Anson hid behind the street corner as he watched Deo stroll over to the local chapter. Gradually, the Sovans saw who was approaching and watched the wanted criminal look around as if he was on a Sunday morning stroll. “Hey!” one of the Sovans said as they made their way up to Deo. Having two small medals on his shirt, it looked to be a somewhat important Sovan Triad member. There was about twenty meters of space between Deo and the Sovans, which was as close he got before the Sovan man told him to Halt.
Walking up to Deo, the man asked him what he was doing here. Anson couldn’t hear that well, but luckily everyone was silent so he could still make out what was being said. “I’m here for your shares,” said Deo. “I would advise you hand them over. Nobody wants to die over some money.”
“The posters around the city with your name one it says differently.”
Looking around once again, Deo didn’t respond, looking at his sword, adjusting his seat, and looking at the rest of the Sovans before answering. “Well, I tried.” Without any more warning, Deo unsheathed his sword and sliced the man neck before anyone could gasp. Collapsing to the ground, the man tried to chuck his grip to stop the blood loss, but there was nothing he could do. Dead before he even hit the ground.
The rest of the Sovans looked at Deo, not saying anything for a moment before Deo took a deep breath and engaged the rest of the group. Beginning to count, Anson watched as Deo danced around the group as if he was a dog corralling sheep, except this time he was stabbing, slicing, and dodging the men. Before even twenty seconds passed, ten of them were dead, and ten seconds later an opening formed to the front entrance of the building.
A flood of men rushed toward the building as thirty seconds passed and the rest of the Sovans were caught off guard as they were attempting to surrounded Deo and stood his bloodbath. Anson ran in himself with his five handpicked men who know formed a circle around him. Together, they quickly reached the fight before slowing down as Sovans engaged Anson and company.
Slashing through dozens of men, Anson had reached the front of the building in an instant and surrounded it with his men, trying to bash it open. After about ten seconds of hitting, it but there was no budge. Anson tried the door handle in case they forgot to lock it. Unfortunately, it was locked, and they needed another solution. Going around the side, as everyone else still fought, they reached a window. One of the men hit it with his knife until the glass shards were clear. One by one, they crawled through and found themselves in a storage unit on the ground floor. Once everyone was through, they ran into the main part of the building, which was a hallway that connected the front section, back section, and stairs in the middle. Throwing his head side to side, Anson rushed to check if there were any Sovans inside who spotted him and tried to stab. There wasn’t, and what was even more fortunate was that he spotted two men heading down the stairs to the ground floor with a duffel bag.
Anson smirked as he realized the shares were still in the building. Announcing his discovery to the other men, the Sovans ran back up the stairs before turning and boxing Anson and company out with long spears. The group and the two men went back and forth for a little as the mercenaries tried to find a way to get passed the spears and snatch the shares out of their hands. This took so long that Anson began to hear fighting die down inside with footsteps running away. One of the sides had one, which one wasn’t certain, but in either case, they needed the shares now.
There was no way to get on the second floor without going through the stairs, and no obvious way to disarm the Sovans without killing them, so Anson told the mercenaries to keep up the pressure while he looked for another solution. Running to the back, he found a lounge area similar to the previous Sovan Local Chapter, except this time, there was a small fireplace. Grabbing the fireplace poker, he held it over the flame for about thirty seconds as he tried to look outside to see what was happening. There was a small crack near the fireplace. All that they saw was a couple of Sovans running.
Going back to the staircase, he wielded the poker around for a moment in front of the Sovans and offered to treat them fairly if they handed over the shares and left without a fight. They shook their heads, not believing Anson, so with no time or reason to believe that the mercenaries would hold back any further, Anson threw the poker at the man holding the shares. It landed on the man’s bicep, causing him to drop the shares in his left hand. The man then promptly dropped the spear as well as he clutched the burn.
Seeing this opportunity everyone charged and grabbed the other man’s spear. Throwing it to the side, they pinned him to the stairs as the others grabbed the shares. For a moment, they all grabbed it at once and pulled it from each other. “Enough!” Anson yelled, making them pause. He then grabbed the shares and made his way to the front door. The other mercenaries asked what to do with the Sovans. “Take their spears and leave them be. We have places to go,” responded Anson.
Following his order, the men rallied around Anson at the front door as he unlocked it and entered the square once again. As he stepped outside once more, he found it to be quiet. Deo stood about twenty meters away pulling his sword out of a dead Sovan’s head, mercenaries were chasing Sovans out of the area, and the dead had already begun to rot. Anson’s mouth hung open as he stumbled to Deo. He could barely hold the duffel bag in his hands as questioned what happened.
“Turns out gangsters aren’t very good fighters compared to mercenaries,” told Deo. “And whatever competence they had in fighting must have been taken from their morale. Most of them ran once they saw their friend’s collapse. Same thing happened with the Kadons.”
“How many do you think you killed?” asked Anson, staring at the bodies around him.
“Well, as a group I would put it as around twenty percent. The rest are either wounded and bleeding out or ran off. You got the shares?”
Anson nodded and the two looked at the bleeding men crawling on their elbows and knees to stop the bleeding. Some died within seconds of crawling while others made it a couple of meters, while some lucky few reached already dead men, pulling off their clothing and using it as pressure for their wounds. “If we only had time to help them,” Deo said. “But I suppose we should move over to Cyril and try to save those men before they die too.”
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Anson didn’t say anything, simply making his way back to the stagecoach. As they both entered, Anson finally made a remark. “If we only had enough time.” Shaking his head, he told the driver to go before continuing. “If I had more time, I wouldn’t have become a mercenary.”
As they rode east, Anson felt a wave of tiredness overcome his body. He had been running around the city for over sixteen hours now. On a lot of days, he would already be in bed, if he had one for the night, and be thinking about how would afford the next day’s shelter. However, now, his mind was restless and wondered what the situation was with Cyril and his dad. Were they able to take the local chapter? Did they fail? Die? It should work, the plan was sound, but little did he know at this point. He tried to get some sleep but with the hour ride, he was only able to get like twenty minutes of terrible quality snooze time. Deo, on the other hand, slept like a rock until Anson woke him up fifty minutes into the ride.
As they neared the local chapter, Anson looked out the window and still saw black smoke rising from near the Kadon Headquarters. For a moment or two he thought the smoke was becoming gray, but he wasn’t certain. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Leaning back into his chair, Anson held onto the duffel bag full of shares as the stagecoach had come to a stop. He knew they weren’t at the local chapter yet, so he stepped out and asked the driver what was happening. Without saying anything, the man gestured forward, and Anson saw a crowd of men, blocking the street leading all the way up to the local chapter.
Telling Deo to get out the two men left the shares with the driver and walked on foot, pushing through the crowd. The people weren’t fighting or wanting to join a fight, rather curious what was happening. Deo asked the same question as he rubbed his eyes and walked with Anson. “I don’t know,” he responded as the crowd became thicker toward the front. Eventually, Anson felt squeezed between people, needing to tuck his arms and forcefully shove his way through. Every once in a while, he considered turning back to find another route. Waves began to form through the crowd, it no longer felt like Anson was pushing through people, but waves of water slouching back and forth. His breathing fastened as he made sure to stay next to Deo at all times, but as sweat collected on his brow and neck, Anson knew that the risk was too high to continue on foot. However, turning back was not an option, there was no guarantee he could push his way back, his arms grew tired, and his lunger took smaller breaths with every inhale and exhale.
So, having no other option, he improvised, once again. Climbing onto a tall man’s back, Anson apologized and insulted those who tried to stop him as he told Deo to do the same. Together, Anson grabbed onto peoples’ shoulders as he rode through the crowd. It was quite a sight as Anson himself didn’t know how he stayed up. He continued like this, for about twenty meters, surfing people, with Deo shadowing his ankle the entire way. But as he reached the front, someone jerked their body to the side and Anson fell through, hitting his shoulder on the cold dirty street. The gap closed again and all he could see was feet stomping on and around his body.
The light was disappearing as their way only four hours and forty-five minutes to midnight. Glimpses of the sun slipped between peoples’ bodies as the bright midday sun slowly became an orange setting evening sun. People kept pushing through and there was a couple of seconds where he could breathe before not being able to for a dozen. It felt as if he was drowning, and the water was pushing him down. Chocking on nothing, Anson squirmed and slashed his nails in an attempt to get out, but nothing worked. Eventually, his muscles weakened, and the rapid swinging of his body slowed as hid physical body began to give up and retire. His brain, however, refused to quit. I can’t die here! he told himself. It is not supposed to happen! I came all this way, just to die to overcrowding?! And as God would have it, he agreed with Anson’s brain.
Yelling emerged and people moved to the side as pockets of oxygen entered his body once more. Light shined through onto him, forcing Anson to close his eyes, and a moment later he was swept onto his feet by a familiar friend. “Anson!” yelled Deo. “You alright?”
It took a good second for Anson to open his eyes and look around at his surroundings. Standing in front of him, along with a couple of mercenaries, stood Deo, sword out, pointed toward the crowd. “I’m fine,” Anson said as he put his hands on his knees. “Just need to catch my breath.” The noise from the crowd and the surrounding area came back. The volume echoing between buildings in the street was much louder than what it felt like first leaving the stagecoach.
“That was a stupid idea.” Deo said. “If I didn’t make it through, we both would have been stomped to death.”
The crowd near Anson watched as he came back to his senses and let Deo led the way to the front. “Good news is that I found Cyril,” Deo explained as they walked. “Bad news is who I also found.”
As they reached the front, there was no longer a crowd, but rather rows of mercenaries lined up, facing the Sovan Local Chapter. Cyril and his dad stood in the middle arguing with each other. Still catching his breath and looking at newly formed bruises on his face and body, Anson approached Cyril, shaking his hand and listening very carefully, barely able to hear a thing from the noise of the crowd. “Why haven’t you marched on the chapter yet?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said Cyril.
“What is going on?” asked Deo.
“You just walked through it,” responded Vasos.
Looking behind them, Anson and Deo looked at the crowd, confused by what he meant. The only thing that he could be talking about was their clothing. “They got rags on, what about it?” Anson asked.
“They’re from the underside.” Cyril responded. “Now look upfront.”
After everything that had happened today, the people from the underside, and the lie he told them, seemed like the last of his problem, but as Anson looked past the rows of mercenaries, he saw a group of men, many who looked familiar to the people he talked to earlier, standing by a stack of shares. A couple of them were holding candles directly over the pile. “We surrounded them when we first got here. Someone must have told them about our plan to rob the place and they got here first.”
“Apparently you promised some of the shares. I don’t know why you did that,” said Vasos.
Still not breathing properly from being stomped on, Anson stepped away, wiping sweat off his body and circling rapidly. The other three men, stood, watching the Anson go through what looked like a cult ritual, but it was just Anson processing what happened. He eventually kneeled and rubbed his eyes. They were dry and lifeless. He hadn’t looked in a mirror for a long time, but he was sure the white in his eyes became red. After nearly dying, Anson smacked his head in frustration and cursed repeatedly. Eventually, collapsing onto his knees and stopping himself from yelling at the top of his lungs.
Anson continued for about twenty seconds before quieting up and staring blankly at the ground. He wanted to crawl out of their and leave the city to never return. But he reminded himself of a simple truth. I’m a damned man. There shall be no sympathy such men. He then got back on his feet and walked over to Cyril. “What do they want?” he asked.