Double Or Nothing: A Coin Flip Away

At Our Wit's End

Trash bags struck the cold concrete alley when Bile shoved his way out of the garbage bin, tossing himself onto the murky, puddle-stained ground, cursing and muttering to his humiliated self. His suit was in shambles, his tie frayed and split, and everything about the tiger shark Demon reeked of alcohol and disposed junk. Hobbling out of the trash bin and throwing himself into the alleyway wall, Bile slumped against a conveniently placed bench, tilting his broken snout and fractured scowl toward the spotlights of The Big House above, shining in the cold.

"Stupid Mammon and his pathetic shapeshifting powers," Bile muttered with a whistle on his S's, limping out of the alley into a quiet corner of the street behind The Big House. The vibrant green trim of this rat's maze called Greed had led Bile to the most unexpected places in the past: it would have to do so again if he wanted to survive. The tiger shark Demon clutched his broken wrist in one hand and kept his shattered red shades loose in his suit pocket. In his back pocket, however, the special trinket still sat, bundled under the rags his suit represented.

Turning the corner into a little nook off the end of a bar, Bile pressed his scraped and bruised hand on the keypad of a door into a chop shop. "Gotta talk to Griffith," he mumbled with a mouthful of blood. The screen flashed with reds and blues before buzzing with a bright gold, sliding the door open enough for Bile to step through. After stumbling into the dimly lit room, the brick wall closed behind Bile, trapping the cold, dusky air out.

"So I said to the guy, 'Grow up man! Your sister sure did!'" "Bwahaha!! Ooh, you're evil, Mack, y'know that?" "Geez, what a slaughter punchline that is!" "Whatcha think of that one, Griff?" Griffith, fresh out of his fourth glass of soda, lifted his eyes from his deck of cards. The sound of jangling chains and shuffling machine parts shook him awake. "Huh? Oh, pretty good Mack. Love that kinda confidence." Griffith rose from the table, keeping his cards concealed while he moved to pour himself another glass of fizzing soda.

Griffith heard shuffling, chairs scraping and laughter at his back as his hand closed around the plastic bottle. In the reflection of his dried out glass, Griffith's eye caught the illusion of something that made his heart freeze. The fractured black outline of a large, aquatic Demon towered in the darkness with only a shelf of boxes and crates between it and the lit up table of cards and chips. Griffith didn't lift his head to react. Instead, he filled his glass and moved toward the table, yawning. "Sorry guys, but we'd better wrap this up. It'll be another boring, busy day tomorrow."

Chairs scraped and hands were shaken. "Thanks again Griff!" "Man you're the best! See ya pal!" "Good night to you, sir!" After all the chairs had been cleaned out and the table was cleared of cards and chips, Griffith set his glass on the felt green texture, exhaling before he addressed the shadow behind the shelf. "You pulled one hell of a stunt at The Big House, y'know that?" he coughed. The shadow slid into focus in the light of the chop shop interior, and Bile clawed at his collar and tie, loosening both.

"I'm not a humble man, Griffith. Leave me the hell alone." Griffith's eyes widened as he moved to pick up the rest of his poker mate's glasses. "Meant nothing by it, just stating the facts," he replied. Bile limped to a flatbed where cars were lifted, flattening himself out on the cold steel slab. Griffith took a moment to gloss over his employer's wounds. Sighing, Griffith shuffled to a sink in the back, rinsing out glasses. "Mammon put on a show on the news broadcast today. Might be worth checking out."

Bile wiped blood and saliva off of his blackened gums, spitting blood clots into a bucket beside the flatbed. "Not interested," the tiger shark Demon rasped, "I gotta get that serum back and use it quick." Griffith turned away from the glasses, nearly dropping one in the process. "You're using it on yourself? Bile, I should tell you-" "Yeah yeah, it's dangerous or some shit, I don't wanna hear it." Bile hefted himself off of the flatbed, wandering toward a medical cabinet in the corner of the room. Griffith pursed his lips, his eyes darting back and forth for a response.

"The serum's ready, I just...there's calculations I still need before we go pumping your guts. What if the formula clashes with your genetics and pops you like a balloon?" Bile opened the medical box on the flatbed, rummaging through the package for stitches with blood stained fingers. "Doesn't matter. If I die, I die. But I ain't letting The Stripe or worse, Mammon, get their grubby mitts on that serum. It's gotta be me, no exceptions."

Griffith grabbed a towel to dry out the glasses. "If your mind's made up, I'm not stopping you. Just promise me you won't replicate the formula." Bile turned to Griffith with a surprised expression. The flatbed creaked when the tiger shark Demon shuffled around, setting to work with stitches on his arm. "What's so bad about the serum?" Griffith twitched, throwing the towel with a slap against the rim of the sink. Resting his hands on the rim, Griffith sucked in a deep breath before answering.

"Mixing Sinner and Demon genetics is not an answer, it's an obstacle." Bile watched with cautious eyes as Griffith folded his fingers over the reflective blade of a wrench. Gazing into his reflection, Griffith snarled with full rage in his eyes. "I should've never made that serum. And now I'm the only one who can replicate it..." With thunderous eyes, Griffith glared toward Bile and his stitches. "You promise me that, whatever the hell you do with this serum, it never, EVER comes to light, understood?"