The Kiss of The Deep:: Deadmen's Reach

Consequences

The kid stood there, blood still fresh on his shirt and a stubborn fire burning in his eyes, while I tried to piece together what the hell was happening. The sudden shift in the room felt wrong, too calculated, too controlled. We'd just walked out of a bloodbath, and now here we were, face-to-face with a man in a green suit with a damn gold-plated eye, standing in a place that smelled like expensive leather and danger. Everything about the situation screamed bad news. But there was no way out now.

The kid's response was calm, almost resigned. He knew what he had done. His words were blunt, stripped of emotion. He'd killed because it had to be done, for his brother, for family. He wasn't looking for excuses or sympathy, just the truth of it.

The man in the green suit nodded as if the kid's confession didn't surprise him, but his next words made my gut twist.

"I completely understand, little man," he said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "If I heard correctly, they've been your family for almost two years, just for them to betray you and your brother for some quick cash. I'm feeling a little sympathetic here."

Sympathy? That's not what we were looking for. I barely caught the rest of what he said, too focused on the words that started to hit me like a freight train. Punishment? Yeah, I could feel it coming. The whole setup screamed "catch-22." He had to punish us for the killing, but doing it too harshly would make him look like a tyrant, and there would be riots.

This was business, to him. A negotiation.

"I can't let you go without being punished," the man continued, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But I have a solution that benefits both of us."

I didn't trust him. I didn't trust anyone who talked like this, making everything sound like a well-oiled machine. But he had us by the balls.

"Your payroll, your company—it's under my jurisdiction now," the man said, eyes scanning us like he was sizing up livestock. "No more freelance work. No more flexible hours. No more self-management. You'll work for me now. But don't get me wrong... I don't own you. You can leave. But once you do, don't think about coming back to the city."

It felt like a trap, but I couldn't see another way out. The kid, still standing with that cold stare, wasn't giving an inch. This was his fight, and now, I was stuck in the middle of it. The decision was his to make.

The man's smile grew wider, but there was no warmth in it—just a predator's grin, like he knew exactly what strings to pull.

"So, is it a deal or not?" he asked, tone light but the threat clear.

The weight of the decision pressed down hard. Walk away, and the city was gone to us forever. Work for this man, and we were under his control. Neither option felt good. But in this world, survival was a currency, and we hadn't been rich enough to afford too many choices.

The kid didn't hesitate. He looked up at the man, then over to me. He didn't say anything for a moment, but I could see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the options.

He wasn't going to back down. He never did.

"I'll work for you," the kid finally said, his voice steady. "But you keep your hands off what's mine."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But I didn't argue. The kid had made his choice, and I wasn't about to second-guess it.

The man in the green suit chuckled. "You got it, little man. But remember, I always collect."

The room felt colder, the air thick with tension as the two armed guards took a step forward, ready to usher us into whatever hellhole was waiting next. There was no turning back now.