Chapter 7: Enforcers
Deckard shifted uncomfortably in the battered chair, the missing chunk from the backrest revealing the wear and tear of its history. The dim light of the room barely illuminated the surroundings, giving it an air of mystery.
Behind him, a glass window offered a glimpse into the water, a portal to an unseen world beneath the surface. The room held an eclectic mix of items – lab equipment scattered on tables, and glowing jars containing mysterious creatures, their ethereal glow casting an eerie ambience lighting the face of a man examining them.
In the shadows ahead, a man sat at a desk, his features obscured. The room carried an air of secrecy, a place where the unknown and clandestine converged, setting the stage for what might unfold next.
Deckard's breath trembled in shaky pants as two menacing thugs flanked him, wielding a pipe pressed threateningly against his throat. Forced to look straight ahead, he faced the obscured figure in the shadows, the orchestrator of his predicament.
"You were supposed to follow them and not interfere," the man chided, his fingers dancing over a device in his hand.
"I-I'm sorry. They caught us by surprise," Deckard stammered, restrained by the unyielding pressure of the pipe.
"Now his accomplice is asking questions about you. That's not a risk I'm willing to take," the man stated calmly, leaning back and inspecting the device with a discerning eye.
Deckard grunted again, continuing, "They had something, a-a beast, a giant wolf. The kids. It was also their fault, the explosion in the upper city."
The man halted his actions, contemplating the newfound information. "That was them?"
"Yeah. The topsides are up in arms looking for 'em," Deckard offered, hoping to secure some leniency.
"Vander's in trouble, and his pet is on the prowl..." The man turned to face Deckard, revealing a glowing left eye surrounded by ominous scars.
Deckard nervously chuckled as the man stood and ambled toward him. "Smartest thing you ever said, boy."
"Get him a meal, but keep him off the streets," the man commanded, walking past Deckard toward another man by the lab equipment.
The thugs released Deckard, dragging him to his feet and ushering him away, ensuring his temporary removal from the streets.
"Our time has moved up," the scarred man declared, his gaze fixated on the window overlooking the water.
The other man grabbed a vial containing a glowing purple liquid. "It's almost ready."
"Show me," the scarred man demanded, leading them to a reinforced glass enclosure housing a mouse.
"Feeding time." The man placed a cat into the enclosure with the mouse, sealing it securely.
"And the side effects?" The scarred man inquired, his attention keenly focused on the experiment unfolding before him.
"Stabilizing," the other man reported as the cat approached the mouse feeding on the purple substance.
The experiment took a dark turn as the cat convulsed, reshaping into a horrific, beastly version of its original form with glowing purple veins. The men watched, their fascination unwavering.
The transformed creature struck, killing the cat and cracking the glass, blood splattering in all directions. The scientist inquired, "You have a subject in mind?"
"Someone just volunteered." The scarred man's response hinted at ominous plans and a willing participant in their disturbing experiments.
//////
Sitting in the Last Drop, I'm perched on my modified stool, nursing a non-alcoholic beverage. Vander's prohibition on my drinking habits still irks me, a source of persistent frustration.
A day has passed since the incident, and now I find myself waiting for the gang to return and, inevitably, for the enforcers to make their presence known.
Right now, however, a crowd has gathered, passionately debating the course of action against the enforcers in the Undercity on a relentless hunt for the kids.
"We should hit them back. We've got the numbers to beat them," a furious woman declared, slamming the table, and a wave of agreement swept through the assembly.
Just then, I noticed the kids slipping in from the back, quietly listening in.
"Yeah, let's teach them not to mess with us," another voice chimed in, rallying support.
Vander lit his pipe, a signal for silence. "Are you sure that's what you want?" The room erupted with people chanting, "Let's do it."
Leaning back against the bar, Vander continued, "We crossed that bridge once before, and we all know how that ended."
A voice from the crowd countered, "You're just protecting your kids."
"I'm protecting our people. I'd do the same for any one of you. We look out for each other. It's the way it's always been," Vander declared with conviction.
"This will blow over. We just need to stand together," he concluded just as the earlier woman spoke up again.
"The Vander I knew, the one who built the underground, wouldn't be afraid to fight." Vander walked up to her, smoking his pipe, and leaned in.
"Do I look afraid?" The woman held her ground, leaning in herself.
"No, you look weak." With those words, the crowd began dispersing from the last drop.
I approached Benzo and Vander, the atmosphere heavy with tension. Benzo was busy nursing a glass, while Vander stood leaning against the bar, puffing on his pipe.
"What's the plan, Vander?" I inquired, my gaze shifting between the two.
Vander sighed, the smoke from his pipe swirling in the air. "The plan is to let this storm pass. Stirring up trouble won't do us any good. We've seen it before."
Benzo interjected, "He's right, wolf man. Sometimes the best move is no move at all."
Vander sighed before saying, "Mob mentality is a dangerous thing. All it takes is one idiot to lead them down the path."
The truth in his words resonated, and I couldn't help but agree. In the Undercity, where alliances and loyalties were fragile, a misguided decision could have severe consequences. The challenge now was to navigate through this storm with caution and hope it followed the right path.
//////
In the aftermath of the tumultuous gathering, four hours have slipped away as I lent a claw to Vander, engaging in various tasks around the Last Drop. The air is charged with an unspoken tension, each passing moment intensifying the anticipation.
The enforcers should be here. Yet, to my bewilderment, the enforcers remain elusive. A gnawing impatience starts to creep in, fraying the edges of my tolerance.
The monotonous wait, coupled with the weight of uncertainty, begins to wear thin, and the question lingers: where the hell are the enforcers? The eerie quiet persists, echoing the anticipation of an impending storm, leaving me on edge, awaiting the inevitable confrontation that hangs in the balance.
A growl escapes me in frustration, startling the patrons nearby. Yet, as if the universe decided to show a glimmer of mercy, the enforcers march through the door.
"Welcome to the Last Drop," Vander reluctantly extends a greeting to the enforcers, who approach the bar with wary glances directed at me.
The leader removes his sophisticated gas mask, and Vander plays it cool. "What can I get you?"
"Four sump-rats will do," he asserts.
"Search the place," he commands his men, prompting a low growl from me.
Vander gestures for me to back down, offering a drink to the enforcer. "While you're wasting your time, how about a proper drink?"
Attempting to maintain an air of toughness, which falls flat in my eyes, he retorts, "Give me the strongest shit you've got."
As Vander reaches for a bottle beneath the counter, the subtle click of a button echoes, a signal to the kids, giving them time to hide before the enforcers discover their presence. The delicate dance of tension unfolds, and I brace for what may come next.
The enforcer continued to swirl his drink, fixating on the bottle containing a mysterious creature.
"Mm. You better watch that," Vander warns with a casual air.
"Almost forgot. Ran into an old buddy of yours. He had some interesting tales," the enforcer states, casually grabbing Vander's smoking pipe. The tension in the room spikes, and patrons stand ready to intervene. Vander's stern scowl, however, quells any immediate reactions.
I subtly move forward, positioning myself on the far left side of the bar, keenly observing the unfolding scenario.
"Step back, beast," the enforcer on the other side of the unmasked enforcer commands, brandishing a baton with a misplaced sense of authority over me. The audacity of such an attempt to assert dominance over my kind triggers a simmering aggression within me, pulling a growl from me.
Meanwhile, the enforcer plays with Vanders pipe his drink, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents of tension surrounding him. The Last Drop becomes a silent battlefield where words and postures hold the potential for chaos.
Vander shoots me a stern look and slides a drink my way, prompting me to back down and focus my attention on the enticing array of alcohol lining the shelf, purposefully avoiding any further confrontation with the enforcers.
The enforcer, with a sly grin, taunts, "You weren't always the peacekeeper, were you?" He drops Vander's pipe into the glass, igniting the alcohol in a mesmerizing blue flame. Vander watches it with a frown etched across his face, memories lingering in the air, veiled by the dance of the azure fire. The atmosphere in The Last Drop grows heavier, echoing the unspoken complexities of Vander's past.
"Yeah, well, you can't escape the past. Right?" He muttered, eyes drifting towards a pair of slapped-together metal boxing gloves/gauntlets that hung as a silent testament to the battles waged.
"Be a shame if I had to put them on again. Cast iron's, well, it's hard to clean." He shot a challenging look at the enforcer, the air thick with unsaid words and the unrelenting passage of time. The tension in the Last Drop intensified as we all held our breath, awaiting the return of the enforcer scouring the premises.
I gazed up at Vander's gauntlets, recognizing that he might have to don them again. The weight of an impending fate hung in the air.
The complexity of the situation weighed heavily on my mind. To save Vander, letting him get captured seemed paradoxical yet strategically sound.
However, the potential consequences, such as the death of Benzo and the emotional toll on Little Man, were undeniable. Silko's looming confrontation with Vander and the enforcers presented an opportunity – a chance to eliminate Silko and potentially earn the favor of the enforcer captain by saving her life aswell.
Balancing these conflicting paths required careful consideration, knowing that every decision held significant consequences.
The choice between immediate action and strategic patience presented a dilemma. Killing Silko offered the satisfaction of swift justice, but it meant hunting Singed separately. On the other hand, waiting for Vander to get captured allowed for a more comprehensive approach, dealing with both Silko and Singed in one fell swoop, along with their accomplices.
The decision hinged on the balance between efficiency and convenience, each path carrying its own set of challenges and risks.
The tension in the Last Drop reached its peak as the unmasked enforcer launched into a tirade against Vander and the patrons after his enforcer returned empty handed. His disdainful words hung in the air like a noxious cloud, tainting the already charged atmosphere.
"You people down here are all the same," he spat, his gaze cold and accusatory. "Mistaking arrogance for bravery. You think you're standing up for something? But we all know there is a crime behind every coin that passes through this place."
He turned back to Vander, intensifying his verbal assault. "You're just a small man in a little hole the world forgot to bury."
The air thickened with hostility, and the patrons braced themselves for what might come next. The enforcer drew his baton, smashing the glass of flaming alcohol and turning the counter into a sea of blue flames. His threat echoed through the Last Drop.
"And I'm gonna bury the lot of you!"
With that, he stormed out of the Last Drop, his enforcers following suit. The ominous flames danced across the bar, casting eerie shadows on the face of Vander before he left to check on the kids.
As the flames flickered and subsided, leaving a lingering scent of charred wood and evaporated alcohol, I took on the task of cleaning the aftermath. The broken glass and remnants of the fiery spectacle demanded attention, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
Vander and Vi needed to have a crucial conversation, one that would likely shape the course of their actions in the tumultuous days ahead. I worked diligently, the sounds of my efforts mingling with the subdued murmurs of the remaining patrons.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone