In the realm of business negotiation, strategic prowess is akin to war. Mutually advantageous agreements emerge as victorious outcomes from the battlefield of compromise – Upper Management Doctrine

Operation Silent Night (D-2 hours)

The rickety train clattered down the tracks, each jolt caused by poorly placed rails resonated through to the train's doors and windows. Marko stretched his legs across the grimy floor, his black leather jacket emitting a subtle squeak as he adjusted his position on the worn bench seat. Tauru leaned against the window, which caused his bowler hat to dip over his eyes.

Shifting against the vibrations, Marko asked Tauru, "Have you ever noticed there's no word for the sound that leather makes?"

Tauru lifted his hat and crossed his arms.

"There're words like...creaked and, umm," he paused, "now that you mention it, for something so common, there aren't many descriptive terms for it."

"Someone outta cook up a fresh term, ya’ know, like 'crucked' or 'earked,'" Marko said, and added in, "Oh, congrats on your victory at Carré."

"Thanks, and, umm, congratulations for defending the Heights," Tauru replied.

"Thanks," Marko said, extending his hand for a fist bump, which Tauru returned.

After the train made a few stops, Marko and Tauru disembarked when the automated system announced their arrival at Dairy Ashford at Memorial Street. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, but NPCs were bustling about the evening, carrying empty shopping bags, or walking dogs. Food trucks lined one side of the street, and on the other were nearly empty car lots. Marko and Tauru eyed the food trucks.

A cook from one of the gut trucks was busy flipping burgers and grilling onions, the tantalizing scent wafted down the street and beckoning Tauru and Marko like a siren's call. Halting in the middle of the street, they gazed at their destination: a green building bathed in a neon green glow, a mere 500 meters away.

Staring at the distant building and then back at the enticing food truck, Tauru declared, "I'm convinced," as he and Marko sprinted toward the truck.

After purchasing a 'fist full of fries' and a 'bag o' burgers' from the menu, they continued toward the neon-lit building.

The structure stood out against the night's darkness, featuring a green goose in neon lights biting the rear of a neon green woman in a short skirt. The only visible door covered with burglar bars, windows were boarded-up, and sandbags lined the perimeter of the building. Passing concrete barriers and rock filled Hesco defensive barriers, Tauru and Marko approached a podium by the door, where a broad-shouldered man in green tiger stripe camouflage pants, a tan top, and short-cut grey hair sat. A belt-fed machine gun lay atop the podium, and a cigarette dangled from his lips.

On the other side of the door, a dark-skinned man in a similar uniform smoked a cigar, tapping away on a tablet. A small machine pistol, which dangled on shoulder harness, swayed every time he blew a donut-shaped cloud of smoke after every puff from his cigar. His fingers tapped away on a tablet game he was playing.

Attempting to enter, Tauru was halted by the man at the podium, who grunted a 'nope' and pointed to a sign reading "no food or drinks" posted to the door.

"My bad," Tauru apologized, offering a burger.

"Fuck it, thanks," the man replied, taking a burger and pointing to the door. "Enjoy yourselves."

Tauru extended the same offer to the dark-skinned man, who replied, “Na bro, I’m good,” and returned to his game.

Inside, Tauru and Marko were enveloped in a cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke. The room boasted pool tables, a bar at the far end, and an ambiance aglow with more green neon lights. A woman with long dishwater blond hair was behind the bar drying beer mugs. Near the bar in the middle of the room was a neon green goose.

"I think we're in green territory," Tauru said in a faux whisper voice, prompting a chuckle from Marko.

Marko surveyed the room; aside from the woman at the bar the place was nearly empty except for a couple playing pool on the other side room laughing and giggling loudly.

Tauru placed the bag, with a rapidly dwindling supply of burgers, on the rail of the pool table. As he began to rack up the balls, a short female in similar tiger stripe camouflage burst through the door, flicking her hand through her short brown hair as she headed straight for Tauru and Marko.

"I hope you boys aren't getting those nasty greasy burgers all over my pool table," she declared in a loud, shrill voice, causing Tauru and Marko to wince as her voice carried across the room.

"Nice job, pal. Now you've gone and riled up the Lioness of Luminara District," Marko grumbled, snatching up the bag.

Tauru pulled out a blue bandana and began to wipe the edge of the pool table. The woman walked over and checked the table, satisfied that it wasn’t damaged, she relaxed her stance.

“You’re in a lot of trouble, gentlemen; Jackle is still livid about the incident at Nakatomi housing district,” she stated plainly.

“It wasn’t me who killed him; besides, he shouldn’t have lied about why he was there,” Tauru retorted.

"Burger?" offered Marko.

"No thank you," she replied politely.

"Yeah, Mange," Marko chimed in, "Slicky boy had the nerve to say we brought him on for a bit of merc work in the Heights.”

Mange placed her hands on her hips and pressed her lips to the side, a subtle twitch remaining as she stayed silent.

“Most likely a hit job on one of our own,” Tauru said as he stuffed the last burger into his mouth. “But we’re not gonna press it. We know the Bloodhound Gang doesn’t kiss and tell. So, is everything ready?”

Finishing the last bit of his burger, Tauru watched as Marko began to organize the balls in the rack. Mange thrust a bottle of hand sanitizer into Marko's hand. He cleaned his hands, dripping a bit on the floor.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Give it to Tauru when you are done,” Mange instructed, her voice sounding less stern. “Yes, the Boom-Boom Room is ready, and your booth is outfitted with the standard surveillance package. Bambi and Thumper are on the poles, as per your request. We're keeping it mixed guys guys and dolls, just in case Red sends someone who shops on the other side of the store. A word of caution, gentlemen, don’t look either of the dancers directly in the eyes.”

Using the sanitizer to clean his hands, Tauru offered it back to Mange, but she shook her head.

“Keep it, I have another,” she said, pulling out another small bottle from her pocket. “As for security, I got Rod and Sphere in the back with y'all and have Coyn and Cleavage working the floor. The other guests in the room work for us.”

Marko picked up the rack triangle, and with a loud crack, he took the first shot. The balls ran around on the table, and he managed to sink the solid ‘7’ into a side pocket. He followed up by shooting the solid ‘2’ into another side pocket, and a striped ‘11’ ball rolled to the edge of a pocket but stopped.

“Any intel on which two reds they are sending?” asked Tauru.

“Well…” Mange began.

Tauru stared at her with sad eyes, his lower lip quivering.

“You know that puppy dog asked to work on me,” Mange replied.

Marko landed another shot while managing to sink the striped ‘11’ ball.

“That was my only good shot,” Tauru complained.

“Too bad. Shall I play the world’s smallest violin?” Mange asked, moving her fingers back and forth. “But seriously, we got nothing on the two reds they are sending. Rumor mill says one of them is diplomat subclass.”

“Civilian?” Tauru and Marko asked simultaneously.

Tauru then took a shot, sending the cue ball in a random direction.

“Business class,” Mange corrected, then considered her answer. “Well, basically yeah, a civilian. Good luck, gentlemen. You’ll need it.”

Mange walked off and started to talk with the blonde at the bar.

“Let’s finish this and get inside before Red shows up,” Tauru said.

Marko grunted out a “mmmhuh” before taking another shot.

***

Inside the dimly lit room, a raised stage in the center was being swept clean as a janitor pushed a broom. The stage awash with a greenish-white light. The few patrons seated at tables held onto their drinks.

Tauru and Marko followed Mange, who was wearing a tight brown t-shirt, to a booth at the back of the room. Strapped to her back was a 50-inch gun with a cylinder around the barrel. The same man from outside stood waiting inside the Boom-Boom room, his machine gun propped up on a table.

Behind the bar, a dark-skinned man loaded a pump-action shotgun. The serving girls were armed with Deringers tucked under their garter belts.

"I can feel your eyes, gentlemen," Mange said.

Marko and Tauru took their seats.

"Aluminum barrel-shroud, 97-round pan magazine, .303-inch rounds," Marko said, staring at the machine gun. "Replica?"

Mange sighed, unslung her weapon, and gingerly placed it on the table.

"There’s the BSA stamp on the side, see the three stacked rifles," Tauru said, leaning closer. "That’s no replica."

"Family heirloom. Now that you two are done ogling Lewis, there’s the matter of the bill," Mange said, fishing in her pocket.

She pulled out her minicomputer, entered a few numbers, and then showed the screen to Marko and Tauru.

"That’s… a lot of zeros," Marko commented.

"Can you move the decimal point a smidge to the left?" Tauru asked.

"You took the Heights on the second week," she said, pointing to Marko, and then pointed to Tauru. "And your crew took the pride and joy from Team Red. You can afford it."

"Can we get some wings or something with this?" asked Marko as he pressed his thumb to the screen to authorize the payment. "And a few beers!"

Tauru swiped his thumb across the screen and covered Thornewood’s half.

"Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll have your request brought out momentarily," Mange said and walked over to the bar.

After dropping off the order, she left the room.

"Snack time," Marko said, relaxing in the booth.

The waitress arrived and dropped off drinks along with a plate stacked full of hot wings and two large mugs of beer. As the light dimmed a set of doors opened on the floor of the stage, and a dancer with flaming red hair was elevated to the platform. She wore a long robe that prompted Tauru to ask if she picked the robe from the Gloria P. designer mitten collection.

"All the way from the Capital, it’s Bambi!" Rod announced over the intercom.

Music began to play, and Bambi whipped her long hair back, playing with the zipper on her robe before starting her dance. Just then, the door to the Boom-Boom room swung open, flooding the darkened space with green light from the adjoining room.

Mange entered first, followed by a man with black hair, a power suit, and a blood-red tie. In his hand he carried a black leather briefcase. Behind him was a stocky woman with black hair and red bangs. She fidgeted with her jacket, struggling to close it over her broad chest, and walked awkwardly in the tight pencil skirt.

Raising her hand under her breasts and pretended she was adjusting her bra. Mange gave Tauru and Marko a slight nod. With her back to the two newcomers, she communicated in military sign language with one hand: 1 civilian, 1 mixed tank/warrior, enemy force outside.

Once Mange was done, she scratched the back of her head.

Approaching Tauru and Marko, Mange pointed to her eyes and said, “My eyes are up here, boys.”

Tauru stood up and said, “I’ve already made my choice.”

Without the slightest pause, Mange replied and stepped to the side, “Well, they’re not for you. I would like to introduce you to Bob and his colleague Petite Fille.”

Marko stood up and extended his hand. Fille shook it and then shook Tauru’s hand. Bob ignored the gesture.

“Petite?” asked Marko.

“I was the runt of the litter,” Fille said in a gruff voice.

Bob placed the briefcase on the table and took a seat.

“I’ll leave you ladies and gentlemen to your meeting. Coyn will be on hand if you require any services,” Mange said politely and walked away.

Once Marko, Tauru, and Fille took their seats, a waitress with short black slick hair and wearing a tight leather top, walked over. She asked if they wanted any drinks. Bob waved her away dismissively.

“Since you two simpletons are combatants, I will use easily understood words. I’m not here to negotiate or to make a deal,” Bob said. “I’m here to tell you what’s going to happen.”

Tauru played with his orange calcite under the table, while Marko placed his hand on his knee to stop his restless leg from moving.

“Allow me to enlighten you two on the situation. While you two might be experts on the battlefield, this is my battlefield,” Bob continued and opened the briefcase.

He turned it around. Tauru and Marko stared at the stacks of 100 BC bills, and Bob slammed it shut once they had a good enough look.

“This is what’s going to happen. After you accept this payment, you will turn over the Pocket Secretary, Fort Carré, half the Heights with a public apology, otherwise we will send everything we got against the Thornewoods and the Wheels,” Bob said, pushing the briefcase towards them. “The Blood Circle will make it their mission in life to wipe both gangs off the map if you fail to agree with the terms.”

He pushed his sleeve back from his coat and pressed a button on his watch.

“You have three minutes to decide before our kill teams storm this place and take you both as prisoners of war,” Bob said.

***