Rushing out of the back, Anson and Cyril were about to make their way out, but before they could, Anson needed to tell Deo to bail, so peaking as far as he could out of the alleyway, he looked over to Deo, trying to show Baldwyn in his shoulders. It took a moment to get to in sight of the man, but before he could get Deo’s attention, he saw his comrade back up with Cyril’s dad and into another alleyway. The only message that was able to be sent was a glance from Deo seeing Baldwyn in Anson’s arms.
He watched as Sovan Triad men and city guards followed behind Deo. However, right after the sight of the man had disappeared, he heard a grunt from Deo, throwing Cyril’s dad forward as he let go of the hostage, and ran away from the crowd. The rest of the group went after him, while the Bandit stayed behind. Anson turned back to Cyril and told him to go. Together they went a block away and back to where they had started, but instead of going to way they came that would lead them back to where Deo went, they turned the other way, and continued down a street that seemed to be a hybrid between an alleyway and a market street.
For about 20 seconds they went until they heard men shouting behind them. Anson looked to Baldwyn as he looked to what those men behind were probably yelling about. His comrade was still battered, but now had some fraction of life returned to him. His breathing seemed consistent, he was looking around, and the weight on Anson’s shoulders lessened as Baldwyn gained his footing. “How’s the kid?” Anson asked Cyril.
“Still bad,” responded Cyril. “She’s cut and is bleeding in a few places. I don’t how long I can carry her like this until permanent damage sets in.”
“We’ll find a place soon, but now we just need distance.”
They continued, going as fast as they could through what seemed to be an ever-increasing set of alleyways that rivaled how cramped the underside was. The shouting grew closer, so they tried taking more turns through the labyrinth of apartment buildings, fruit stands, and men laying around until they reached a dead end. Afterward, they turned around and kept going until they hit another. They wouldn’t be able to do this for long as they hit their fifth dead end in a row and the shouting echoed off the walls of buildings. Mere centimeters separated the second or third floors of these buildings. People who lived across the street from another could shake hands without leaving their homes.
With no other choice, and not wanting to find out the damage those men shouting would do if they got close enough, they barged their way into the nearest door they could find. Handing Baldwyn over to Cyril, Anson slammed his body into a creaky wooden door, throwing it open with surprising little resistance, and the small wooden deadbolt that kept the door shut flew into a dark corner. Taking back Baldwyn, the group entered the building, and Anson found it to be just like the one that he shot his crossbow into and jumped out of earlier in the day.
First going through the ground level, they moved up trying to find an exit out this labyrinth and back onto the general streets of Kato Kanali. But, as they trampled over junkies and creaky floorboards, they found nothing. When they reached the top floor, Cyril was out of breath, and Anson was trying to figure out a plan. They room was dark enough that Anson couldn’t see the corners of the room. Looking around he tried to knock out all the possibilities. There were no doors to go through, no windows, underground exits, money to bribe with, or any hope of talking his way out of this. He had nearly begun to panic, when Anson looked up at the roof and noticed light peeking through. Shooting his head back down, he noticed a rather large stack of extra floorboards in the corner. “You still got that knife?” Anson asked.
“Yeah, why?” an out of breath Cyril asked.
Instructing Cyril to put down Baldwyn’s daughter for a moment, the two grabbed the floorboards and stacked them as high as they could go. It wasn’t exactly the most stable set up, but it had to do as Anson took Cyril’s knife and tried to pry his way through the wooden roof panels. After about a minute, he found some leverage, and told Cyril to grab the kid. After another moment, the board popped off, and light beamed into the musty building. It had been a little bit since the mercenaries made Anson go through his physical right after war ended, but he was still able to do a muscle-up out of the roof.
Making sure that he didn’t drop anything, Anson looked around to see if anyone else was up there, and luckily there wasn’t. The only thing that was up there was a cloudy morning and enormous continuous area consistency of only roof tops. After collecting himself, Anson took the kid from Cyril, then Baldwyn, and lastly, Cyril.
When they were up there, the shouting from men had ended, and it seemed they had a moment to assess. Anson took this moment to check Baldwyn, and Cyril checked the kid. Anson kneeled down to Baldwyn. The man’s lips quivered as it seemed to say something. “H—Hera…Is…”
“Slowly, talk slowly.” Anson responded.
“Hera… Is Hera, okay?”
Anson fell silent for a moment. Hera? Whose Hera? Who in the world—oh the kid! Kneeling next to Hera, he looked over the damage with Cyril and saw that her thigh was bleeding. It didn’t seem to be a fatal bleed, but the girl was pale, and they didn’t have the equipment to treat it. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do” Cyril kept repeating. His eyes darted around as he put pressure on the bleed one second, only to remove it the next from panic.
“Keep your hands there!” Anson exclaimed as he looked around. They needed doctors, and luckily there was a network of them friendly to mercenaries around the city. If only he knew where they were. Trying to find any landmark around the city, the only thing he had was the coastline to the east. His urgency wasn’t helping either as he swung his head trying to find something as fast as possible, and after a short moment spotted the H.D. Clocktower about fifteen blocks to the north.
Patting Cyril, he made sure the man saw the clocktower. “Go to the clocktower. There should be a mercenary doctor directly across the east end of it.”
“But the mercenaries—”
“They may have bought out Commander Eros, but not anyone below him. Plus, we don’t have another option. Now Go!”
“What are you going to do?” Cyril asked as he picked Hera back up.
“Intercept Zeki, and hopefully find Deo somehow,” Anson said as he made his way back south toward where the land had dirt underneath it rather than wood and a 100 meter drop to the sea.
Running to the edge, he found a couple of holdings he could grab onto until he was low enough where he could drop down. As he grabbed the ledge, he faced Baldwyn, Cyril, and Hera again, and found the father of the group now on his legs, though still limping, and reached over to embrace his daughter in what could be their last moments together. As Anson climbed down, he wondered what that man’s life would be without this operation. They wouldn’t be well off, but at least the man could have something to show for to the world he was born to.
#
With no other mode of transportation, Anson ran as much as he could until resorting himself to walking. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to intercept Zeki at the Mercenary headquarters, Anson went to the most probable route from where he left him. It wasn’t pleasant thought but the only way that Anson could get a hold of the shares again was if Zeki ran into someone and was delayed. Who would he run into? It could be anyone, but the worst and most likely option was one of the other triads.
He reached the route after about forty minutes and walked down the roads of the city looking in every direction, looking like a mad man who kept hearing voices. A few minutes grew into ten, then twenty as Anson kept switching between jogging and running as he looked for any sign of Zeki, and after nearly convincing himself that Zeki made it to the headquarters untouched, he overheard two people arguing behind a couple of crates. The street was moderately busy, so it was hard to distinguish between voices, but as he slowly got closer, the voice was unmistakable: Zeki.
Grabbing a spare knife, Anson wrapped his body around the crates and tried to translate what Zeki and the man who he was talking to were saying. “What are you doing here?” Zeki asked in Kadon.
“What are you doing?” the man responded, also in Kadon. “You’re supposed to be getting ready for the final!”
Not wanting to let the conversation escalate any further, Anson popped around the corner and launched at this mystery man, but as his eyes laid upon this threat, he found it to be The Scarred Man from earlier. There was a moment of hesitation when Anson realized this which gave enough time for The Scarred Man to jump out of the way and behind Zeki. “Get him, Zeki!” called out Anson, but before any action could be taken, The Scarred Man took a knife and held it to Zeki’s throat.
Anson stopped in his tracks and stared at the two for a moment before The Scarred Man spoke. “You got out.”
“Let go of him,” responded Anson back in Kadon.
“How do you know this man?” continued The Scarred Man.
“Better question, why were you chasing me?!” Shot back Anson. “You’re not even part of the Sovan Triad.”
“A man robs a Triad I don’t like. It is reasonable to assume I can rob what you stole from them. I also see that it is in Zeki’s hands.”
Hastily speaking Anson said: “I got a proposition for you—”
“Osman.” The man clarified.
“Well, Osman, I am in bit of a situation, and not having anyone to fight right now would be appreciated. I can offer you a lot more than what’s in that duffel bag.”
“Ok, tell me this first. What was this man doing in the Sovan Local Chapter?”
Zeki’s face sank as he realized all that crawling around in the local chapter’s floor to hide was wasteful. “Alright,” Anson responded. “Only if you lower the knife afterward, okay?”
Osman nodded and so Anson told him that Zeki was there to try to get rid of the fix on him during the final. There was a moment where Osman didn’t do anything, Anson almost felt the need to lunge forward again before Osman did anything rash, but it was not needed as the man lowered his knife but kept a hold of Zeki. “Continue, what is this proposition of yours?”
“The plan is to buy—rather steal—the country through its shares. We have 15,000 and with the Kadon’s 40,000 we would already control fifteen percent of the shares.”
Osman’s face went from composure to shock as he looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Whose orders are these?”
“First, Mercenary Commander Eros, but now we have figured out we were set up, so I suppose… I suppose I am in charge.” Anson stopped after that sentence. It seemed wrong to say it but he technically in charge now.
Throwing Zeki back over to Anson, Osman let Zeki keep a hold of the shares and paced around for a moment. “No,” he said shaking his head. “You’re foolish to have even agreed thinking it wasn’t a setup. How many men were assigned?”
“Four and a driver.” Responded a defeated Anson. “Now, I think even the driver was in on it.”
Osman didn’t say anything, instead slowly making his way out of the alleyway. It wasn’t until he reached the end of the alleyway with the barrels and turned around that he said anything. “Where’s the other three?”
“In a secure location. Now, what do you say?”
“To what? That proposal?” laughed Osman. “I don’t have to say anything. I don’t run the triad. I’m just a very good warrior boy. An assistant to the higher command if you will. Besides, Zeki is already a dead man, and you are no longer going live to see noon. I shouldn’t even have chased you earlier. You were set up! What kind of set up—what was the set up?”
“According to a bandit I overheard: to pay off Mercenary Commander Eros and dissolve the mercenaries. Normal armies are more appealing to the Chairman now.” Anson took a breath before continuing. “Look, I am not asking you to actively help us. Though, I would love it if you said yes to that. I am asking you not to get in the way, but just to join in on the end. I’m sure your superiors wouldn’t be hesitant to establish the Kadon Triad as the only game in town, now, would they?”
“They wouldn’t believe me. But, if you made some noise on your way there, they could come to that conclusion themselves, and I could provide some encouragement.”
“Noise is the opposite of what I want,” informed Anson.
Osman shrugged. “What’s the problem with that?”
“It’s supposed to be a clean transfer of power.”
“Clean?!” Osman laughed as he walked backward out of the alleyway. “Good luck with everything. I still expect you Zeki at the final ten hours from now. You, whatever name I don’t want to know is, good luck. If you pull this off, give me one percent of the shares, or I’ll kill you.” Osman disappeared behind the barrels after that.
“So did he agree to the plan?” Zeki asked after a moment.
“I think it was more of an abstention,” responded a relieved Anson.
Afterward, Anson ripped the bag from Zeki’s hands and ensured that the shares were still there. Seeing the overly large pieces of paper let Anson breath out a sigh of relief before standing back up. “We got a long walk,” Anson told Zeki. “Unless of course you are going to that final.”
“What the fuck happened with Baldwyn?!” demanded Zeki.
“You want the good or the bad news first?”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“I think I already heard the bad.”
“Oh, there’s more.” Responded Anson. Zeki wiped his face in his hands and sat down against the wall. “The other bad news is that Deo ran into an old friend and now he is missing. Not captured, just missing. We should have had a proper meeting point. Such an oversight,” winced Anson, stopping himself from kicking the wall. “Besides that, the good news is that we saved Baldwyn and his daughter. There at the hastily agreed to meet somewhere after things went bad.”
“I can’t believe I believed you,” responded Zeki, shaking. “I am going to die. Ten minutes ago, I thought I had protection in the mercenary headquarters and that I would be able to get out, now I find out that the Chairman had bribed them?”
“What?” Anson asked.
“You said—”
“No, I said Mercenary Commander Eros was bribed. I have no idea about the everyday mercenary. You should go there.”
“No! Are you insane? How do you know they are not bribed as well.”
“Do you really think all of them are bribed?” Taking a moment to think, Anson reached into the duffel bag and pulled out fifty shares. “You give this to the most willing mercenaries and tell them to start…something. I’ll be able to send a pigeon from where the rest of the group is.”
“And if the Chairman had bribed every single mercenary and the note ends up in the wrong hands?” inquired Zeki.
“It won’t end up in the wrong hands. I won’t sign it. Besides, I’ll address it to a false name. I’ll just use Osman’s name, so just head up to the roof and check in every once in a while for some mail under Osman Onur. If every mercenary is paid off, then we’ll just meet at the stock market in the afternoon. If I’m not there, just go to your final and hope for the best.”
Zeki remained silent for a good moment as he contemplated his options. Anson knew that none of them were good, so he hoped the man would choose the one he was pressured into. After about a minute, Zeki stood up and took the twenty shares from Anson, sighing. “I go into a Local Sovan Chapter to get me out of that match and save my pride, and where does it lead me? A place where what you just said somehow feels like the best option.” Shaking his head, he left the alleyway without saying another word.
After about forty minutes of travel carrying fifteen thousand shares in a duffel bag, Anson arrived at the safehouse. The journey began to take a toll on his body as he slouched, kept switching the hand holding the duffel bag, and even stopped to take a breath along the way.
The safehouse was only a block away from the clock tower, and the door had complete access to the square area that surrounded the tower. Knocking on the door, Anson didn’t hear anything from outside, only the full pedestrian rush of people in the city around the square. It left Anson pondering for a moment as he had spent the entire walk to the safehouse plotting how to continue the operation, what he didn’t consider up to now was if the rest of his comrades would even agree to any plan.
A second later, the door hinged open, and Anson laid his eyes upon a grey-bearded middle-aged man asking who he was. “If I wasn’t friendly with the people inside your office right now, I would have already opened the door for you.”
“I still need a name,” responded the Doctor.
“Anson Xenos Elias,” and with that, the Doctor nodded and opened the rest of the door.
Inside he found Baldwyn and his daughter lying on a couple of makeshift beds, with Cyril looking over the two. Walking over to Cyril, he immediately asked how they were doing as he set down the duffel bag. “Better,” Cyril responded. “They ate a little bit earlier and are getting some rest.” Anson looked over and saw Baldwyn holding his daughter while they were lying on their sides. Baldwyn had his entire shirt ripped off with bruises and slashes. It seemed as if he was shivering, even though it was a perfectly respectable temperature outside. “What about you?” Cyril continued. “What happened with Zeki?”
Before he could answer, Anson asked the Doctor if he could talk a walk for ten minutes. The man agreed and stepped outside, but Anson didn’t respond to Cyril until he cracked the door open a little and found the Doctor roaming around the square. After that, he turned back to Cyril. “I found him,” said Anson. “It just doesn’t make sense. Even when I told it to him, the whole conspiracy seemed unreal, but there is no reason to doubt it. Everything leading up to this point has convinced me that we were destined to fail. We need a new plan.”
The room fell silent as Cyril stared at Anson with shock, with Baldwyn also hearing the remark, causing him to roll over and stare and him with the little strength he had. “What are you talking, Anson?” Cyril asked. “What kind of logic is that? It’s over. We take the shares we have, sell it, and get of here.”
Anson didn’t say anything for a moment as he was in shock himself. How could his comrades abandoned him at a time like this? “Where are we going to go? Where are we going to sell these shares? You want Hektor to get away with screwing us over?”
“I want to live!” interjected Baldwyn, forcing himself to get up. He slowly walked a couple of paces over to Anson and grabbed his shoulder. His face somehow seemed worse than before. The bruises masked his face, almost making him seem like a different person. “Look,” he said pointing to Hera. “My daughter barely made it as is. How do you think we are going to get the rest of the shares? I can’t exactly walk there.”
“I thought of something,” Anson tried to assure. “Zeki is already on board with the plan, and I need to get a pigeon to him.” Turning to the Doctor, he asked where the nearest pigeon nest was. The Doctor responded that it was across the square at the opposite side of the clock tower.
“Hold on,” said Cyril. “Before you come up with another genius plan, where is Deo? Is he just gone now?”
“Yeah,” affirmed Baldwyn. “You just going to leave him to die to the Sovans?”
“Let me explain first!” Anson exclaimed, shutting everyone up. “Again, we cannot just pack up and leave. First, we got Hektor and his endless supply of goons wanting to kill us for screwing up their plan, the Sovans wanting to kill us for the same thing, and once the Kadons, which probably don’t know yet but still might, also find out they are likely to benefit from the elimination of the mercenaries, we are fucked! Every single street corner in the city will be watched, and we’ll be dead before we can get twenty blocks within the stock market and sell our shares. Now what do you think is a safer option? Doing that, or enlisting the mercenaries and Kadons to our aid?”
Baldwyn and Cyril looked at each other in confusion before Anson continued. “I don’t know where Deo is, but we can deal with that later on. Right now, Zeki is offering fifty shares to a bunch of mercenaries to work for us. I figure we can use them to find a way to get to vulnerable Hektor shares, because there is no way the ones in the original plan was ever true, so in the meantime, we need to get the other shares. However, before he agreed to join, we ran into a Kadon Triad Member, and he agreed to stay out of the operation until we got close, and then he would convince the Kadon leadership to help buy the country.,”
“And how likely do you think they are actually going to follow through on that?” Cyril asked.
“It’s a higher possibility than leaving this city alive, like your plan.”
“Wait a minute,” Baldwyn said. “In order to get the rest of the shares, we need a functioning team. Deo is missing, and I and my daughter are hurt and barely mobile, what is your idea to get us from place to place and find Deo?”
Facing Cyril, Anson sighed. “You’re not going to like what I say next, but we are going to need your dad on our side for my plan to work.”
“Fucking what?!” Cyril yelled. He turned around in biting his lip and squeezed his fist as he paced around the room.
“We need his stagecoach service to get around the city, find Deo, and provide safe place for Baldwyn’s daughter while we take over the country.”
“Your plan’s insane, there is no way we are going to agree to this.” Baldwyn said.
“I’m not asking you to agree to it,” Anson responded. “I am asking you to agree to meet with Cyril’s dad. If he says no, the plan falls apart anyway and we can try your idea. At that point, we’re goners.”
“What makes you think my dad is going to agree?” Cyril asked.
“Since we no longer have to split the shares up with Mercenary Commander Eros at the end, we can offer your dad ten percent of country’s shares if he agrees.”
“That’s not going to be enough,” Cyril responded. “My dad is shitty person.”
“Okay then” Anson responded, running out of options. “I got another idea, but I need you to ask yourself one question before. Does your dad prefer you dead or alive?”
#
After sending a pigeon to Mercenary Headquarters telling Zeki what the plan was, Anson went to buy some more gear from a nearby shop and returned to the Doctor’s office to pick up everyone else. However, before then, he told Cyril to hide some things in his shirt. After everyone stepped out, he flagged one of the city famous Bakas Stagecoaches and let out a sigh as Baldwyn limped forward with his daughter in his hands, and Cyril nervously tried to stay out of view of the stagecoach rider until it was time. The stagecoach stopped right by them, and the group all boarded with Anson going first with the duffel bag sitting in his lap, then Baldwyn, and lastly Cyril.
At first the driver noticed Baldwyn and Hera’s bruises and asked if they were okay but stopped himself when he saw Cyril. “I think you already know our destination,” said Anson. “Now please, don’t do anything stupid until we get there.”
#
The clock was now past nine, and the day was in full swing. The morning rush of people delayed the stagecoach and the group arrived in front of the Bakas Stagecoach Exchange later than expected. Hera woke up every once in a while, but Baldwyn quickly ushered her to sleep, and said that she needed more rest. As the stagecoach pulled into the Exchange, which seemed more like a large stable, Anson told the driver to come out with them. “And to the boss, I suppose?” the driver asked. Anson nodded.
Reaching one of the stations, the driver got off with the group and was immediately hounded by his superior asking why he wasn’t on his route. With Anson breathing behind the man’s neck, the driver made the excuse that passengers couldn’t pay and needed to fill out a debt sheet with them. Hearing this, the superior left them as the group made their way to a corner office. People stared at Baldwyn holding his sleeping daughter and whispered about his bruises. Anson eyes’ shot over as he hoped the backup plan wouldn’t be exposed unless necessary. When they reached the door, the driver knocked, and a voice emerged from inside the office asking who it was. “Your son and some men,” the driver responded.
There was a split second of silence as Anson hoped Cyril’s dad didn’t throw himself outside and attack them without warning. Hopefully, the relationship between father and son isn’t worse than what Cyril let on. However, no such thing happened. “Tell them to come in and make sure no one else disturbs us.”
The driver opened the door afterward, letting the group walk in. Anson pushed Cyril in first, and followed behind Baldwyn as he entered last. Entering the office, there were pieces of paper and cloth everywhere, presumably business documents, along with piles of Zinc.
Cyril’s dad seemed to be a little over fifty years old and only moderately looked like the boyish Cyril. No one dared tried to speak the first word as the door closed, with Baldwyn, Cyril, his dad, Anson, and another tall man standing in the corner. Anson looked at the dad, but the man stared at his son, seemingly trying to get a reaction out of him, but Cyril did not budge, only staring back.
Not being able to take any more of it, Anson spoke up. “We came here—”
“Give me a moment with my son,” interrupted Cyril’s dad.
Anson shut his mouth to not offend the man further and looked for to Cyril for confirmation. With a slight glance and nod, Cyril agreed with his father, and Anson, Baldwyn, and Hera left the room. Closing the door behind them, they were now in front exposed to the loud noises and conversations of the stagecoach headquarters, even though Anson was made to stand outside, it wouldn’t mean that he had to listen to it, so getting as close as he could without making noise, Anson tried to listen in on the conversation. “I am assuming you came here with a backup plan,” said Cyril’s dad.
“Not one that I love, but it definitely preferable than looking at you, Vasos.”
“Really?” Vasos replied. “Come swinging out of the gate, you must have a hell of a backup plan.”
By now, Baldwyn pulled Anson away and asked what he was doing. “What?” Anson replied. “Something might go wrong in there. Can you just watch my back?”
“Ok,” replied Baldwyn. “Tell me if he mentions Hera at all. Hopefully, he’s not blind to a passed-out child.”
Nodding, Anson went back to the door and listened to the two men trying to one-up each other. “You have no right to call me by my first name,” Vasos said. “Don’t try to pretend you’re a businessman coming with a proposition.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing here.” Cyril replied. “Besides, it seems like you need someone with a proposition. Or at least that’s what the ledgers seemed to indicate last time I was here.”
“I assure you son that the business is nothing like what it was when you ran off.”
“Is that what you tell everyone?” Cyril demanded. Anson heard his partner step closer to the desk. “What do you tell them when they ask about someone else?”
Calmly, yet with enough anger in his voice it could silence a crowd of a thousand, Vasos replied: “If you do not back away from your line of conversation, I can throw you into the sea.”
There was silence for a moment as it seemed Cyril slowly backed away from the desk. “About the proposition—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” responded Vasos. “I want you to quit whatever you are doing and rejoin the business. Seeing posters of your name around the area is quite confusing. I could use an assistant like you. Whatever it is, I can bribe you out of.”
“Vasos, I—”
“Don’t want to hear it, now what do you say?”
Cyril was now audibly breathing. Anson looked back at Baldwyn to let him know to get ready just in case something happened. “If you are not going to listen to me for one time,” continued Cyril. “I am—”
“Not listen to you?!” Laughed Vasos. “I gave you an education, I raised you on my own, and what do I get as a repayment? Joining the mercenaries like some dog off the street. Like some orphan wandering the streets and doesn’t have a job—who do you think you are, boy? You were a quality man.”
Anson listened in and grew insulted at Vasos. He couldn’t believe that such an ignorant man could build such a business. How could this man treat his son like this? Shouting at him like a commander to soldier? What kind of racket was he running? Anson waited for Cyril’s response as he asked why Vasos was their only option out of the mess they were in.
A deep breath came from the other side of the door and Cyril spoke. “Fuck it,” softly said he. A second later, Anson heard Cyril through off his second layer of clothing and reach for the wooden sticks while his dad questioned what he was doing. Oh god, and without taking a moment more to process what Cyril was doing, Anson threw the door open.
Inside stood Cyril and his dad at a standstill. Vasos with his arms in the air, and Cyril with a lighting a thin wooden stick with the bottom of his boot and holding it over a shirt covered in tar and leaves. “Cyril, put the stick down.” Anson said, as Baldwyn came from behind and shut the door.
“You said this was the plan!” yelled a distressed and shaky Cyril.
“If he said no to the proposition, not if he didn’t even hear the damn proposition! Now please, let me explain it.”
“If he didn’t listen to me, why you?!” demanded Cyril, with the stick inching closer to him.
“I don’t know, I just don’t want you to die!” yelled back Anson.
And with that Cyril paused and put out the Firey stick in his hands.
Taking a deep breath, Anson told Cyril if he could put on his second layer of clothing back on as they all faced Vasos again. “Sit the fuck down.” Anson told the man.
“Respectfully—”
“Respectfully, you will do what you are told.”
Vasos paused for a moment before compiling with Anson’s order, but not before complaining about how disrespectful this all was for a “proposition.” Before speaking again, Anson pulled up the duffel bag and slammed it on the desk. “Do you know what that is?” Anson asked. There was no response from Vasos. “That’s 15,000 government shares. I was going to offer you more than this, but since you are piece of shit, I am only going to offer what is in front of you.”
“You’re offering me fifteen thousand shares?”
“14,950 to be exact.”
“And where did you get it?” asked an increasingly concerned Vasos.
“The Sovans.” Plainly said Anson. Vasos didn’t respond, only looking at the duffel bag. “Now,” Anson continued. “What we ask in exchange is for your drivers to stop working for the day and start working for us. They will provide information on movements of the City Guard, Kadon Triad, Sovan Triad, and any mercenaries units not loyal to us. Along with that, they shall also not provide and information to those groups, especially if they say they are affiliated with the Chairman.”
“That’s a lot—”
“Also, the safekeeping of Baldwyn’s daughter.” Anson pointed out. “I would also like you to stop being such a clown, but sadly I don’t have enough time, so instead I will address your most likely concern and that is in case we fail. In that case, any shares that we capture up to twenty percent will be brought here for safekeeping and for you to keep as collateral.”
Vasos gulped as he looked back at his son for a moment before asking Anson if he could authenticate the shares. Anson let him, and also told him that since they didn’t trust the man that the shares would not be held in a location known to Vasos but instead a stagecoach whose driver would be hidden until the operation was complete or everyone was dead.
After verifying the contents, Vasos fell back into a chair and a soft smirk spread across his face as he asked a question. “Cyril, why didn’t you lead with this? You were stuttering like a peasant boy.”
“If you insult him again, I’ll drown you,” harshly interrupted Anson. “Lastly, you hurt Hera in any way shape or form, I’ll skin you. Pick your poison.”
The smirk disappeared Vasos’ face as he sat firm in his chair. “Anything else, your excellency?” asked an insulted Vasos.
“Yeah,” Anson responded. “We need a doctor for Hera, and where’s your nearest running pump? My partner Cyril has to wash himself before we continue on our operation.”