“Ugh, Nutripulp is so gross,” Max complained, wrinkling his nose as he forced down another bite.

Samantha rolled her eyes, swallowing her own portion. “Stop whining, Max. This isn’t a picnic,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Sabir sat a bit away from them, his movements slow and deliberate. He still carried an air of anger, his words few and far between. Samantha noticed his silence but chose not to bring it up, respecting his space.

Sabir stood up and moved to a corner of the shack, pulling up a loose wooden tile. From beneath it, he retrieved a small, weathered pouch. He returned to Max and Samantha, his expression grim as he opened the pouch and let its contents spill onto the floor—thirteen measly coins.

“Thirteen credits,” Samantha said, her voice tinged with concern. “That’s not a lot. Maybe enough to get by for a week.”

Max frowned. “How are you going to get back into Havana with that many credits?”

Sabir stared at the coins, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He wanted to see Cassius again, to confront him. But the image of that little girl named Mia, who looked so hauntingly similar to his sister, kept flashing through his mind. What should he do?

As he gazed at the coins, an idea formed in his head. He could kill two birds with one stone by finding his niece. Cassius’s goal had always been the Triads; if Sabir could beat him to it... But then the Triads, they were the ones who killed his sister. Sabir slapped his cheeks, snapping himself out of his dilemma.

“The girl comes first,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Samantha and Max exchanged confused and worried glances. “What are you talking about?” Samantha asked gently.

Sabir took a deep breath, steadying himself. “We’re going to have to enter Havana illegally,” he announced, his voice firm. “I’m supposedly blacklisted, so we don’t have any other choice.”

Max looked alarmed. “How do we even do that?”

Samantha frowned. “Are you sure this is the best idea?”

Sabir’s frustration bubbled to the surface. “You shouldn’t have come. This is going to be dangerous. We’re going to have to go to the Wyrm Raiders.”

The mention of the Wyrm Raiders sent a chill through Samantha and Max. Sabir had just explained to them that The Wyrm Raiders were notorious, that they were the kings in The Limbo. Max opened his mouth to protest, but Samantha put a hand on his arm, shaking her head slightly.

“What do we need to do?” she asked, her voice steady.

Sabir looked at her, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “We need to find a way to get them to help us. Bandits have helped people enter Havana for years. They have the means to get us into Havana unnoticed.”

Max swallowed hard. “And how do we convince them to help us?”

Sabir didn’t have a clear answer. “We’ll figure it out. But first, we need to gather whatever resources we can. We can’t go to them empty-handed.”

Samantha nodded, her resolve firm. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

They spent the next hour scouring the shack and its surroundings for anything of value. Every small item, every scrap of food, every hidden stash was collected and pooled together. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had, as they put it all in Sabir's backpack.

When they were prepared to leave, Sabir took one last look around the shack. It had been his home for so long, a place filled with memories, both good and bad. He was leaving this place, to never return. The weight of the recent loss still hung heavily on him, but now was not the time for sentiment. With a deep breath, he bid a final farewell to Mrs. Norris’s grave, the small mound of freshly turned earth marking her resting place. Max and Samantha followed suit, their expressions solemn.

“Let’s go,” Sabir said, his voice filled with determination. He led the way, stepping out of the shack and into the unforgiving heat of the Limbo.

The journey to the Wyrm Raiders’ base was arduous, the heat relentless as they trekked through the barren wasteland. The sun bore down on them, casting long, twisted shadows across the cracked earth. Sabir wiped the sweat from his brow, eyes narrowing as the towering, foreboding structure finally came into view. It loomed like a dark specter against the horizon, its jagged silhouette cutting through the stark landscape. The fortress itself was a grim monument to violence, its walls lined with rows of bleached skulls and bones—a silent, chilling warning to any who dared approach.

The wind howled, carrying with it a distant, ghostly whistle that seemed to echo off the jagged cliffs around them. Sabir’s stomach churned. Something wasn’t right.

Max’s eyes widened, darting around nervously as they neared the entrance. “So… do we just knock?” His question fell flat against the oppressive quiet, his voice swallowed by the emptiness that stretched all around them.

Sabir scanned the area, his senses on high alert. “Something's off about this place,” he murmured, his voice low. “There should be bandits everywhere, but it’s like the place is… abandoned.”

The others remained silent, their unease palpable. The absence of the usual clamor of rowdy bandits, the stench of smoke, or even the occasional shout felt unnatural. It was too quiet—unnervingly so for a place known for its lawlessness.

Sabir hesitated at the heavy, rusted door, his knuckles pausing just inches from the cold metal. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. The silence pressed in on him, suffocating, as if the fortress itself was holding its breath. His heart thudded in his chest. Then, with a furrowed brow and a deep breath, he knocked, the sound sharp and loud in the oppressive stillness.

The door groaned in protest as it slowly swung open, the sound reverberating like a dying gasp. Sabir tensed, half-expecting to be met by a dozen snarling raiders or worse—nothing at all.

Instead, a large figure emerged from the shadows, a man whose bright pink Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops were starkly out of place in the grim setting. His flushed face split into a wide grin, completely at odds with the deathly silence that had preceded him.

“Hey, what a surprise! Those kids are here!” he boomed, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Hey, Yuen, we’ve got guests! I’m letting them in!”

With a dramatic flourish, the man swung the door wide open, inviting them inside. Sabir, Max, and Samantha stepped through into an open area filled with an overwhelming number of tables and chairs. The space was cluttered with kegs and mugs, and the stench of alcohol and sweat permeated the air. The sight was both chaotic and disorienting: hundreds of Wyrm Raiders lay sprawled across the floor, passed out from what must have been an epic night of revelry. An archway staircase led to an upper level, where dim lights hinted at more activity.

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The man, with a broad grin, introduced himself with exaggerated flair. “Name’s Miguel! Welcome to the party!”

He handed each of them a mug filled with a frothy, greenish liquid. Max, Samantha, and Sabir exchanged confused glances before Max took a cautious sip. His face contorted in disgust as he spluttered and spat out the liquid. The fiery burn of the unknown content was enough to make him wince in pain.

Miguel’s laughter boomed across the room, resonating with a carefree, almost reckless abandon. “Oh, I see you’ve tried the cactus juice! Not everyone can handle it, huh?” He chuckled heartily, clearly amused by his reaction.

Sabir, still trying to process the bizarre turn of events, surveyed the disheveled scene around him. The chaotic revelry and Miguel’s carefree demeanor starkly contrasted with the menacing reputation of the Wyrm Raiders.

“Uh, listen, we’re not here to party,” Sabir said, trying to regain control of the situation. “We’re here on business with the Wyrm Raiders.”

Miguel’s face twisted in confusion. “Wyrm Raiders? Who are they?” He pondered deeply, before abruptly kicking a bandit passed out next to him. “Oh, you mean these useless guys? What would you want with them? But don’t worry about it. Let me handle this. I may not look it, but I’m one of the strongest people I know.”

Miguel’s boastful speech was abruptly cut off by a short man with sharp eyes and a belt laden with knives. There were so many knives that Sabir lost count, but he guessed there were more than a dozen. The man, Yuen, strode down the stairs with purpose.

“Hey, Yuen, check these kids out,” Miguel said, his voice slurring with amusement as he leaned lazily against the doorframe, still in his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

Yuen’s expression darkened immediately. Without a word, he launched a powerful dropkick, sending Miguel flying across the room. The impact sent him crashing into a pile of unconscious bandits, his body sprawling atop the others. Miguel lay there, out cold, alongside the revelers he had just disturbed.

“Great,” Yuen muttered, his voice filled with disdain. “You brought random kids into the base.” He turned and shouted toward the staircase, “Some kids are here! Should I kill them, or what?”

Before anyone could respond, Max’s voice cut through the tension, shaky but defiant. “We just wanted some help from the Wyrm Raiders! We’ll leave if you can’t help us!”

Yuen’s eyes flicked to Max, his irritation palpable. His lip curled. “Who the hell are the Wyrm Raiders?” He glanced at Miguel’s crumpled form, shaking his head in disgust.

Miguel stirred groggily, rubbing his head as he muttered, “It’s the group who originally owned this base. Well, they’re still here, but the whole top floor is exclusively ours now.” His words were sluggish, half-conscious.

Yuen’s scowl deepened. He kicked one of the passed-out bandits with a sneer. “Oh, you mean these idiots?” His voice dripped with contempt. “What do you want with our little slaves?”

Samantha, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. Her voice was firm despite the chaos. “We need help getting through to Havana.”

Yuen’s attention shifted to her, his eyes narrowing. For a moment, he looked back at Miguel, anger simmering beneath his gaze. “What did you tell them?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

Miguel, still half on the floor, shook his head weakly. “No, I didn’t say anything,” he groaned.

Yuen sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. His patience was clearly wearing thin. “Hey, you guys!” he shouted up the stairs. “Get down here! I’m not sure what to do with these kids.”

Moments later, three figures descended the staircase, their faces hidden by the shadows. As they stepped into the dim light, the air grew thicker with tension. The chaotic scene only escalated with their arrival.

One of the figures, a small man with a brown complexion and short, messy hair, disappeared in a flash, reappearing in front of Sabir, Max, and Samantha. He crouched low, his movements quick and predatory. His sharp eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You guys spies or something?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “Who do you work for?”

Another figure, an older man with sharp eyes and a sword strapped to his belt, walked calmly to Yuen’s side. His gaze was cold, calculating. “It’s no coincidence that just when we’re about to make our move to get back into Havana, some random kids show up,” he said, his voice gravelly. “They’re spies.”

The crouching man glanced back over his shoulder. “I don’t know. They look just like kids.”

A woman wearing a purple, low-cut dress sauntered into view, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Too bad Anaya’s not here,” she purred, a hint of a smile on her lips. “She’d figure out what to do with them.” Her gaze lingered on Max, and he flushed under her scrutiny.

Yuen gave a nod. “Her powers would come in handy.”

Samantha took a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling voice. “We aren’t spies. We don’t even know who you are. We just need to get to Havana.”

Miguel, now sitting up, groaned, “But you just left Havana.”

The old man slapped Miguel upside the head. “Great, you were tracked,” he spat.

Yuen, clearly fed up with the back-and-forth, muttered, “Enough. Let’s deal with this before the boss wakes up and burns the place down.” His voice was tight with urgency.

Miguel scrambled to his feet, nodding frantically. “Yeah, let’s kill them quickly,” he agreed.

“I’ll do it,” Yuen said, his hands beginning to glow ominously. He took a step forward, but before he could act, the old man stopped him with a sharp gesture.

“Wait,” he said, his voice commanding. “We need to know who they’re working for.”

Yuen gritted his teeth but complied. Instead of killing them outright, he flicked his wrist, sending three knives hovering into the air. In an instant, they shot forward, plunging into the knees of Sabir, Max, and Samantha. They screamed in pain as blood gushed from their wounds.

Sabir, grimacing, forced out through clenched teeth, “We’re really just here by pure coincidence. I’m from The Limbo. My friends live in the Commons. We thought the Wyrm Raiders could help us get back into Havana.”

Yuen sneered, unconvinced. He raised more knives into the air, aiming them at their throats. “Not buying it.”

The old man stepped forward again. “Stop,” he commanded, his voice icy.

Yuen turned to him, frustrated. “Why, Mendoza? You pitying these kids? They could be working for the nobles.”

Mendoza’s eyes flashed with authority. “I’ve tortured enough people to know when someone’s telling the truth,” he said coldly, pointing at Max. “That sniveling coward would’ve cracked by now.”

Max, despite the pain, mumbled, “I’m not that much of a coward…”

Yuen, reluctantly, released them, the kids sliding down the wall, clutching their bleeding knees.

Sabir and the rest writhed in pain. Max began to splutter out the words, “You’re the triads, aren’t you? You’re Rafael Mendoza,” he said whilst stuttering, looking at the old man. “The most notorious enforcer in criminal history, you killed multiple members of the Seven Noble Families yourself.”

Miguel looked at his friends and muttered, “Well, shit. They figured out our identity. This is why the boss keeps telling you to retire.”

The man now identified as Rafael Mendoza slapped Miguel on the head. “You dunce the boss wants me to retire out of care for her uncle and his old age.”

Miguel, rubbing his sore head, asked, “So what do we do with them now? Can we still kill them if they’re a problem?”

Mendoza shrugged. “Let the boss decide when she wakes up.”

Sabir, panting and bleeding, his mind racing, pulled the knife from his knee. A horrifying thought struck him, his eyes locking onto Mendoza. These people… they might have killed his sister.

Mendoza noticed Sabir’s intense stare and grinned. “Heh. Look at those eyes, Yuen. Reminds me of a younger you—someone with nothing left to lose.”

Yuen scowled. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

Miguel chimed in, glancing between them. “Yeah, I don’t see it either—”

Yuen’s temper flared, and before Miguel could finish, Yuen kicked him again, sending him crashing into a table.

Suddenly, the temperature in the room spiked. Yuen froze, his skin prickling with heat. From upstairs, a furious voice rang out, “Damn it, you bastards woke me up! I’m gonna burn you all to hell!”

Mendoza's concentration on Sabir broke as he looked towards Yuen and Miguel, their faces stricken with absolute terror. They were fucked. They woke up the boss.