrete gave way to a broad, empty expanse — a forgotten landing strip on the outskirts where weeds pushed through cracked tarmac and the wind had space to carry the smell of oil and old smoke. John had started the morning on his own bike but had hopped onto Dane’s when traffic choked a side street; now the two of them killed their engines and let the silence settle around the place like dust.It was the sort of site that smelled of other people’s secrets: stale cigarettes, spilled beer, a trace of gasoline. A handful of rusting shipping containers leaned like sentries against the horizon. Near one cluster of crates, a small group lounged around a barrel, smoking and passing a bottle. Their easy posture gave nothing away at first glance, but John slowed the bike and scanned faces with the flat attention of a man who’d spent years reading danger like weather.“Stay close,” John said under his breath. He pushed his helmet back and stretched
Dusk
Dane went back to his room and locked the door behind him, the little click sounding far too loud in the quiet of the morning. He moved with a practiced economy born of pain and habit — the injured learn to save energy for what matters. He fished his key from the pocket, pulled on a clean shirt and jeans, then knelt by the bed to retrieve the small canvas bag he kept hidden beneath the mattress.From its depths he drew a pistol, cold and familiar in his hand. He worked the slide with one motion, checking the chamber, then loaded a fresh magazine with steady fingers. The motions were ritual now; each click and snap a reminder that the world could change in an instant. He paused, looked at the stitches along his side, at the bandage wrapped around his jaw, and swallowed. He tacked the magazine home and tucked the weapon into the waistband of his pants, the weight both comfort and burden.As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the memory hit him — his bike. He’d left it near the Coin Fl
New Partner
The following day broke quietly. Pale light crept in through the blinds, washing over Dane’s battered body as he stirred awake. He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, his breath shallow. Every muscle ached. Every scar felt like it had its own heartbeat. The events of the night before clung to him like a second skin.He forced himself up, his feet heavy against the cold floor. The mirror above the sink reflected a stranger back at him — his face still swollen, a cut running along his jaw, his nose bent but starting to heal. He let out a low groan and stripped off his shirt, revealing bruises like dark fingerprints along his ribs.In the shower, the steam rose quickly, curling around him. He grabbed a bar of soap, lathering it between his hands until the foam slid down his arms. As it touched the deep purple of his bruises, pain shot through him, sharp and electric.“Ahh—” Dane hissed, pressing a hand to his side. “That’s… that’s a lot of pain.” His voice echoed off the tile
Dawn Briefing
They moved fast after the call ended, like a wrong chord finally resolved. Butcher’s final words — “Send him back in the car. And don’t decide that with the coin” — had landed heavy, and the Coin Flipper’s hands trembled just enough when he touched Dane’s cracked phone and dropped it to the floor. He picked it up, turned it over in his palm, and shoved it back into Dane’s pocket. The crack spidered wider where the screen had taken a beating, but the phone still held a promise: connection.The Coin Flipper sat back down as if settling into an old fear. His face was a slow study. This man Butcher… I know who he is. I know how terrifying he is, Dane imagined him thinking. He remembered something he’d never quite forgiven. But this is not the right time to strike. Should I toss the coin? No. If I do, I cannot take it back. If the coin commands blood, Butcher may come after me. That would be bad. The hesitation changed him; the others in the hall noticed it.“Call the medic,” the Coin Flip
Between Two Devils
Dane’s heart raced. The room felt smaller now, as if the walls were inching closer with every breath. He could see the men’s fingers tightening around their guns. Sweat gathered at the back of his neck, but he forced himself to sit still, his expression neutral. Is this why they’re threatening me? he wondered. I’m not safe here. Not one bit.He reached slowly into his pocket. “The boss said he wanted to chat with…” he began, his voice steady despite the thudding in his chest. “I’ll chat with the CoinFlipper. That’s why he sent me here.”His fingers brushed cold glass. When he pulled the phone out, he blinked—its screen was spider-webbed with cracks, but still functional.“Hey,” CoinFlipper snapped, his coin clinking softly in his palm. “What are you doing bringing out your phone?”“My boss wanted to speak with you,” Dane said. “I’ll speak with you. Do you have any objections?”CoinFlipper tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Is it Butcher?” His lips curled in a thin smile. “If it’s him,
The Switch
The hall’s mood shifted so fast it made Dane’s head swim. One moment it had been all taut menace and quiet like drawn wire; the next, a ripple of laughter rolled through the men and loosened the shoulders that had been carved from stone. Dane blinked, trying to parse the sudden change. He watched faces soften, mouths part for jokes, a fork clink on a plate — the same crowd that had been seconds ago ready to pull triggers now guffawed at something that only they seemed to understand.“Why is this place so weird?” Dane muttered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone. The gravel in his voice hung in the air like an aftertaste. He watched the Coin Flipper, who stood at the center of it all with the bored look of a ringmaster. The man’s coin spun between his fingers, bright and small and absurdly ordinary for the way it governed people’s lives.The Coin Flipper caught Dane’s confused stare and smiled, a thin, practiced curl. “Simple,” he said, voice low and theatrical so even the
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