I skipped school the next day because turning up bruised as hell after a week of not being there was a quick trip to having more shit shoveled on my plate. Ma banged on my door and yelled at me to go anyway. So, I lied and said I was sick. If she weren’t running late, I’d have been much worse off, but she settled for one more shout and an empty threat before leaving. Fortunate, since I really didn’t want her to see me.

Took all morning to finally drag myself out of bed, but I did it. Good for me. A nice long look at my face in a mirror told me it was pointless to fix up my hair for the day. Split skin, two black eyes. Fucking monstrous. Romeo didn’t screw around or take pity. I was a pained man with unfortunate commitments, but at least I had good humor. Things didn't stand a chance of getting much worse.

I ate some cheap cereal with water, alone in the house. Threw on my Brass King’s jacket, then dipped out; without anywhere else to go I decided to loiter near a local mart a couple of blocks down the road. I sent off my text to Tristan before noon. Maybe something would break my bad streak of luck.

He didn’t reply. Prick. So, I decided to screw around inside of the mart, smoking and scrolling my phone. A singular mass of aches and pain.

The roar of a motorcycle tore my attention from an article about the upcoming Lantern Festival. I looked up, catching the eyes of the nervous shopkeeper who’d been working up the nerve to ask me if I planned to buy something or not. I stuffed my hands in my jeans, strolling out the door to see a slick two-seater with gorgeous chrome trim. A big-nosed man with cropped blond hair chuckled at me. “Fall down some stairs? Hahahahaha!”

I gave him a nasty look that said ‘well fuck you too’. Then caught a ‘seven’ decal on the back of the slick black bike. I squinted at him. The dude was massive, and certainly someone I’d have noticed in the Fourth Division, let alone our squad. “Hey, you aint in part of our division…”

He wiped a tear from his eye. “Nope! I’m Bruno! Glorious pride of the Seventh Division, no one can match my might!” He stood up from the bike, stretching out to what must have been a six-foot-five frame, with wide shoulders, and bulging arms. This guy could get hit by a truck, and walk away just fine. “Who gave you the bruises!? Emerald Serpents? Crimson Eagles? Oooooh—one of the sects?! Oh, I love brawling a good heir!” The guy seemed to gush joy and curiosity, especially when he started talking about fighting a sect.

“Are ya nuts?” I pointed to my black eyes. “Messing around with the sects? Listen. This is what happens when ya fuck with people ya shouldn’t. Learned my lesson.” I also wasn’t about to tell this jackass I got messed up by my own Uncle. Nor mention anything about pissing off the Segreto Family. If anyone in the Brass Kings found out about that, I’d be in deep shit.

“The best way to grow is to throw yourself at stronger enemies until you conquer them and cover the street in their plentiful and majestic blood! Just thinking of such a fight gets me worked up!” That smile. This guy was cracked in the head.

“…Alright then. Tristan sent ya?” He didn’t even spare someone from our own squad, what a prick.

“Oh? Oh yeah! Sure did! Hop on, a lot to do today! Many people to punch!”

“That all ya think about?”

“Don’t you?”

Yeah, this guy was a real nutso. Everything hurt too much to pursue this person’s particular brand of madness. Not the first time today that it seemed a bad idea to get into more fights this fucked up if that’s what we were doing. But whatever. I’d committed, and didn’t wanna get tossed from the Fourth Division. Immortals forbid somehow I get shifted to the Seventh Division with head cases like this.

We sped off on the motorcycle. A surprisingly smooth ride, even with Bruno slamming the throttle and pumping speed. It was a struggle to hang on, in my weakened state I worried the wind would catch me and splatter me across the pavement. Didn’t help the crazy fuck took sharp turns, including one that slanted the whole bike. “Short cut! You’ll love this!”

After a terrifyingly close brush to death in a far too narrow alley for even a bike, we popped back out onto a street. Thank the Immortals we didn’t smash into a car. Southside transformed into Downtown. Before he cut through Uptown to zoom into the Rust Docks.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The Rust Docks were an assortment of old discarded docks and supporting architecture that still dominated the north half of New Valentine. It used to be an essential export and import location, and some bigger companies still used it. But now, most of the docks were a trash den of trouble and illicit smuggling. Most legitimate companies preferred to ship further down the coast, then redistribute. Bruno cut the engine as we reached a disused factory. “This it? Kinda a crap, aint it?” I asked.

He gave me a funny look. “You had me pick you up at a corner store that sells drugs out of the back.”

I blinked.

“No idea? Hahahaaha!” He patted me on the back, another tear forming at the corner of his eye. “Luca, right? Funny guy!” Bruno and I walked to the wreck of a warehouse. I sighed, having some second thoughts about my appearance. I might be fucked up to the extreme, but did I really wanna walk into a large meeting looking like trash? Deciding that I still had standards, I fished my comb and a bit of gel out as we walked in.

The place was a half-rusted out steel death trap. Flooded with the laughter and conversations of at least a hundred guys and girls. A stale smell of tobacco married the reek of sweat and dominated the uncomfortably warm interior of the warehouse. Even with one of the large doors rolled open to clear out the hot air, it was still borderline unbearable. A whole mixture of Brass Kings filled this shit-hole, repping at least three different divisions.

But what caught my eye was the woman standing on top of a rusting shipping container slammed against one half of the warehouse. She'd drawn her hair in a loose bun, owl-like eyes observing the gang. That jacket patch was unmistakable, she was the Viceroy. Katia Totoglou. Infamous for her brutal rise up the ranks. She’d left a trail of bodies in her wake from Lieutenant to Captain, near singlehandedly responsible for ending the Blood-Soaked Uptown war with the Emerald Serpents.

My heart raced. I didn’t know this meeting would be that important. A couple of captains stirring up shit, maybe. But no. There were three captains arranged before the Viceroy. Including the scarred visaged of Till—the Fourth Division Captain. He had a rather hands-off management style. Out of all of them, he seemed the calmest, hands tucked behind his head and a dopey smile on his face, completely at odds with the other two captains.

Both the Second Division Captain—a chubby man with shaved hair, I’d had a couple of run-ins with him—and the Seventh Division Captain both looked rather severe.

I was curious to get a good look at the Seventh Division Captain for the first time, the ringleader of the misfits. She was lean, and tall, and gave off an odd regal attitude that struck me wrong. For all the stories of her division’s fuck ups, I’d thought she’d be a nervous wreck to be a part of whatever this was.

After all, if the Viceroy got involved, major shit was going down.

Me and Bruno split and headed off to our divisions. I caught sight of Tristan, he was with the rest of our squad. Nobody offered a greeting. Tristan took one look at me, let out a little laugh, then shook his head and checked his watch. A few more people filtered in.

“Quiet!” the chubby Second Division Captain yelled out a few minutes later, face turning red. He slammed a fist into the shipping container.

At that note, and on his orders, people lowered their volume. He gave a quick salute to the Viceroy.

She cleared her throat, back straight and an angry light burned in her eyes. “You will all follow your captain’s orders to the letter. We will be invading the Crimson Eagle’s turf. You might ask why that is. Why the sudden aggression? They’ve been pushing into Uptown for the last month! If that’s not enough reason for you, just a few days ago they stalked the First Division Captain, ambushed him outside of a bar, and ripped his eye out!” her voice carried a raw heat. A pure expression of utter hate and war. Her pure killing intent ran through the group in a wave. “We do not stand for that! We are the Brass Kings! When they take an eye, we take an arm! When they take an arm, we take their legs! When they take our legs, we take their head!”

I balled my fists. I’d had a shit week. These assholes were going around fucking around with our gang? Fine. Working my tension out on some punks seemed just fine to me.

“You will follow your lieutenants. They will follow their captains. My gaze is everywhere, any failures I will personally see punished. If you exceed my expectations, you will be rewarded.” She looked around the ragtag delinquent gang.

A few stood straighter, ambitious, or afraid to risk the woman’s direct ire. I didn't care about a reward. It seemed like the perfect way to blow off some steam, which after last night, I welcomed with open arms.

“Captains, you have your instructions.”

She nodded, before leaping off the shipping crate in a graceful arc. Captain Baldy gave a fake smile, then launched into a shout. Whereas Captain Till simply raised four fingers into the air and calmly began to walk out of the warehouse. “Come on!” Tristan shoved me forward.