My plan as of right now is to touch nothing, say nothing, and generally appear as completely and utterly disinterested with this whole affair, even though the slightest disagreeance could bring about my untimely death. Not an easy task, however I feel as though the less interested I appear to be, the more casual the whole encounter will be, and the more likely I'll get to live past today.

David, Deacon, myself, and two of David's goons all enter the warehouse, only to be greeted by the standard (I guess), drab gray concrete walls and an entirely empty front room. The walls are the same color as the floor under our feet, and as we continue further and further into the empty room, I begin to dread this meeting more and more. Deep breaths, look natural. At the far end of the room is another set of double doors, almost identical to the ones we entered the building through, and the rain that landed in my hair as we made our way from the car to the building is starting to dry off slightly, leaving my hair stuck together in stringlike constructions. I force my hands into my pockets and close my eyes for a few seconds.


I open my eyes once again as we approach the set of double doors. My left hand, still wrapped in gauze and unhealed, throbs uncontrollably in the uncomfortable position it's contorted into, which when combined with my surmounting anxiety causes my entire left arm to shake. David steps forward and pushes both doors open, and walks into the room, closely followed by Deacon and Goon 1. I hesitate, and Goon 2 puts his hand on my back, shoving me forward and into the room.


Contrasted with the sheer nothingness in the previous room, the one we just entered was bustling with activity. Unnamed, ultimately unimportant workers shuffled through the tight, claustrophobia inducing passageways formed by the aisles of various barrels and boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. The floors and walls remained the bland shade of gray, reminding me of where we were once again. I take my good hand out of my pocket and tap Deacon on the elbow. He turns around and is instantly greeted with a perfectly valid question.

"Where are they?"

"Leave that to me," he says, stepping out of the Pentagram of Paranoia and approaching one of the workers. The pair have a quick little conversation that I'm not in earshot of, but finishes with the worker pointing upwards and (of course) all the way across the massive storeroom, to the second floor office that overlooks it. Deacon shrugs, shakes the man's hand and makes his way back to us, about to open his mouth and explain it; when he realizes that none of us are idiots.

"I don't like this, Deacon."

"Yeah, well keep that shit to yourself. I'm pretty sure the feelin's mutual."

And with that, we're off. Down the narrow passageway that is the dead center middle of the room. Another unnamed worker passes by us, pushing a handcart through the already tight space, and forcing us into a Straight Line of Suspicion. The infernal racket of all the workers loading boxes onto trucks and driving machinery is going to drive me crazy before we even make it to the office. Why would they keep people around when discussing something obviously illegal?


"I don't trust these Half Dicks."

"So I've heard. Multiple times."

"If anything looks like it's going to go wrong, I'm putting word in to off the motherfucker."

"Woah, easy now. No need for rash actions like that."

"Oh, yeah there'll be if they try to fuck us."

"Just, try and make it work. You won't help anything by jumping in, wanting to be violent right outta the gate."

"You have no idea how hard I'm tryin' right now."

"Yeah I do. Try harder."

Something I didn't notice while listening only to their conversation; we've made it up the steps and are now standing right outside the office. I take a deep breath and pull my left hand out of my pocket, fixing the wrappings as Deacon knocks on the wooden door that was now the only barrier between us and this meeting.

"Come in," a voice coming from behind the door calls out, and Deacon's hand wraps around the silver handle. He turns it clockwise and pushes the door open, ushering in all of us before stepping in himself. Aside from the roundtable in the center of the room, scattered throughout where graphs and charts that I assume depicted going-ons within their own little empire, and four sharply dressed men. None really caught the eye as much as the one standing right next to the table, straightening the tie around his neck. If I had to make a guess, I'd assume he was the leader of this whole operation.


"Ah! It's a pleasure to finally meet you all!" he exclaims, nodding frantically before extending his hand to Deacon, who accepts without a second thought. He does the same to David, who's much more reluctant with it, only actually accepting it after getting nudged by Deacon. Then, he comes to me.

"You must be Kendall," he says, switching hands to account for my injury. Shakily, I accept his hand.

"Yeah," I say with a tinge of disinterest. He does a double take, seemingly baffled by the flip flopping dichotomy that is my current mental state. Can't say I wouldn't be too, if I were in his shoes.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, ma'am. For reference, my name is Samuel Klein, but you can call me Sam."

"I'll be sure to forget that."

"Huh?"

"Hm?"

He opens his mouth to say something, but then decides not to, turning back to Deacon and David.


"Shall we get down to business?"

We-"

"I can speak for myself, Deacon," David says, putting his hand against Deacon's mouth. He steps forward, nearer the roundtable and scowls at Mr. Klein. "Let's do it."

"Very well, sir." He motions for his colleagues to take seats on the further end of the table, and walks over to the same side, taking one of the chairs in the middle of his clique. David, Deacon, and I take seats on the nearer end, and the two goons opt to stand, overlooking everything.


"Now, Mister Rockwell, I'm going to be blunt here; I am not a fan of being ripped off. Was that what you were planning on doing to my Organization?"

"I was planning on getting money, Klein. Nothin' more."

"Right, I know that much David, may I call you David?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't," he says through gritted teeth.

"Very well. I'm no fool, Rockwell. I know all about your group and its rather sudden fall from grace. So sad to see such a prominent, hate fueled organization lose so much, so quickly."


My eyes widen momentarily, before I remember that I'm supposed to not be caring.

"Are you here to badger me about this all day?"

"Not at all! I just wanted you to be clear that I do my research on investments, Mister Rockwell. I do my research, and I find the money we give you has gone towards gearing yourselves up for war and I see where everything's going. Your debts aren't being called on to put you on the hotseat, quite the opposite. We understand that we can make a lot of money together, but in order to ensure that, I need you to agree that you won't try to short us on anything."

"What? You gonna make me sign a legal contract and run to the feds when we don't pay up? God damn, you kikes are-"

He's cut off by the door behind us opening. No one really seems to pay much attention to it, and as such I don't either, though I can't help but feel like that's a glowing red flag of something bad happening. One of the men on Samuel's side stands up, catching the attention of both guards. He throws his hands up in the air, and walks closer to our side of the table.

"Of course not! We prefer, much more, direct means of assuring cooperation."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"Like, this."

The quiet bursts of air expended from the barrels of two silenced pistols cut through Samuel's comment, and just like that, both goons lie dead on the floor, bullets in their back. The man who was walking towards us grabs me by the good arm and pulls me close to him, placing the barrel of a pistol to my temple. David pulls a gun on Samuel, and is just about to fire before the smoking barrel of one of the assassin's guns is placed to the back of his head.

"You pull that trigger; all three of you die and we use this to push the spineless second in commands you have under you into our organization."

David's hand angrily shakes as he continues to point the gun at Samuel's head, before he finally relents and lowers his gun.

"Good. Now, men? Escort these two gentlemen back to their hideout. We'll take care of the lady."