The Crimson Eagles had many different ‘meeting spots’ —each one different from one another. They didn't work off a structure like the Brass Kings. What they gained in flexibility and adaptability came at the cost of protection. That lack of coordination was as much of a weakness as a strength. Their terse and disorganized nature hurt them often, and they paid a price for it during the war.

Our gang exploited this to great effect during the war. We carved out chunks from their territory before they managed to communicate and react. But where we swatted down one group, another sprang up like weeds, almost like we had no lasting effect on their gang, even as we ate up swathes of their territory.

Eve, at the directions of Kayson, staked out the place for a couple of days. She discovered one of their rare leaders stayed there, often for hours at a time. There was also a reedy man with glasses, who only rarely departed from the repurposed office after sunset.

Kayson suspected the man to be one of the few Crimson Eagle’s accountants. An actual part of their structure that could tie down their loose gang.

Targeting him would unravel more threads and give us more to pursue and follow. It was a chance to dig into their organization and capitalize on the information and target them in a way the Brass Kings had failed to so far. We could bring them to their knees. At least, that's the dream Kayson sold us on.

Kayson kept the info only between us, unwilling to risk an information leak.

There'd been far too many coincidences lately sparing the Crimson Eagles. They knew the right to avoid a typical haunt and circumvent an ambush or even a point of weakness in the divisions. These coincidences seemed to fall often on the Seventh Division's operations, and as a consequence, some of our squads paid a heavy price.

Without a doubt, there was a mole; a fact Captain Atkins seethed about to her Lieutenants.

Our group hunched near the targeted office building; we'd parked our bikes a couple of blocks away. Thanks to Eve and muting us, there wasn't a chance any spotters heard us as we went through the alley; thanks to Kayson, no one spotted us either. The building was around three stories tall. A prim and proper brickwork tower with a trim screamed 'boring law office' than a street gang hotspot. While Kayson spied inside, we saw a total of three Crimson Eagles filter in and out.

“Well, what we waiting for? Aint we gonna go in and start this shit show?” I asked, not too happy with the flecks of rain soaking into my shirt; I felt naked without my Brass Kings jacket. Kayson arched an eyebrow; he still had his spiders crawling all over and inside the building. “If we’re here to nab some accountant, let's go in. He aint bound to be that tough, and I doubt they got heavy hitters in there.

“It’s about picking the right moment to strike. Sure, we could burst in now and take the accountant. With Bruno, I don't think we'd find much trouble tearing through the guards, but it's smarter to attack when everything lines up. I'd rather none of them were near the paperwork, so they can't burn or shred it." Kayson explained. I sighed, lighting a cigarette before it started pouring. “Focus on getting ready for your part.”

"Don't ya worry about that. I go in and stir shit up in the lobby, get'em after me, then have Bruno jump'em. Easy plan. Suzaki's even there in case things go wrong if we fuck up."

“You have to understand that you have an important role. They have to follow you in the right way. If you start fighting them in the building or make them suspicious, then this opportunity will be completely wasted. Ideally, their account doesn't hear a thing, and Eve makes sure we get in the same way.” Kayson pinched the bridge of his nose. “You messed up last time, which we knew would happen. I asked a lot. But this is your future; you’re a buffer. I see it clear as day.”

“He’s gonna fuck it up.” Eve shook her head. “Hey hothead, wanna make another bet? You still owe me fifty from the last time, now that you’ve broken through to the next stage: you owing me doesn’t sound too bad.”

I glared at her. “Thanks for the confidence.” But… “Y’know what, fuck it. I’ll take the bet. Double or nothing.” If I won, we’d be square. And that fifty stashed back at home could go somewhere better.

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“Deal. Easiest money I’ll ever make.” She winked. I tried to stamp out my irritation. I still didn’t understand how she dug under my skin with such ease. “And if I don’t? I still win.” Bitch.

“Focus,” Kayson said, eyes snapping to the thin ghost-like webs attached to his fingertips. “Ah. He entered the bathroom” a smirk appeared. “All of the guards accounted for. They’re down in the lobby, away from the office. This is it. Right. I believe in you all. If we do our parts, there’s no way this can go wrong.” He stood straight and took a moment to look each of us in the eye. “Tonight, we’ll prove the worth of the Seventh Division.”

We moved as a practiced unit. Bruno and me took a wide stride to the door as I started to pull the mask on. I let the cigarette in my lips hang loose, puffing up my chest and shoving my chilly hands in my jean pockets. A familiar pulse of excitement flowed through me, another chance to test how far I'd come, both with my cultivation and my skills as a frontman. I gave Bruno a nod as he took position on the side of a door. Suzaki slunk to the other.

One last breath. I let the character wrap around me as I transformed myself into a different Luca. I ran through a two-minute timer in my head. It was essential to work on schedule. Even if each second passing in my head was torture, the swirl of excitement demanding I move. I did my best to suppress the emotion. This wasn't about me, and I wasn't working alone; teamwork required coordination.

For the first time, I actually felt part of something bigger than myself.

As the last few seconds came to a close, I had to fight to keep a smile away. Stay in character. I started to sway in place, tossing aside the sweet nectar of adrenaline, though there was nothing I could do about the powerful beat radiating from my soul. This was a crossroads of fate. To boldly walk into our enemies and pretend to be something I wasn't. So many different roads and directions the situation ahead of me could take. At that moment, I realized I loved this. I loved putting myself in situations like this. It was perfect in an indescribable way.

I withdrew a small bottle of booze, donated by Eve—and poured some on my shirt to complete the image, letting the rest go down my throat to really sell the picture of who I was.

Then I kicked the door open. Four heads snapped at the sudden noise of the glass door violently banging against the walls. They were all decked out in Crimson Eagle jackets, lounging around and sharing a joint. Their leader must’ve ducked upstairs cause I could’ve sworn that Kayson said there were five to worry about. That wasn’t ideal but… I let it slide off me. I wasn’t that Luca at the moment, no. I was an obnoxious drunk Luca wandering the streets with a bone to pick.

“Fuuuckers!” I roared, careful to moderate my voice from getting too loud. Letting a bit of a slur in. Letting the liquor that burned down my throat feed me. “Who do ya think ya are? Setting up shop in my apartment—shit heads!” They gave each other confused looks. Not sure what I was going on about. This was clearly an office building. Then their eyes shifted. There it was. Deciding which one got to teach this drunk a lesson.

One of them cleared their throats; he had a shaved head and a crooked nose.

“Wrong place. This aint an apartment. Scram.” The guy slammed his fist into his open palm.

“No! Ya got the wrong place. This is my home! Not yours! Get out!” I stumbled around a bit, dropping the small glass bottle and hiding my smirk as it shattered on the ground, and they winced.

“This is not an apartment building. If you keep going on like that, you’re gonna regret it.” The guy scoffed, getting to his feet, and finally dragging his lazy ass off that sofa. Most of them followed the lead, rising as well. I took a long puff of my cigarette. They wanted me out, sure. But I didn’t give them quite enough bait to follow me if I booked it. One of the bastards was still leaning on the couch, puffing the joint without a care in the world.

Perfect target. I stumbled my way closer to the group. They were still stuck deciding which one would take the first swipe at me, tense but unwilling to kick off a fight. I positioned myself right behind the guy choosing to ignore me. He was far more interested in his drugs.

Then I unzipped my jeans, the rest of them too shocked to react anywhere fast enough to stop me from whipping it out and pissing on the back of the guy’s head.

All of them were dead silent. My victim dropped the soggy joint—landing on the couch and still smoking; I let them register the fact that some drunken asshole just forced his way into their hangout session and pissed on a guy in a street gang.

I didn’t get to finish—one of them snapped out of the shock and lunged forward. Between all of the recent training, the fact that they were expecting a sloppy drunk and not a sober enemy, and that natural instinct to not get covered in piss—I managed to dance out range, pull up my zipper, and make a break for the door. They stumbled after a chant of profanity and promised to bash in my brains in a wonderful chorus. I reached the glass doors, shoving my way out and leading my prey onto the streets.