"What do you want?" The man at the front counter questioned.
A cloaked man stepped from the shadows, his face hidden from view. He had a wispy voice that sounded more like the wind talking than a real person. "The usual."
"Hell, no." The man came out from the desk and confronted the stranger. "I ain't trowing another one o' my girls out to the executioner."
"Illegal's have no business being alive in the first place."
"Everyone o' them girls belongs to a ring. Don't make no difference what their hair color is, not to me." He went back to his desk to busy himself and organized some papers left on the top in a messy pile.
"The difference is a law to the Prime, and a felony to the royals." The businessman flinched. His livelihood may have been against the law but that didn't make him any less honorable in his mind.
"They ain't done nothing wrong in my book. 'Least not for being born outside of the royals bullshit play-pen." He couldn't look at the stranger in the cloak while he insulted the Royals. He could be killed just for suggesting such a thing, let alone flat out saying it in the presence of their personal executioner.
"Our agreement was you give me the Walkers, and I let this ring pass by soldier inspections. Without me, this place would've been shut down ages ago. Girls in the Prime are supposed to be proper, not dancing around letting men stuff coins into the rags you call clothes."
"She ain't no stripper. She just serves here. Got more grace than all o' my girls combined. Besides, she's my main attraction. If you take her, you'll destroy my business!" He said with a slight southern drawl, fumbling over certain words he hadn't grown up saying.
"I don't care if I ruin your life. If you don't hand it over I'll have to find it forcefully. People all over the Prime will know you're a rat. You'll have a thousand coin bounty on your head before sunrise." The executioner threatened. The business man whirled back to face the hidden man. How dare he call him a rat when his very own job was to kill innocents, born in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
"I ain't no rat."
"If you aren't the dirtiest rat I've ever seen I'll give up my fortune for a life in the gutter." The executioner said with poison in his words. "What exactly do you call what you're doing here? Helping? They'd kill you themselves if they knew what you've been doing all these years... Finding those so-called 'girls' and promising safety and food just to turn them over to their deaths."
"I call it insurance." He said defensively as if it justified all the lives he had ended.
"Let's find out what the town calls it, then. Shall we?"
"Over my dead body." He bristled.
"Deal." The man in the black cloak pulled aside the fabric near his hip and pulled out a gun. He raised the object at arms length and aimed it straight for the man's chest. "Nighty, night foolish lycan." The hooded figure said to him as he pulled the trigger. The silver bullet pierced the wolf-man's skin before he had even time to flinch and burned a hole straight through his heart.
"Now," The executioner said to himself. "where is that thing hiding."
