Before becoming the boss of Chrome Hill, Kinyua had a simple dream: to have his own clothing brand. He was ambitious. He had even considered creating a fashion label. In his investment mirage, he even had a chain of stores with his brand in big letters on the front. He used sublimation to reduce the cost of hand-printing.

The business was down to him, a second cousin and a friend who, like him, had dropped out of school. They forgot what all the locals knew. Chrome Hill was not created for people to dream, but for them to have nightmares. Kinyua's was soon to arrive.

His best friend proposed that they use the workshop to store some things, suspicious things, heavy things! Kinyua didn't agree. He'd be arrested for receiving. His friend said he was exaggerating. The authorities wouldn't know anything. Everything would be kept safe; it would be a piece of cake.

Kinyua became a receiver of suspicious things. When his workshop was raided by the police, he was charged not only with receiving stolen goods, but also with criminal association. He went to jail. Behind bars, he became associated with a certain faction. In order not to die inside, he joined for good.

After crossing the valley of the shadow of death, his dream did not die. When he rose to power in Chrome Hill, he invested in his brand once again. He forced the drug traffickers who occupied the highest positions to use his brand. The Central Command stopped being just a criminal organization and became a profitable company.

At the age of forty, Kinyua wanted nothing more. He had reached the top, and after the summit, there was only the fall. What he didn't give up was always wearing his brand wherever he went, regardless of the environment. It was a way of reaffirming his identity in the monoculture of standardization.

That's what he did at the meeting with the Fourth Estate on a yacht anchored in Conch Bay. Some sea wolves received a few Credibits in their accounts and turned a blind eye. In fact, they didn't even care. They even wanted the meeting to end in a slaughter.

Ata received Kinyua and his bodyguards on deck, including Yasini. The negotiations took place in the bow of the ship, on comfortable white seats around a table with a blue glass top and silver details.

The sea was calm and the moonlight reflected off the waves. A cool breeze calmed the night heat. The atmosphere was tense.

"Nice yacht, who should I bribe to get an exclusive one like that, Ata?"

"We didn't buy the yacht. This one was given to us by a millionaire from Ilu Nla. We did some services for him, and he paid us with this beauty. It has fifteen berths in all, made of carbon fiber and fiberglass-reinforced plastic. Huge, isn't it? Please sit down and have a drink with us. We have an excellent Romanzza-Contard wine."

Ata sat right in front of Kinyua and crossed his legs. The Head of the Arms Trafficking Division was wearing a half-tailcoat: dark graphite pants and vest striped with gray; a jacket that was shorter at the back, with a square front cut; and finally, a bolo tie with a cross-buckle closure.

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Clothes make the man, Ata's father used to tell his sons. The only one who understood his advice and put it into practice was his eldest son. As an ex-military man, the criminal kept his tendency to dress in line and maintain his nonchalant posture. It was a way of distinguishing himself from his enemies, of showing power.

The wine was served. The drug dealer and the militiaman drank as if they were winemakers. Yasini watched with concern. The wine could be poisoned. It could all be a trap, and they could be attacked there in neutral territory. Chrome Hill could be under attack right now, and there was nothing he could do but wait.

Kinyua was serene. He didn't want to give it away, but the wine was delicious. A taste and aroma unlike anything he had ever drunk. To pay it a compliment would be to admit that he was inferior to the militiaman.

"It's amazing what money can buy, isn't it?"

"Money can buy a lot of things, but it can't buy everything, Ata. You can't buy loyalty with it."

"True, it can't buy everything, but it can get it for you quickly. Loyalty is something we only reserve for family. What would family be without loyalty? A group of people united by blood, living together, never really relating. When I joined the Ilu Nla Armed Forces, I was told to be loyal to my nation. That those men I stood shoulder to shoulder with were my brothers. Garbage!"

"I agree. I didn't have a family before I climbed into the slum with a pistol in my waistband. I had to choose mine on the street. There was too much supply and not enough demand."

"That's not a family, it's a criminal association, hehehehe. There's something my father used to teach me. Family is something you protect tooth and nail. The Fourth Estate sent me here to negotiate a truce with you, Kinyua. You want to know what I think? Fuck you! Nobody messes with my family."

"I can give you the heads of the guys who did this to Chekandino. It wasn't one of our guys who attacked your brother. They're outsiders, doing shit in the slum. Take this as an offer of peace between us."

Ata stood up. It lifted the tension of the moment. He gave a beautiful smile. He buttoned his jacket. His eyes flashed with anger. In an impulse that frightened even his private security guards, the militiaman knocked everything off the table. One of the most expensive bottles of wine in history was lost forever.

The trafficker kept his glass full. On the outside, he was the most confident man in the world. But inside, he felt like getting up, pulling out his pistol and putting the madman on that boat. He looked at Yasini with his pewter javelin slung over his shoulder. He gave the psychic a look that told him not to do anything.

"You needed to see the state in which my younger brother arrived in the Burned Circuit Slum Complex. I've never seen my brother like that, man. How dare you do this to him? The only reason I don't kill you from Chrome here and now is because I want to do it in a big way. I don't want the heads of the sons of bitches who did this, I want the whole Chrome Hill to burn. I'm going to tear you and your eaters apart, Kinyua."

"You've got a problem, bro. You only talk about big things. I think you've got that thing that therapists say… ah, how do you say it? Mania of grandeur! Is that to hide something you have small? Relax, man. You take yourself too seriously. Do you know the difference between you and me? I know this is going to end soon. Unless you're planning on retiring into a life of crime. There are only two destinations for us: jail or the cemetery. If it's not at the hands of the police, it'll be at the hands of someone else who's rushing to get to the top, or perhaps someone who's just digging their grave right underneath us. I've been aware of this since I started, haven't you?"

"War between us! I swear on my life: I'll kill you with my bare hands, Kinyua."

"Try as you might. We from Central Command are waiting for you to fill your militia ass with bullets. Come on, Yasini. We have nothing more to do with this asshole."

The pair got up and headed for the deck exit. Ata pulled a gun from his waistband and aimed it at the head of the boss of Chrome Hill. Yasini stopped. The militiaman kept the gun pointed, but it didn't go off. He felt something strange run through his body. An energy that prevented him from pulling the trigger. Yasini continued walking.

"Laugh while you can, Kinyua. He who laughs last, laughs best."