Chapter 9 (Day 1): Dealing With Dissenters

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We last read Chapter 8, in which Specter and T.J. briefly discuss the importance of freedom, liberty, and the difference between true benevolence and tyranny as they make their way towards the new and improved Beheaded Bengal Saloon, the first stop on the duo's investigation into the recent dissenter attacks that have long been plaguing the Rusted Citadel since its liberation. T.J. questions Specter as to the clarity of the now-disbanded resistance's goals, and asks whether or not anything truly changed since all they did was replace the Iron Kingpin and his son Craig with King Ryker instead; Specter is quick to defend Ryker and to alert T.J. to not draw comparisons between the two kings since they are nothing alike, to which T.J. agrees relatively quickly.

Upon arrival at the Beheaded Bengal Saloon, they see that it has effectively been converted from what used to be a run-down criminal hangout for the wretched.....into a much more family-friendly, colorful, playful, and whimsical establishment akin to a Chuck E. Cheese's, complete with pizza, soda, arcade machines, and a prize counter. Specter brings T.J. along with her as she inquires with a random waitress about the mascot's whereabouts, to which the mascot himself, Bengal, comes out of hiding and momentarily embraces T.J. before Specter pulls the two apart. Specter then requests that Bengal bring her and T.J. to the back entrance of the Saloon to investigate the scene of the dissenter attack that had taken place there, to which Bengal agrees. The chapter ended with them being escorted to the back of the establishment by Bengal, who opens the door and allows them to exit to the rear yard, ready to help them find what they're looking for.

This time, our heroes have their first run-in with major hostiles, and try their best to get as much information as they can out of them.....

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In the rear yard of the renovated Beheaded Bengal Saloon, three thugs who looked like they were in their late teens or early 20's were squatted down before one of the huge rear walls. All of them had duffel bags over their shoulders holding ridiculous amounts of spray paint cans in various hues, from red to blue to yellow to green to pink. But near the top of the collection were three other colors that stood out: silver, black, and gray.....which was effectively just silver without the gloss or the "shiny" appearance to it.

They all wore dark outfits, as though they didn't want to be seen by physical eyes or security cameras.....but they had made the grave mistake of trying to strike the Saloon during the daytime; a mistake that they would soon come to regret. While one of them was more task-oriented, the other two proved to be social, actively engaging in a conversation.

"You really think we should be out here while the sun's up?" the first one asked his partner, who was already in the middle of spray-painting a mysterious insignia onto the rear wall of the Saloon. "Management's bound to come by and notice that something's wrong."

But his partner waved his hand in disregard. "No one ever comes out here unless their trash is full and they need to take it out," he countered. "Besides that, this place is about as boring as watching.....paint dry....."

The other one couldn't help but stifle a laugh at his colleague's accidental wordplay, to which his friend hastily shushed him and alerted him to keep it down.

"Would you be quiet?!" he exclaimed softly but urgently. "I can't work with you breathing down my neck!"

"Can Bengal breathe down it instead?" a cheerful, cartoonish, automated voice suddenly said from behind them, sending jolts of fear down their spines and causing them to rapidly turn around in the direction of said voice. There, standing right behind them, was Bengal, the mascot of the Beheaded Bengal Saloon establishment itself. He presented as a portly, stout, large, and bipedal Bengal tiger with white fur, black stripes, a solid "underbelly", and no head, instead having a flat stump where his neck ended and his head was supposed to begin; the voice had come from a speaker built into Bengal's underbelly.

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