The guards of the city watch were a seldom seen sight in the slums, they reserved their services for the more well-to-do areas of the city, that, however left a power vaccume open to whoever had the strength to snatch the position and enforce their own rules. When Efren was a child many disparate criminal groups ruled in constant contension with eachother, gang-warfare was a part of everyday life, murders in broad-daylight a common sight. That all changed when one organisation came to prominence, the Spider played the other gangs against eachother at first, weakening them, then began an intensely brutal campaign fought in the shadows of society, the likes of which had never before been witnessed in the city's storied history. Before a year was gone there was no longer any doubt as to who the singular power in the poor district was. After that it was only a matter of time until the underground of all Abelon was the Spider's sole dominion.

Aran the Bleeder was one of the Spider's original crew, nowadays he ruled the slums in their name, which made his word law around these parts. His gang was known as the Cutters; so called due to their past tendecy to tie their enemies naked to posts, give them hundreds of small cuts then let them bleed to death as an example, during the original hostile takeover of the city. Aran was renowned for his practical brutality concerning any who crossed him, even so, his rules made sure that the slums weren't a lawless wasteland, in a place like this imposing any small semblance of stability was something welcome. The Cutters always got their due, one way or another, but most folks were left well enough alone as long as they minded their business.

Which put into perspective why, Efren, standing stock-still in a compact room inside the Cutters' main headquarters under the intense gaze of four burly thugs was feeling somewhat unnerved and suddenly found himself reconsidering his, admittedly brash, plan.

...

The Cutters didn't bother hiding their bases of operation, why would they? They had nobody to hide from.

Aran was known to rarely spend time out and about himself these days, he seemed to prefer sequestering himself in his office and leaving the more practical work to his various underlings, which is why it wasn't much trouble at all for Efren to pin down where he would need to head for an audience.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

So it was that Efren found himself shoved into a cramped antechamber waiting on Aran's pleasure to meet him. Eventually one of the roughs guarding him grabbed Efren by the shoulder and not-so-gently shoved him through the door to Aran's quarters, how the man knew that his superior was now ready for him Efren didn't know, but there were larger worries to concern himself with just now...

The rooms interior was well-kept, by slum standards, which isn't to say it was clean; old dirt tracked the wood floorboards and cobwebs littered the ceiling corners, but it was neat, items were kept together in tidy compact piles, nothing was strewn carlessly about, everything seemed to have it's own place and purpose, every space put to good use. And in the very center of it all, sat at a sturdy-looking oak desk, was a spindly, sour faced middle aged man with greasy thinning black hair trailing down past his shoulders to dissapear under the desk's length. At Efren's clumsy entrance he simply stared, looking entirely unimpressed.

"You're Gestas' ward then?" the Bleeder suddenly probed, in a tone that made it seem as if he were challenging Efren to contradict him rather than asking a simple question.

"Er, yes... you know Gestas?" Efren stammered out, somewhat taken aback by the unexpectedness of the question, a rare feeling for him.

Aran ignored the question. "I don't usually entertain requests for meetings from unknown elements like this but I admit when I was informed of your identity my interest was piqued. So, what's so important to speak to me about that you would risk wasting my time to say it?"

"I want work." said Efren, regaining some of his usual confidence. "I know the type of gigs you run, the type that needs specialists, I can be one, let me show you."

The Bleeder raised an eyebrow, and for what felt like an eternity to Efren, seemed to study him. Finally he made a contented grunt and spoke. "Alright, you get one chance, if only to satisfy my curiosity, you'll report to one of mine over in the docks district tomorrow morning for your first job, one of the men in the next room will give you the exacts."

"Thank you, you won't-" Efren started, but Aran had already turned his attention back to a book on his desk, seemingly entirely uncaring of the other person in the room's presence.

Efren turned to leave, however just as he was reaching for the door a voice pierced the silence. "Oh, and boy" Aran crowed "do be sure to give Gestas my greetings." And although he couldn't see his face, Efren was certain he could make out a sickly grin behind the Bleeder's voice.