Welcome To The Family

I was less than enthused to be suddenly part of a gang, but it did provide opportunities I probably wouldn’t get alone; street gangs are notoriously violent organizations, so I suppose this will be a decent opportunity to kill with some less than reliable support. Arguably better than nothing, but I’d rather be an independent serial killer or an assassin than a soldier; it’s a much safer vocation, all things considered.

Then again, I don't actually know what this guy wants from me. I side eye the blond haired gang leader, my eyes narrowing at his constant smirk; I don't trust him and I quite frankly don't like him either, but having the resources of a gang could be useful. A relatively secure base, others to defend me while I’m vulnerable, a decently stable source of food and drink, weaponry as needed, and likely at least some degree of medical care. Not to mention, going from killing on my own to being paid for it is technically a step up…

Of course, none of that could be truly relied upon; backstabbing and betrayal are par for the course in any criminal organization, and I have no idea what kind of resources they may or may not have. For all I know, they can barely manage to feed themselves; though, I doubt they’d be in any shape for recruiting if things were that bad. Still, what I don’t know can definitely hurt me, and I don’t know much of anything about this group. For all I know, they are starving and this asshole was luring me in as an easy meal. I kept him in my sights even as I scanned my surroundings, ensuring I never lost track of the potential hostile in my midst.

With my gaze on him it was easy to spot when his smirk widened, "You're wondering what exactly it is I want from you, right?" I slowly give a grudging nod, for as much as I don't want to show any fear there's no point denying curiosity here. He gave a low chuckle, glancing subtly around, "Your kind are infamously sneaky little bastards, excellent spies and assassins to a one." He shrugged his shoulders, hands spread to the sides as he pointedly looked down at me. "Most people set up their serious security for human sized and above creatures, deeming anything lesser to be a nuisance at worst. It's stupid considering how many little critters can shred a man in seconds, but their stupidity is our gain."

He hadn't broken stride as he talked, gesticulating enthusiastically with every step. Without warning he whirled around, walking backwards and pointing a gloved hand at me, "You, my stealthy little friend, are perfect to slip through the lesser precautions taken against goblins and the like to steal valuables, documents, and lives from otherwise secure areas! You can waltz right into rival gangs' safehouses, storehouses, bases, homes, whatever, steal their shit and slit their throats!" He gave a thin laugh, "You can be in and out before the bodies are even cool."

He was laying it on thick, likely assuming me to be a mix of stupid and naive only usually found in children. He may be saying I'd be an excellent infiltrator and killer, but what he wasn't outright saying is that I'm also disposable. He's expecting an ignorant but bloodthirsty child based on his tone, one he can throw at the enemy and call it a win regardless of if I come back; he's already all but told me he intends to throw me into extreme danger, even if he did attempt to downplay exactly how dangerous it really would be. No surprise really, I'm part of a species supposedly universally hated and thus incredibly disposable; if my race is one of those "always chaotic evil" sorts, having me attack his enemies gives him near perfect plausible deniability. Who would ever suspect an attack by a Lesser Rattan was anything more than an evil little monster doing monstrous things?

Paranoia +1

I kept my thoughts from my face, though I have no idea if this guy could even read the expressions such an inhuman mug would make. I met his gaze placidly, “An-” a ragged cough tearing its way up my throat cut me off, forcing me to clear my throat from the effects of days of disuse and differing anatomy. I resolutely ignored the fly that buzzed out between my teeth as I spat on the ground, “And if they aren’t idiots and actually have sufficient precautions?”

He chuckled, “We have a few of the roguish sort amongst us, I’m sure one of them can teach you a few things about how to be properly sneaky if you need it.” He shrugged, spinning back around to face forward without breaking stride. He gestured to something in front of him, drawing my gaze to a large and very rundown building before us. It was five stories tall and at least three hundred feet wide; while I couldn’t see the sides from my angle I guessed the place was a couple thousand square feet in total. The only vaguely recognizable symbol I could make out looked like a rod of Asclepius formed from a pike and wrapped in dual trails of flame rather than a singular snake, though with how coated the place was in graffiti and filth I couldn’t be sure whether that was a part of the original structure or a more recent addition.

My new boss grinned down at me, “Welcome to the Burnpike Memorial Hospital; named after some famous Lord General some two hundred years ago, and abandoned for almost as long. Now, it belongs to the Burnpike Lords, and it’s where we got our name and symbol.” He shrugs, “Perhaps it's not the most original name, but that whole family line went extinct shortly after this place was founded so it’s not like any nobility thugs are gonna care.” He grinned down at me, his slightly yellow teeth gleaming in the faint light spilling out from the boarded up windows of his apparent base. “Besides, I think it lends us an air of legitimacy to bear the name of some long dead warleader.”

I just nodded, uninterested in some extinct family line and equally uncaring of his attempts to give his loose coalition of murderous thugs some vaguely regal bearing. Rather than respond verbally, I scanned my eyes across the former hospital, looking for points of egress and solid defensible positions in case of a seige or surprise attack; the place wasn’t bad, especially since it was taller than all its neighbors, but this joker would need an exceptionally large gang to properly guard all the entry points and man the numerous defenses that could be set up. The number of windows was large, but not so many as a more modern hospital; still too many weak points for my taste, but they would also serve as emergency exits if things got hairy. All around it wasn’t the worst place to set up, especially if there was any actual equipment left over for the gang to salvage and use.

He nudged me with his boot, drawing my gaze and my ire. He just smirked in the face of my ruinous glare, “Well, don’t just stand there, go on in!”

I kept up my furious, slit-eyed stare for a moment longer before giving it up as a bad game and deciding to heed his instructions. He matched my stride as I walked in, making sure to be just slightly ahead of me so he could knock on the door before I reached it. The doors had evidently been replaced recently, the thick iron implacement seeming far too out of place for a hospital and far too well maintained to be original, and these renovations included a reinforced eye slit that slid open at the boss’ ringing punch. Beady yellow eyes glared suspiciously from the slot for a moment before lighting up in recognition upon alighting on Markus’ face.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Ey boss, ya find what’cha was lookin’ fer?” The speaker was decidedly less eloquent than his boss, his low and scratchy voice only complementing the image of a dumb thug his speech pattern presented.

Markus' grin widened, "Ya know, I think I did." He chuckled, waving a hand, "Open up, I've got a new recruit to introduce." The eye slot clicked shut, and a moment later I heard the dozens of varied locks my Paranoia showed me clicking open one by one; I appreciated the level of security, even if the lack of reinforced walls around it rendered the effort more than slightly moot.

The door swung outward, another point of caution I approved of, and the short man on the other side eagerly waved us in; though, I noted his luminous yellow eyes widened slightly when he saw me. He was dressed in a grimy brown robe (so stained and tattered it looked almost like a corpse shawl) thrown haphazardly over equally ratty and ill maintained clothes. What little of his skin I could see was unhealthily pale, and his long black hair was stringy and thin as it clung to his clammy skin. He grinned, revealing a set of crooked yellow fangs in place of teeth, “Oy Boss man, you’s found a leettle rat boy, eh? ‘E Look like da sneaky type, ‘e does.” He turned his jaundiced gaze back to his leader, “Ya think ol’ Rokharth’ll like ‘im?”

I kept an eye on Markus even as I scanned the entryway while we walked, noting his goggled gaze stayed on me as I made a show of looking around. He gave a chuckle as I looked over the room, “Perhaps, that old bloodsucker doesn’t like most people but you never know.” I kept my eyes from snapping to him at that statement, making sure I kept my gaze on the dry marble fountain I was looking over. It was probably a pretty statue before decades of disuse and disrepair stripped away the hard lines and ground down once noble faces to screaming caricatures, however my thoughts were rather more occupied wildly speculating over what exactly he meant by “bloodsucker”.

It was entirely possible it was just a figure of speech, but given this is a fantasy land it’s not impossible he could be a literal vampire or some such creature. As I stared into the cracked and empty eyes of a statue that once vomited water from its now gaping and featureless jaw, I considered the odds of just gunning it and running for the hills.

Remembering the gun strapped to Markus’ hip, I decided they were lower than the odds that this “Rokharth” was entirely safe to be around. Even if the statement was literal and he was actually a vampire, that’s no reason to assume he was some sort of lunatic that would attack me on sight anyway, especially given he was in a gang; besides, him being in a gang at all was proof positive he was at least lucid and not some bloodcrazed lunatic. Not to mention I have no actual evidence beyond a single turn of phrase, something even I think may be a bit of a stretch… maybe.

Paranoia +1

Paranoia has reached maximum level, special action required to upgrade it!

That notification only made me start seriously doubting my entire line of reasoning, but Markus clearing his throat brought me back to the moment. He had a sharp edged smirk on his face as he watched me, "They'll be plenty of time for gawking later, for now we'd best get you introduced to the crew and through initiation."

Something about that last word sent a spike of muted dread through me, memories of the horrid tales of the things gangs from my home world made their new members do to prove themselves flashing through my mind. My grimace must have shown enough for him to read, for the cheerful bastard laughed in my face, "Ah, don't worry your little head so much; it's probably worse than whatever you're thinking, so don't get all up in your head and psyche yourself out before we even meet the others!"

I stared with half lidded eyes and a deadpan expression as he laughed, silently making my contempt known. Eventually his guffawing came to a slow and lingering end, his smile fading slightly in the face of my disaffected mien. “Bah, spoilsport.” He waved me towards him as he turned towards the shattered remnants of what was likely a large glass door at one point. My claws clicked on the cracked and broken tiling that probably once kept doctors from slipping on blood, my shadowy form seeming startlingly out of place with the faded dull and placid colours that were plastered in peeling paints and broken marble all around.

We passed dozens of rooms of indeterminate purpose (ranging from what seemed like waiting rooms and patient rooms, to what may have been crude labs or kitchens from the rusting equipment I glimpsed through their rotten and broken down doors) and made at least three turns before arriving in what I recognized as having once been a cafeteria. The large space now played host to a band of thugs that wouldn’t have looked out of place as the bandits of any fantasy game you cared to name, the large tables having been shoved against the walls to make room for the various cooking spits and loitering goons chatting amongst themselves as they ate and drank. There were large spikes impaled into the stone floor randomly about the room, each one radiating fiery light and heat as animals of various sorts hung from them, seemingly cooking. The gangsters themselves were an eclectic lot, ranging from dirty men dressed in rags to what seemed like a massive troll dressed in a fine suit that strained against their impressive bulk and dozens more humanoid creatures I didn’t recognize. Almost every single one of them, regardless of their state of dress, had a mug filled with what my sensitive nose told me was alcohol of some sort and a skewer of meat in the other.

The sole exception was a grey skinned man kneeling on a small raised platform and bound in blood stained rope. I could tell he wasn’t Blighted despite his skin tone, the bruising and cuts all over him and the notable lack of smile showing he wasn’t overtaken by the supernatural pestilence. His head hung low, blood matted hair plastered across a defeated and miserable expression as he stared listlessly around the room from his elevated position. The stone platform he stood upon was covered in strange reddish-brown symbols that caused my eyes to sting and water if I looked at them for too long; though even the brief glances I managed were enough to tell whatever they were meant for, they were painted on in dried blood.

Markus clapped his gloved hands loudly, drawing the gaze of those on the edges who swiftly nudged their fellows and spread word of his coming, bringing silence in a matter of minutes. I could feel more than a few curious or hostile eyes on me from the large crowd, but I kept my face carefully blank as I swept my eyes across the crowd. The gang leader at my side spread his arms wide, “Brothers and sisters,” his voice rang out loud and confident, “I have a new initiate to introduce to you, someone I found while investigating the recent fire sweeping the edge of our territory.” He pointed at me, “This here is your new prospective brother, here to earn his place amongst us.”

There was a smattering of cheers, hoots, and more than a few inarticulate jeers sent my way at that, but Markus raised a single hand and brought silence once more before things got too out of hand. “There will be plenty of time to introduce yourselves to him after he has proven his dedication and gained the right to be here.” He smiled, the burning light wafting of the pikes glinting off his teeth. “And I see you managed to acquire a fitting foe for the ceremony.”

He walked forth, the sea of criminals parting to allow him passage as he approached the bound man. He carefully stepped amongst the runes, lifting the naked man’s head up and turning it side to side as he looked him over. “Kral Skultfa, spymaster of the Gilkri Huntmasters.” He released his head, allowing it to fall limply back to his chest as he turned away, “He will make a fitting sacrifice, and a suitably ironic test for our new little rogue.” He turned to me, gesturing for me to come forth.

I kept any hesitation from my gait as I walked through the path he made, reaching the base of the wide plinth and slowly ascending the small staircase someone helpfully set up. Four braziers hung from those fiery pikes around the platform, and from one of them Markus pulled a silver hilted dagger glowing red hot from the flames. He presented it to me, displaying that a section of the hilt shaped like the same symbol emblazoned on the building glowed with the same heat of the blade itself, the twining flames seeming to almost form a distorted eye or hourglass as they wrapped around the central spike.

The gang boss wasn’t smiling any more, his mouth set in a hard line against a mask of total seriousness. “Take it with your left hand, palm facing the brand, and perform the Masque Of Misery by flaying the skin from his head in one piece then placing it over his heart and driving the blade through it. Do this, and you will have earned your place amongst us. Fail, and you will take his place for the next initiate.”

I glared at him, feeling hatred solidify in my heart as I engraved his face into my memory forever more. I had been told by many that hatred was such a draining and difficult emotion, but it had always come easy to me; hatred was a familiar feeling, an emotion I never had any trouble summoning up even when those softer, nicer feelings always remained brief and distant. I knew I couldn’t back out, couldn’t fight my way through a hundred strong horde of unknowns and escape no matter how much I didn’t want to do this, and so I let hatred pour through me and stain everyone here with my antipathy.

I embraced the comforting warmth of my loathing as I reached out my shaking hand, willing the flies wriggling within me to bite the shit out of my arm from within in hopes they would put their numbing venom to use as my fingers slowly closed around the blade.