Which of you can find the difference between a hero and a villain? Not the type from children's stories, but real people who are fighting every day towards a goal. What made one's actions justified but the others heinous? When the lines between just and unjust were blurred, how would you decide what was right? The spectators had all the power in the world, and they could wield it with as much power as any weapon ever made. If you take sentiments as they are or stories as they are told, you have already cast your stone, and it may be poor or good but only time will tell. If you would listen to an exile's advice, don’t choose a side, both lead to a separate hell.

I had signed another one of my soldiers' lives away. A young man, eager and motivated to move up in the gang. I had met him once before; he was a bit loud but I saw that as excitement. He had faithfully followed every order I gave to him, which in a large part is why I chose him for this task. Strangely, I didn’t feel remorse stamping the order to send him to certain death. For the first hundred, my heart ached, but now the feelings were muted and cold.

 Tired of writing stationary, I grabbed my coat and pistol before heading to Joy’s End, a place with a literal name. The streets were dimly lit, with even the street lamps seemingly longing to die. Walking through Joy’s End felt akin to a graveyard, with the looming presence of death always there. Bodies and trash were piled in the alleys, junkies huddled together for warmth in the shadows of long forsaken buildings, and Qascade smoke hung in the air like sad apparitions. Even in the lowest and most depressing place in Keres, there would still always be someone selling Qascade.

I arrived at the last place well-lit, The Drunken Swan. The namesake swan hung on one side, its white paint chipping and beak broken. Of course, nobody came here for the sign. This was the cheapest bar in the poorest area of Keres, so some low-quality decor wasn’t a concern to most patrons.

 The bar seemed to sway in the night breeze, leaning on the buildings around it like a group of drunks. Most of the buildings in Keres were built with loose wood and wayside stones, not even properly bolted to the ground most times. I stood in front of the entrance for a long moment, staring at the door, getting ready to enter. I needed to keep myself completely confident, I wasn’t going to have a warm welcome.

 As I opened the door, the smell of cheap ale and sweat hit me. Not the most pleasant smell before sitting down for a meal, but I’ve eaten worse. The sad exterior hid a great many people inside, all laughing and talking away with their fellow poors. A strong enough drink would make anyone smile.

 No one could be sober and happy in this backwater hell hole. The floors themselves were soaked with so much vomit and spilled drinks that they squelched underfoot as I entered. Once I was inside, everyone seemed to turn to me at once. My demeanor and clothes stood out among the rest of them like a cat among mice, but I didn’t let it phase me. I marched a path through the middle of the crowd, directly to the bar.

“Get me the owner,” I told the young girl working behind the bar, she stared at me wide-eyed.

“Y-yes sir, right away.”

She ran off to the backroom, leaving behind a half-poured tankard. The atmosphere hadn’t dissolved much, obviously, I wasn’t welcome to stay long. I was far outside my territory, but as long as I maintained this air of superiority around me the patrons would be too scared to act. Just as I thought that, a man walked up beside me, planting both hands on the bar.

“Graceful Gods above, we have a celebrity in our presence. You sad saps have never met anyone like this, you're standing in front of Alec Resto!” He said, turning to the bar with a swing of his arms. The smell of whiskey and cheap cologne on him was enough to make a man gag. He had shaky footing, which paired with his stench made me think he was drunk, and I noticed a purulent wound over his left eye.

“Get back to your friends,” One of my hands left the bar and hovered over my pistol, the wood hilt brushing my fingertips. I hated alcohol ever since I was a child, it made idiots like this brave and vocal.

He mumbled something before taking another swig from a bottle in his hand, stumbling and reaching for the bar to steady himself.

“This man kills thousands, without a second thought!” He turned to speak to the rest of the bar. “He doesn’t do the damned work himself, of course, just tells people where to die. I’m sure all of you have lost someone to the White Death, haven’t you?” The crowd murmured their accord.

“I won’t say it again, get back to your friends, Kalb,” I tightened my grip around the holster of my gun. He flinched at the insult, turning to me.

 “Or what? You don’t do anything yourself, you lazy dirt-fed bastard. You just send innocent people to their deaths, all while pretending that you're strong! Somebody needs to bring you back down to earth!” He said, smashing the bottle against the bar. A collective gasp sounded through the bar, as well as some encouragement. 

He took a clumsy step towards me, swinging the bottle for my head. I blocked the lazy attack, swinging my pistol hilt first with all my strength to the side of his head. It crunched into his ear, sending him sprawling across the floor towards the crowd. He lay there for a long while, unmoving, before everyone seemed to realize at once that he was dead.

“Get him to the alley, the body collectors can deal with him now.” I holstered my pistol, wiping the bloody grip on a rag.

Two of his friends dragged him out to the street. Tears were welling in their eyes, but they seemed to learn from their friend's idiocy and didn’t raise a hand to me. Finally, the owner thumped down the stairs and lumbered behind the bar.

“What in the Gods is going on down here?” He bellowed, as his voice echoed in the quiet room. He and the crowd all seemed to turn towards me at once.

“A drunk young man made an attempt on my life, so I defended myself. Are we going to have a problem?” I met his eyes, smoldering with anger. The tension in the room was palpable, silent except for the crackling of a hearth in the corner.

“I… see. Please come with me to my office so we may speak more candidly.” He spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep composed. I suspected he wanted to get me away from the bar as quickly as possible, but it suited me just fine. He led me through the first floor to a back room. It was barely decorated, save an old rifle hung above the door and some cigars on a plain wood desk.

“Interesting customers you have around here,” I said, grabbing a cigar from his desk. I had grown fond of them since coming to Keres. Stress was a privilege that I didn’t have time for, so I dealt with it in whatever way I could. Ruin the body, but calm the mind.

“You can’t control who your customers are, Mr. Resto. As a… businessman, I’m sure you can relate.” His name was Luther Bane, an old man with an old business. He lit a cigar of his own, not even offering to light mine.

“I won’t waste your time, I can see how desperately you want me away from your bar. I am looking to buy some property in this area and I’m going around to see who would want to sell to me.” I said, flicking my ashes onto the ground. He hesitated for a moment, a good sign.

“I don’t think I’m looking to sell. I may be old, but the people I have working here depend on me to keep them off the streets, I’m sure you understand.” He said, keeping a straight face.

“I can understand that sentiment, so I’m willing to keep them employed even after my acquisition. I’m sure I can find a spot for a barkeeper and some cooks.” I said leaning forward onto his desk. I could see a bit of panic in his eyes now, confirming what I thought.

“I’m still going to have to decline. I’ve owned this shop for so long that letting go of it feels wrong. I’m sure you can find a better property in this area anyway, my little shack here will probably fall in the next storm.” He said, stumbling over his words.

“I hope you're not lying to me, Mr. Bane. I’m quite understanding to people who don’t lie, otherwise…” I said, letting the thought hang in the air. He swallowed and started rapping his fingers on the desk.

“Fine. I don’t own the building, I’m just the manager.” He said.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“See? Telling the truth is never the wrong choice. Who owns the properties around here then?”

“That isn’t something I am willing to tell to just anybody.” He stood from the desk, in what I can only assume to be an intimidation tactic. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“No, I do think that’s all for now. I’m sorry for bothering you at this hour and for the scene in the bar. Please tell me if you ever reconsider selling, and I’ll make you a very good offer.” I said, smiling. He seemed relieved when I stood to leave, but he’d already told me all I needed to know.

If he didn’t own his building, and all the neighbors also didn’t, then I knew what to do with this place. I had no use for businesses that wouldn’t comply with my demands, they were just taking up space. I had a house near the border of Joy’s End, not the nicest place but still heads above the rest of the buildings around here. I would spend the night there and get back to work in the morning.

The night air was cool and crisp, with the smell of burning and charred bodies drifting up my nose. Graves were a luxury in Keres, and for most too expensive, so the body collectors would bring them to the cremator in the factory district. Most bodies would already be picked clean of valuables before we could reach them, but it also meant whatever was on their body was ours. A ring here, a pocketwatch there; it wasn’t much but over time it was a steady revenue.

I never felt unsafe walking through the back alleys of Keres. They were the same as the streets, the only difference being that vermin and smell. Plus, even the times I had almost been killed, something always interfered. This world had a plan for me, if only I could figure out what it was. 

I arrived at the shack, it wasn’t nice by any stretch of the imagination but I didn’t need silk sheets. Every night, I went over the next day's chores before I slept; it was a habit I had since my youth. Tomorrow, I needed to get to the other side of town in the morning to sign papers with Ms. Costa and attend a funeral. After that, I would head home and deal with correspondence, and if I had enough time deal with Marke in the Center Square. I planned out all of tomorrow's affairs before closing my eyes and falling asleep.

.     .     .

The bright sun shone through the window straight into my eyes. I had the urge to close the curtains and go back to sleep, but the day's duties roused me.

A small light blinked in the corner of my room, signaling a message. I walked over to the brass tube and opened it, taking the parchment from inside. On it was a short message, 

I’ll deal with Ms. Costa, you’ll be needed at the Arena for three today. Try not to be late, he is in a foul mood as of now

-Lourence

A message from my assistant, scrawled quickly in Miletan script. His printing was almost illegible, I needed to hire him a proper tutor one day, but at least my day was a little less cramped now.

I dressed in proper funeral attire, a black shirt and dress pants with a crow's feather tucked behind my ear. I applied a little Lefmelon oil to my hair and wrists, its sweet floral scent almost covering the lingering blood stench on me. I turned to a mirror leaning against the corner of the room, now I looked presentable enough to leave the house.

On mornings when the sun broke through the smog and smoke, it almost seemed like I was back in Iotus. I hailed a passing transport, tossing a small coin bag to the driver, and started on the road across town. The streets were barren at this point in the morning; everyone was either hungover or too lazy to wake up.

Seeing Keres in the morning light spoiled a lot of the magic it had at night, there were no neon lights to distract you or street vendors yelling their prices. It did have a strange sense of serenity, or perhaps desertion, but no one in Keres was here for a relaxing experience. I’d typically enjoy a morning like this with some Kaffe and breakfast, but business came before everything else.

It was a short ride to the funeral home, where a soldier’s service was being held. They must have been quite wealthy, at least for a family in Keres, and so they were holding a real service on the border between Keres and Iotus.  I’d met him once or twice and he seemed like a decent man, devoted to the gang and respectful, so I wanted to attend.

I had requested some assurance since I knew no one there, they were a little down the street from the funeral home. Normally I tried to travel as inconspicuous as I could, wearing things like a cloak and mask where applicable but when I was going to be surrounded by people I didn’t know certain precautions were necessary. Dressed in all black with knives and pistols covering them, they were enough to deter anyone who would want to harm me.

 I arrived in front of a brick building with a sign of two black roses inscribed on it. A greeter stood outside dressed in all black,  eyes nervously darting back and forth down both sides of the street.

“Hello, Mister Resto, thank you for coming to my son's service. He always raved about how much he respected you and how you would take over the underworld one day and he would rise the ranks to stand beside you.” He spoke with a sad smile. The man stood hunched over, thin gray hair brushed to one side of his head.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your son. He was a great soldier and an even better man.” I said to him. It was the line I used for most dead soldiers. 

“Please, follow me to the hall where it's being held.” He said, relying on his cane and leading me into the drab building.

 The stale scent of dust permeated the entrance hall, which to its credit was well-kept. The walls were a dark wood, coated with a light layer of lacquer, and some antique furniture was placed on the left side. A shabby reception was set up in one corner, which the father limped over to and talked for a minute with the woman working behind it, before waving me on. We walked for another minute, passing a dozen or so funeral halls all filled with family, before coming to the entrance. The room was in the same style as the rest of the building, with wood walls and cheap seating, which were all filled with grievers. In the front of the room, a small stage was set up with a black stained coffin set up next to a simple raised pulpit.

“Please make yourself comfortable, the service will begin soon.” 

I nodded to the father and took a seat on a vacant aisle. The room stank of smoke and cheap whiskey, the choice drink of grievers. I did a quick check around the room to ease my mind, but nobody seemed suspicious at first glance. Soon, a man dressed in a black robe with a shaved head walked to take his place at the pulpit.  I wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about the religion, but even to me, it was clear he was a Shaibean wandering priest. They occasionally came through Keres, spreading their religion and taking residence wherever, but most chose to stay away.

“Thank you all for attending the funeral of Julian Feyton. I will begin this service with a short prayer, so please bow your heads.” Around me, everyone slowly lowered their heads. “Merciful lords above, please take pity on our ignoble souls. Let our actions be in praise of you, and let our time of mourning be fruitful. Loleth, our venerated shepherd to the lost and gone, please watch over Julian and guide him with grace and care into the next world. Zai, the last destination for those who have left this world, treats Julian with kindness and open arms. Ymamn.” Everyone slowly raised their heads once more, signaling the prayer was over.

“Charitable son, loyal soldier, and a truly good person. He may have lived his life in the streets and slums, but he was still always willing to give to the needy and help anyone no matter their background. We will not remember him as a soldier for a devil, but as a lost young man looking for guidance, who happened to find himself in poor company. ”

I flinched a bit, it always made me feel strange to hear people like him look down on me. I stared at the father, making eye contact with him. He seemed to jump a bit, signaling the pastor to stop.

“I cannot help but lament the life he may have lived if he wasn’t led astray. A bright and caring man, shot down in his prime for the gain of another. Truly sick-” He stopped mid-sentence. Behind me, my bodyguards must have drawn his attention; he stared open-mouthed over my shoulder.

Then, I noticed the dry choking sound behind me. I whipped my head around; my two bodyguards lay motionless on the ground, blood pooling on the floor, and a masked man stood over them pointing a pistol at me. All the attendees quickly rushed out of the building, including the scrawny priest. They sure did love to preach helping one another, but when it came down to it they were just as bad as the rest of us. I stood out of my seat, as the man forced his gun to my forehead. 

“Let’s not,” He seemed to be twitchy, most likely on Qascade, "My boss would like to see you breathing.” 

“Shut your mouth, Kalb. Do you know who I am?” 

He gave me a jittery nod and grabbed my wrists, wrenching them behind my back and tying them with rope.

“Consider this karma, Mr. Resto. You have many enemies and few true allies, in the future, you may want to choose the latter more carefully.“ He produced a rag from his jacket and covered my mouth. I bit down on his hand, feeling warm blood gush in my mouth, but it didn’t matter. I could feel my head getting lighter, small lights dancing in the corners of my vision. My final sight was the stained glass mural above the pulpit, the seven gods staring down at me in contempt. Then, my head struck the ground, and darkness closed in.